‘I told you no.’

‘Not in so many words, you didn’t.’

‘Well, I am doing now. Nobody came onto the bridge except for the ones I told you about.’ Again he counted them off on his fingers. ‘Cardinals Bellefort, Fondi, Grizac, Montjoie, the foreign abbot. They all went over in a bunch.’

‘And an esquire could have crossed with them, passing himself off as one of their personal servants in the dark?’

‘Could have.’

‘My thanks.’

‘Don’t mention it.’

**

The priest was polishing the altar brass when she entered.

‘Forgive my intrusion.’

He put down the paten and replaced the cloth under the altar. ‘Salve, domina. I guessed you’d be back.’

‘The murdered youth stole a dagger from a guest at le Coq d’or. It seems his victim pursued him as far as the bridge. The sentry denies that he allowed him access.’

‘Therefore your suspicions have alighted on the unlikely suspects of four cardinals and an abbot.’

‘The sentry tells me they all crossed over in a group. Is that so?’

The priest turned away and went to the window and gazed downstream with a faraway expression. Eventually he murmured, ‘You know it is not.’

‘Can you tell me more?’

‘They came onto the bridge in a group straight after lauds. That so far is true. But they did not cross in a group.’

He indicated a bench against the wall. ‘It’s a long story. Sit.’ He lowered himself beside her.

‘You will not know of me,’ he began. ‘I am before your time, domina. These latter years are a gift I had not expected.’ He paused and a look of reminiscence came over his face.

‘Once upon a time I was a famous counter tenor - but not, I hasten to add, with the physical interference that creates such voices in Byzantium. Mine was a natural gift from God.’ He exchanged a smile with her.

‘I knew it was a fleeting grace, that soon my voice would be lost forever.’ He sighed deeply.

‘Despite the glory that was promised and would have reflected onto my fellows, I drew nothing but jeers of jealousy from the other choral scholars, the nature of which you can imagine from rough peasant boys as many of them were. I was a young lad of some spirit and soon lost patience.’ He chuckled. ‘What happened was frightening at the time but the years heal all memories, do they not?’

‘I’m still pondering the truth of that,’ she replied, thinking of Rivera whose memory was a source of continual grief.

‘I said to my tormentors, “If that’s what you think of my masculinity, bring me your sisters if you dare, then discover whether I’m a eunuch or not!” This defiance didn’t go down well. One night three bully boys cornered me and you may guess what outrage they forced on me. I was then, as now, passionate about the rule of law and felt no compunction in going to the head and demanding justice. The result was the three were punished and thrown out of the song school. For many years I had no idea what had happened to them. Meanwhile, my career, starting with promise, exceeded my wildest desires. I became chief soloist in the papal choir. I was feted far and wide. My life was a glittering success. Even when my voice faded, I achieved honour as master of the pope’s music.’ He gave a deep sigh.

‘Such is human nature, however, I was haunted by the fact that I had caused the destruction of three lives, whether justly or not. I resolved to seek out those three and make reparation. In some way too I wanted their forgiveness. Does that sound strange to you?’

‘I understand. But tell me, this must surely have been many years later. Were they easy to find?’

‘Indeed they were not but eventually I discovered that one of them had become a goldsmith, had a wife and six children and was living in a distant town in Burgundy. The second was a monk in a silent order in the mountains. I visited both men and both were forgiven and forgave me in turn. The third turned out rather differently.’ He frowned.

‘The truth is he’d chosen the life of a thief and a vagabond, in and out of gaol, vengeful and violent, with the accusation of several murders never proven against him. When he recognised me and found me in his power again he wanted nothing more than to destroy me. He rounded up a gang of ruffians who lay in wait near my lodgings. Remember, I was far from home. He’d led a peripatetic life. But he wanted to teach me a lesson as he put it although what that lesson was I’ve still no idea. In the scuffle that followed it so happened that I grabbed a sword from one of them and ran him through. According to the rule of law I had myself invoked in the past I was now required to give myself up and receive my punishment for murder. The alternative was to forget my principles and make good my escape.’

He turned to her with a look of wonderment on his face. ‘Isn’t it astonishing that I remember the moment of decision? What was I to do? I glanced down the empty street after my attackers fled. The dead man lay at my feet. My hands were covered in blood. But even so, who would know it was I who had despatched him? I could escape and continue on my glittering path. Then I came to my senses. The rule of law must be upheld.’

‘That was brave. What did you do?’

‘At that time the pope was Urban in Rome. I prostrated myself before him in the great auditorium in the Vatican. A murderer. Guilty. The words from my own mouth confirmed it. He had no choice but to condemn me. But before sentence could be passed something unexpected happened. A young law clerk stepped forward. He set out my case so convincingly I was acquitted. It was what he described as a half-crime. I was ordered to do penance as a monk in a remote community dedicated to St Rufus.’ He paused and his eyes again held a faraway look. ‘You may be thinking why is this old man telling me such a story? Has he nothing better to do than reminisce about the past?’

Hildegard inclined her head.

‘It is because that young lawman is now pre-eminent in the papacy of Clement here in Avignon. Obligations do not die over time. They continue to exist in the great chain of justice that links us all. I owe my life to him. Does that explain anything to you?’

‘I expected you to invoke the secrecy of the confessional in order to tell me nothing.’

‘That also, dear domina, that also.’

**

So what was he telling her? That the young law man who had saved his life all those years ago was one of the cardinals who had crossed the bridge that night? That he had a debt to repay. And the cardinal, whoever he was, had now himself made a confession of murder? And, even if not already bound by the secrecy of the confessional, the priest respected the bond of obligation in order to protect his saviour.

It should be easy to discover the identity of this supporter of Pope Clement, the murderer of Taillefer and Maurice. There were only four possible suspects. And he would be the one who had returned late to Villeneuve.

**

‘Hubert? A word in private?’

‘My joy and my pleasure, dear heart.’

‘No nonsense, please.’

A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. ‘You are a light in this world of darkness. How else should I address you?’

‘This is serious.’

‘The loggia again. So busy as to allow us to confer unnoticed, vast enough for a hundred intimate exchanges to pass between us.’

‘There’ll be none of those.’

**

‘I have heard,’ she began, ‘that on the night Taillefer was killed only certain people crossed over the bridge. All named.’

‘And I was one among them.’

‘That’s true, but for heaven’s sake, surely I can discount you in all this?’

‘You can discount Fondi also, I would imagine.’

‘It’s him I wanted to ask you about as you seem to be on friendly terms with him. Do you know him well?’