The rumour that met them was that it was Hildegard who was dead, the interrogating nun from England, a spy probably, deserved all she got. That was how it was told by one of the stablers soon after they rode into the yard.

Then Hildegard was recognised and the rumour was revised. The nun was a concubine of one of the cardinals and a love rival had done away with her. Or she was with child and the father, a prelate, refused to accept it and thought it expedient to get rid of her and the child both. And on, with ever more lurid accounts, until Hildegard wanted to escape into a place of peace and security where common sense prevailed. But there was nowhere like that in the whole of Avignon. And she had to brazen it out and pray, with one eye over her shoulder, that the murderer would not strike again.

One thing was obvious. If it was a case of mistaken identity as it seemed, it must mean someone was frightened. And that could only mean one thing, she was getting closer to the truth.

**

Cardinal Fondi was a handsome man in his thirties, not, Hildegard judged, as handsome as Hubert his contemporary, but good enough to attract women and make his choice. And it was certainly a fact that his choice was an admired beauty, easy to see as an ideal image of the madonna with a serene, oval face, long dark hair parted in the middle, eyes so unnaturally large and dark that Hildegard suspected she used Belladonna, and her child pretty too, all three drawing admiring glances whenever they appeared in public.

For the most part Carlotta and the child stayed over in Villeneuve at their spectacular villa and lived the life of any other noble family. The only difference was that their allegiance went to the head of the Catholic Church in France and not to a secular monarch, chosen by birth or fortune. The pope himself of course owed allegiance to no earthly lord but saw every monarch in Europe as his personal vassal.

Carlotta played the grand hostess to the hilt. Hildegard could not fault her grace and charm. Even so, when she found those darkly foreign eyes that seemed to have no depth to them fixed unmovingly on her face she felt a shiver of uneasiness.

‘You look pale, domina. Drink this.’ Carlotta plucked a goblet from a silver tray held by a brocade-clad page.

Hildegard took it but eyed the contents with misgivings.

‘I assure you, there is no poison in it,’ Carlotta gave a throaty laugh and touched Hubert on the arm in a gesture that did nothing to allay Hildegard’s qualms. The love rival rumour about the murdered nun flew into her mind before she realised how absurd it was. She was not Hubert’s lover and there was no rivalry to speak of. This woman could do whatever she pleased as long as she could square it with her protector. Hubert and Fondi drawing swords made her smile.

Carlotta turned to Hubert. ‘Her face has the look of an avenging angel, carissimo. So pure, so untouchable. You will never defeat her. I believe you’ve met your match at last. Perhaps I shall mix her a love potion? Would you like that?’

‘You talk nonsense, cara.’ Hubert, however, looked strangely pleased.

When they had a moment alone Hildegard hissed at him. ‘How could you arrange for me to stay here without consulting me first? I can’t do it.’

‘I’m your abbot. You’ll do as I think best. You’ll be safe here. That madman who killed your cell mate in her bed obviously mistook her for you. He’s not going to give up.’

‘We don’t know I was his intended victim.’

‘Oh come on, she was a blameless Scots woman, an Augustinian over here in the train of a petitioner for some obscure living up there. All she was known to do was pray, eat and sleep. Whereas you - everybody knows you’ve been ferreting around, asking questions, stirring up trouble.’

‘You should have asked me first.’

‘I knew you’d object.’

Hildegard closed her eyes in exasperation. ‘I’m close, very close, to finding out who killed those two boys - and now that poor nun. I can’t just give up to wallow in luxury over here.’

‘As you said to me yesterday, I want you alive, not dead. You’re safer here.’

He refilled her goblet and pressed her fingers round the stem. ‘I’ll taste it first for poison.’ He drank from it then turned it so she could drink from the impress of his lips.

‘Even so,’ she continued after sardonically doing as invited, ‘the friar who warned me to get you away to safety saved my life too.’

‘Was that his intention? If so, we have an ally.’

‘Which is more than that poor nun had. Oh, Hubert, I do wish I’d spoken to her. She seemed to sleep all the time, or pray, for what good it did her.’

‘She died as she would have wished, in the sanctity of her belief.’

‘I need to be in the palace, Hubert. I can’t do anything from here. I’ll decline Fondi’s invitation.’

‘Tell me what you’d do if you were over in Avignon and I’ll do it for you.’

A flame of doubt was reignited. He was Clement’s man. How could she forget? He wove a spell over her and she kept on forgetting. He must be trying to find out what else she knew.

‘Suspicion must fall on whoever crossed the bridge that night when you and Fondi walked over. I’ve spoken to Bellefort and he seems an unlikely candidate and he also has plenty of witnesses to say he hurried straight across.’

‘If that gaggle of fools can be trusted. They’ll say anything Bellefort tells them to. But I take your point. I can’t see him getting out of his litter in a raging storm to say his prayers and slit the odd throat without making a drama out of it.’

‘Then there’s you and Fondi.’ She gave a little laugh as she ticked their names off on her fingers. ‘Another name that came up is Montjoie, and then, of course, there’s Cardinal Grizac.’

‘Whose acolyte it was in the treasury. That must rule him out.’

‘Why so?’ She looked at him with curiosity.

‘Maurice was his acolyte. Why would Grizac murder Taillefer?’

‘Revenge? Don’t forget Maurice might have had a companion in the treasury and if they quarrelled and a knife was drawn - it could easily have been Taillefer. Think how Grizac would feel then? Positively murderous.’

‘It sounds plausible.’

‘It was the same method. Just like the nun yesterday. I know it’s not in the least evidential but - ’

‘It suggests something else to me.’ His lips scarcely moved.

‘What’s that?’

‘Execution.’

She stared at him.

‘Deliberate and planned. Were those three linked in some way we’re unaware of? Or is it a warning?’ His face was without expression.

Both were silent until Hildegard whispered, ‘A professional assassin?’

‘Maybe there’s something big at stake, bigger than either of us can know?’

It was a relief to feel she was not alone. ‘It was what I thought at first.’ She avoided mentioning the miners and John Fitzjohn. ‘But if there is something behind it what is it?’ She stopped suddenly. What had led Hubert to make such a suggestion? Who was being warned off? She shivered. She waited for his reply with bated breath.

But he did not say anything. He seemed to be waiting for Hildegard to supply the answer.

Suppressing what was a horrifying suspicion she stared at him for a long moment.

‘There’s also this,’ she managed to say at last. ‘Someone must have known Maurice was going to break into the treasury, apart from the page he changed places with, I mean. And it must have been someone with knowledge of the lay out and how to get into it and what the movements of the guards were. A professional killer would have that knowledge. Unless,’ she finished weakly with her thoughts in turmoil, ‘the page was lying and he conducted an outsider to the pope’s chamber by a similar ruse.’

Hubert frowned. ‘Where is he?’

‘The page of the bedchamber? Back in his village in the mountains. It’s a day’s ride from here. I checked.’