**
Medford. When she had first met him at Westminster she had seen him as no more than a tall child in adult clothing. A pretender to power. It was only later she had discovered how dangerous he was, dangerous to King Richard’s enemies, that is. She thanked god for his vigilance and ruthless nature. He would certainly want to know where the poison had come from, who had tried to steal it before Fitzjohn could get his hands on it. And why.
He was one of those people who believe that every organisation is like a sieve with secrets that will fall into his hands by means of observation, logic, gold, or more physical methods. He was unshakable in this. He would have no sympathy for the fact that Cardinal Grizac was threatened by the wrath of Pope Clement.
He might be interested in the reason why, of course, as did Hildegard.
Medford, however, would not think much of anybody’s feelings on the matter. That she was shocked at the change in Grizac’s manner as soon as he left the cell after Athanasius's taunting would not be taken into account in his logical analysis. He would see it as a failure of her perception of the situation. Being one of those deadly quiet men with no more feelings than a butcher for the animal he slaughters he was like Clement. Like Athanasius. And perhaps like Fondi.
This coldness was the reason he was the chief of Richard’s spies and the best of a powerful crew.
His saving grace was that he was totally loyal to the king.
**
Prime. A spreading, barely perceptible glimmer of pink in the sky.
While the bell was still tolling Hildegard hurried along to the Fondi’s apartment with Bel Pierre in his basket. She had promised Flora he would be beside her when she awoke. Ushered inside the heavily draped chambers by a servant she was led through to where the child slept under a canopy of white lace and placed the basket beside her just as she was waking up.
‘And here he is to greet you good morning, Flora. Have a look.’ She opened the lid.
Flora’s cries of delight were her reward but the child could not thank her enough. ‘Lady, my mother, look!’ She ran through into the adjoining chamber with the basket and scolds were heard at once in complaint about the dirty thing and to take it away. Flora returned, still full of smiles. ‘She is delighted in her heart,’ she explained.
Fondi, his tall frame in a long night robe, was dragging on a wool cloak as he came through. ‘That is most kind, domina. I trust you weren’t searching for him all night?’
‘Not at all.’
‘Where was the little devil?’
‘On the stairs where we had already been searching. He must have hidden somewhere then crept out when he thought everyone had gone.’
Fondi reached out and stroked the squirrel’s smooth head. ‘We must let him sleep. It’s his season for sleeping. There’s a time to sleep, a time to dance, all that, so very wise.’ He registered the bell. ‘And a time for going to prime which I fear we shall miss. Flora, go and eat something and take Bel Pierre with you.’
He turned to Hildegard when she had gone. He too was one of those dark, quiet men - but not deadly, surely? She recalled Hubert’s proposition that the murderer of all three victims was a professional assassin. A man with a cool nerve and the ability to simulate friendship.
Fondi had been in the pope’s private chapel on the night of Maurice’s murder but who would say he had not left for the few minutes it takes to run a knife over a youth’s throat?
At the crossing of the bridge he might have gone on ahead of Hubert and the others, unseen in the darkness and noise of the storm, one moment and a life ended.
And the Scottish nun, with the paw marks in the dust under her bed.
Urb.Md.
The cardinal from Urbino.
He was smiling at her now with something apologetic in his manner. Light filtered through the roughly closed shutters and lay in bars across the floor, across his cloak, across his face.
He was offering her something to drink. She saw him go to a stand with a carafe and goblets on it, watched him take up a small clay jug, heard him call for more wine, and pour something into one of the goblets, turn, offer it. A servant entered with another flagon.
‘Forgive Carlotta,’ he remarked as she took the goblet from him. ‘I believe she resents Hubert’s affection for you.’
‘Tell her she has no need. Our vows are firm.’ She did not intend it to sound like a reproof.
He did not take it as such. ‘Vows do not obliterate the feeling. She’s jealous, a hard life before she met me, a furiously passionate woman. She can’t help herself.’
‘I’m sorry to hear she has had a hard life.’
‘So be it.’
‘I have one question only.’ She gave him a look that should have extracted every nuance of truth from him but met only his handsome, bland, concerned stare. ‘I noticed something odd in my cell when I returned after the nun had been murdered there.’
His brows came together.
‘It was something so small as to be almost negligible but what it means is of far greater consequence.’
His frown deepened.
‘It was the paw marks of a squirrel - and its droppings,’ she added in case he should brush aside her words.
He turned away and went over to the window where the light fell more brightly through the slats of the shutter across his tortured expression. He rubbed his fingers over his temples as if in thought.
With a sudden exclamation he turned, swept past Hildegard and went into the bedchamber next door. She heard a sharp argument then Carlotta, hair hanging loose to her waist, barefoot, her silk night gown creased, a fur being placed over her shoulders by Fondi, stood glowering in the doorway.
‘Tell her,’ Fondi ordered.
‘Oh caro, don’t bully me so.’
‘Tell her, will you.’
‘This is about that damned squirrel again.’ She gave Hildegard a reproachful look. ‘I admit it. I went into your bedchamber and I had Bel Pierre with me. He’s a warm little thing and it’s so cold here, and anyway, I must have put him down on the floor.’
‘Was the body there?’ Hildegard croaked. Her fingers tightened round the goblet containing her untouched drink.
‘It was. Already laid out by the woman who does such things. It was a shock, I can tell you. I would have thought they’d take it away quickly enough but no. I suppose it’s normal with you people, death, dead bodies.’ She shivered.
‘Why did you go?’
She gave a shamefaced look at Fondi. ‘I wanted to see if you were there.’
‘Dead, you mean?’
‘I hadn’t heard about the murder at that point. I just wanted to see if you had really gone away with Hubert.’ She was mumbling now and went quickly over to Fondi, putting her arms underneath his shirt and burying her face in his shoulder. ‘It means nothing, caro. I just wanted to know.’
He patted her head much as he had patted Bel Pierre.
**
Hubert. Striding up the steps towards the Fondi apartment. Hildegard leaving the same. He noticed the expression on her face. He stopped. ‘I apologise for Carlotta.’
‘Everyone apologises for Carlotta. Tell me, does she deal in poison?’
She stared him out until he was forced to reply, ‘You know I can’t answer that.’
‘I have no time for you, de Courcy!’
He stepped back as if she had slapped his face.
**
It was true then. The velvet cloaks, the embroidered silks, the linen so fine it was transparent. And the furs. The jewels. The horses. The villa and all its rich appurtenances. Paid for by dealing in the instruments of death. It must be true. What other explanation for Hubert’s dismay?
**
She turned a corner but there was no guard on duty at the foot of the steps. Quickly she wound her way up to the roof of the tower and stepped through the door, breathing in the clear, fresh gusts of a westerly wind that seemed to promise and end to corruption.