‘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?’
‘I know Carlotta very well.’
‘Carlotta?’
‘His concubine. I’ve only met Fondi once or twice in my travels and I respect the man but I got to know Carlotta in Urbino years ago when she was an artists’ model. You’ll see her face smiling down from a dozen altar pieces playing the madonna with a variety of delightful children on her lap posing as the Christ child.’
‘Fondi allowed her to work as a model?’ Hildegard was aghast. The man was no more than a pander.
‘This was her work before she met him. I was the one who brought them together.’
‘I see.’
‘I doubt whether you do.’
Feeling that she was somehow cast in a less than attractive role she replied sharply, ‘I’m not the least interested in her and her relationship with - ’
‘With me?’ he asked. ‘Of course not. Why should you be? Now, my dear white heart, what was it you wanted to ask me?’
‘Do be serious. This is important. I suppose you can vouch for the fact that Fondi and his - and Signora Carlotta - went over to Villeneuve with everyone else?’
‘Of course. I was invited to stay at his house. He’s had a rather beautiful villa built in the Italian style in splendid gardens. The perfect setting for his pearl, as he says. That’s Carlotta, of course. They are each fortunate to have found their soul mate.’
Hildegard sighed impatiently. ‘And to have no guilt about breaking vows of celibacy either. So, to continue, Hubert, can you vouch for him? He did not stop off at the chapel of St Nicolas for example?’
‘I told you before when you were cross-questioning me, we thought of it but decided to press on to our beds.’
‘Did you notice anyone not follow you over?’
‘Again, as I told you, it was a terrible night, wind, rain, and once away from the chapel light, pitch dark, with the river raging close below. At one point we thought the arches were going to give way and pitch us into the torrent.’
‘Luckily they did not,’ she replied somewhat tartly. ‘Thank you, that’s all I wanted to know.’
‘Do you consider me a reliable witness, Hildegard?’
She felt a stab of guilt. ‘In some things, Hubert.’
‘But not in others?’ He hesitated then turned with a curt ‘Vale!’ and walked off.
Why was he so infuriating? She muttered a few calming words to herself that she was glad no one could overhear and went in search of the next witness.
**
Bellefort. She had seen him around the palace. He was one of those with a following. Now when she was conducted into his opulent privy chamber in the guest wing, in a part reserved for visiting monarchs, she noticed at once the confusion of young men attending him, one peeling grapes for him from a silver dish, another to massage his feet in their silk stockings, another to sing a ballade in a nasal accent like a troubadour with much superfluous tossing of his hair.
‘Dear domina, welcome!’ Bellefort greeted her with a languidly raised hand from his couch of silk in an accent so affected she had difficulty in understanding him. ‘The pleasure is all mine, pray be seated.’
An acolyte rushed forward with a velvet covered stool. To her chagrin she was forced to sit at the prelate’s feet among a bevy of his followers.
‘I have an interest in the murder of the English youth found in the treasury,’ she began, straight to the point.
‘Ah, such a loss. A young singer of incomparable delight,’ he drawled. ‘Grizac must be heartbroken at his loss. And how may I help?’
‘It seems his death set in train a series of events which are too boring to relate, your eminence, but they lead onto the death of Taillefer, the esquire of the duc de Berry.’
‘Le duc, my greatest friend, a distinguished collector, a scholar, a man of taste in this barbarous wasteland. His legend will live on forever. And?’