An added bonus had been that the landlord, a hulking fellow with a broken nose and a fiery birthmark that covered practically the whole of one side of his face, spoke a little English, enough at any rate to make communication somewhat less of a hit-and-miss affair than it had been in previous taverns we had visited. Philip’s enquiries, while we drank a rough red wine that depressed my spirits rather than elevated them, elicited the fact that this Robert of Ghent lived somewhere in the warren of streets near the pig market, with its infamous cauldron. But by that time, with the Université still to investigate, I had declined being drawn into a fool’s errand and refused point-blank Philip’s suggestion that we search him out and at least establish that he was not the man we were looking for.
‘These fools wouldn’t know the difference between an Englishman and a Fleming,’ I grumbled, rubbing the aching backs of my legs with both hands. ‘And the sooner we get out of this place, the happier I shall be.’
‘Please yourself.’ Philip had shrugged. ‘You’re probably right.’
But now, leaning against the wall of the brothel while we caught our breath, he seemed to think we might have made a mistake by not pursuing the matter. ‘It is the only lead we’ve got,’ he pointed out.
‘So far,’ I agreed. ‘But not much of one. We’ll have to start again on Monday.’
‘We?’
‘So John says, and he’s in charge. Until this Olivier le Daim makes his appearance, Jules will be otherwise engaged. Now, remember, Philip, I haven’t told you what it is I’m doing for Duke Richard here in Paris. John doesn’t know and he doesn’t want to know, but he’d be upset and more than a little angry if he thought I’d confided in you. And, for the sweet Virgin’s sake, not a word to anyone else. You can imagine that if the queen’s family got wind of this, they’d go straight to the king and heaven alone knows what would happen to us all, including the duke. I’m willing to wager my last groat that Clarence knew about the bastardy story, and look what happened to him.’
Philip regarded me malevolently, and when he spoke, his tone was bitter. ‘You don’t need to remind me to keep me bone-box shut, thank you very much. I know what sort of bloody risk we’re running.’
‘Good,’ I said. ‘Now let’s go back to the Rue de la Barillerie. ‘I’ve had enough for one day. And the episode in this place — ’ I jerked a thumb over my shoulder — ‘was the final straw.’
The following day, Sunday, was quiet. Everyone seemed out of sorts and disinclined for conversation. We all seemed to be nursing a private grievance, not openly stated, but nonetheless potent for all that. From the few words he did let fall, it was obvious that John was angry I had flouted his suggestion that I take Jules with me while I could, particularly as he had taken the trouble to visit the Coq d’Or to apprise the latter of my imminent arrival.
‘You and Philip were so long farting around before you left the house I was able to slip out ahead of you in order to warn Jules you were coming. And then you didn’t show up.’
I apologized and made some feeble excuse, which he accepted grudgingly, but remained taciturn for the rest of the day.
Philip kept out of my way, whether deliberately or by chance I couldn’t determine, but he remained in the kitchen with Marthe, doing odd jobs for her and easing the burden of looking after four people single-handed. Or, at least, so Eloise informed me, having had some conversation with the housekeeper when she visited the kitchen after breakfast.
As for Eloise herself, she was as generally uncommunicative as the others, and for this a blazing quarrel the previous night was responsible. She had been short with me all evening and, when we finally retired to our bedchamber, had reproached me in no uncertain terms for not accompanying her to the Rue de la Tissanderie.
‘Jane and Master Armiger thought it most strange that I should go alone, and so, I’m sure, did Will Lackpenny.’
Tired, worried, depressed, I had rounded on her with a viciousness I regretted almost at once. Seizing her by the shoulders and shaking her violently, I hissed, ‘For Jesu’s sake, get it into your stupid little head that I am not really your husband, and stop treating me as though you were my wife! This is a game we’re playing, and what’s more, I’ll tell you this: if we were man and wife and you spoke to me like that, I’d take my belt to you and leather you senseless.’ And with that, I had flung her away from me so that she went sprawling across the bed.
She lay perfectly still for a moment, and, to my horror, I saw that she was crying silently, the tears streaming down her face. I was immediately contrite, appalled by my behaviour, and had sat down beside her, trying to soothe her, trying to explain that I hadn’t meant a word I’d said. I had expected recriminations, even a hail of blows, but had been unprepared for the quiet dignity with which she had repelled my efforts at reconciliation and finished preparing for bed. It had made me feel an even bigger bully boy than I did already, and although I recognized that this was her intention, I nevertheless knew that the way I had behaved would take a lot of forgiving.
So the morning’s coldness was hardly a surprise and I made no attempt at atonement. I reasoned the less said, the better, and that her own sense of justice would eventually lead her to realize that, however badly I might have acted, she herself had not been blameless. Her tirade against me had been both undeserved and foolish.
We went to Mass, to Tierce, having risen far too late for Prime, and I left the choice of the Île de la Cité’s twenty-one churches to her. She decided eventually upon Saint-Pierre aux Boeufs, with its lovely slender spire, and stood beside me, eyes downcast, like a sweet and dutiful wife. As we left, she tucked a hand into the crook of my elbow and gave my arm a squeeze. If not entirely forgiven, I was not the pariah I had been an hour or so before.
‘Let’s go for a walk,’ she said, but still quiet and inclined to be sombre. In much the same spirit I agreed.
So we strolled around the Île, saying little but with a growing sense of harmony, from the groves of the Jardins Royals in the west, by way of the cloisters and galleries behind the cathedral of Notre-Dame and the Bishop’s Palace to the tangle of wasteland in the east, with its view of the neighbouring islands of Notre-Dame and the Île aux Vaches. I remarked again on the splendid flagging of the streets with their furrows for the horses’ hooves and was intrigued by the little twisting turret staircases and the conical roofs of the houses. From one of the tarred booths of the Palus Market, already open for Sunday trade, I bought Eloise a green ribbon to match her green dress. And finally, in the shadow of the nearby Sainte-Chapelle, we stopped and faced one another, holding hands.
‘Tell me I’m forgiven,’ I said. ‘My behaviour was abominable.’
‘No, I was the one to blame,’ she answered gently. ‘Mine was the original fault. I must have sounded like a shrew, and without reason. I’m sorry.’
I smiled at her. ‘Then we’ll forgive one another, and I’ll go with you to see Jane and Robert Armiger after we’ve eaten.’
I didn’t add that I had an ulterior motive in wanting to speak to Jane Armiger again. It seemed wiser not to.
And so, after dinner — a meal that Eloise and I ate together in the parlour, neither John Bradshaw nor Philip putting in an appearance — we crossed back to La Ville and made our way to the Rue de la Tissanderie, to a house only a few doors distant from the great main thoroughfare of the Rue Saint-Martin.