‘How did you know what Mistress Gaunt told me? About the christenings?’ As I spoke, my eyes were drawn inexorably to that still form on the floor and I could see the dark band of blood round the neck. The woman’s head was almost severed from the body. I felt my stomach heave and the vomit rose in my throat. I started to shake, but not from fear, from anger.
‘Philip followed you and was listening outside the window,’ John answered with a sneer. ‘You didn’t bother lowering your voices and the shutters are in poor condition — lots of cracks and chinks — as you’d have seen, if you’d bothered to inspect them.’ He smiled again and took a firmer grasp on his knife. ‘And now, Roger, much as I regret it, it’s your turn to meet with a fatal stabbing, and it will be my sad duty to carry the news home to Timothy Plummer and the duke. I daresay I’ll get a bollocking for not looking after you better, but then, if you will go wandering around the backstreets of a city like Paris on your own, and you an Englishman at that, you take the consequences. No need for them ever to know that you discovered the Gaunts’ whereabouts at all, or that they’re dead, too. So-’
‘How did you manage to kill them both without one of them putting up a fight?’
John sighed. ‘Does it matter? Oh well! If you must know — and, as I’ve already said, who am I to thwart the wishes of a dying man? — Philip brought me here this afternoon. The woman was still alone. We said we were friends of yours and she let us in. She suspected nothing, not right up to the moment when I slit her throat. Then we just waited for Gaunt to come home.’ He shrugged. ‘I took him unawares. It was simple.’ His expression had altered subtly. He was drooling slightly in anticipation of the kill. The scent of further bloodletting was in his nostrils, and there was a slightly manic look in his eyes. I realized with a sickening jolt that he probably was mad, but a madman who could conceal his insanity under a perfectly normal exterior. The Woodvilles must find him invaluable. He said, ‘Guard the door, Lamprey!’ and moved, swift and nimble as a cat, to get behind me.
The revelations of the past few minutes had held me paralyzed with shock. My brain, such of it as was still working, told me to get back against the wall, to use my own knife, to put up some sort of a fight to save my life, but my mind was reeling from the discovery of Philip’s treachery and his disclosure — if it were true — about Jeanne.
John Bradshaw hissed again, ‘Guard the door! Mind he doesn’t make a run for it!’
Out of the corner of one eye, I saw Philip move, but then he was shouting, ‘No! I won’t help you kill Roger! I can’t! He’s my friend. I didn’t mind spying on him, searching his baggage, but this is different.’ And the next moment he had lifted the latch, wrenching the door wide. ‘Run, Roger!’ he yelled. ‘Run!’
Something in the urgency of his tone seemed at last to penetrate my benumbed senses, jerking me into life. I fairly threw myself sideways and out into the street, but my legs were shaking, weak from fear, and before I could take more than a few staggering steps, John Bradshaw was on me, trying to grab me from behind with his left arm so that he could pull me back against him and cut my throat. Fortunately, I had my own knife out by this time and managed, with a slashing blow, to wound him in the fleshy part of his right arm. I heard him curse, but a moment later, he had kneed me in the groin, causing me to double up in pain and drop my knife. I fell to the ground and rolled over, avoiding his wicked-looking blade, but only for a second or two. He was furious now, like a wounded bull, and was stabbing indiscriminately at me, intent on finishing me off and not caring any longer how he did it.
I was vaguely aware of doors opening and people coming out into the street, but no one made a move to help me. To the onlookers, it was just such another murderous brawl as they no doubt witnessed at least once a week, and at present, they knew nothing of the dead bodies in the house behind me. I managed to haul myself to my feet, but without my knife, the only recourse left to me was my fists. I lashed out blindly and heard John Bradshaw laugh as he dodged my erratically flailing arms. Some men were shouting encouragement to him, women too, obviously enjoying the spectacle. I stepped back, slipped on the greasy cobbles and went down again, flat on my back.
This time, he was on me, his weight pinning me to the ground, arm raised, the blade of his knife aimed straight at my throat. I struggled, but I couldn’t shift him. I closed my eyes, waiting for the blow to fall. .
Nothing happened. Instead, I heard him give a strange little grunt before he toppled sideways, blood gushing from his mouth, limbs jerking like one of those jointed dolls that toymakers sell. Then, after a moment, he lay still, eyes staring sightlessly up at the dark night sky.
A hand reached down to help me to my feet.
‘That was a very near thing,’ Raoul d’Harcourt’s voice said apologetically. ‘I’m sorry I was late. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I got lost. I don’t know this part of Paris as well as I thought I did.’
‘Who, in God’s name, are you?’ I asked.
It was an hour later, and we were finally back in the Rue de la Barillerie after a journey across Paris during which my saviour had refused to answer all questions, hustling and urging me on, to get to the Île de la Cité, as though our lives depended on it, taking devious twists and turns through innumerable side streets and noisome alleys until my head spun. Now, as he forced wine down my throat, he ordered a frightened and bewildered Eloise to pack our saddlebags.
‘We’re leaving Paris tonight. I’ll have to bribe one of the gatekeepers to let us through. As to who I really am,’ he went on, turning to me, ‘you’ve no need to know that. You can go on calling me by the name I borrowed from one of the goldsmiths’ shops on the Quai des Orfèvres. Suffice it say that I work for Timothy Plummer, who’s had his suspicions about John Bradshaw for some time. He sent me after you to watch your back and remove him if needs be.’
‘Y-you mean. . Timothy knew I m-might be in danger?’ I stuttered.
Raoul d’Harcourt — I had to go on thinking of him as that, it seemed — smiled wryly. ‘I’m afraid so, but he had no proof against Bradshaw. This seemed too good an opportunity to miss.’
Once more, as at the beginning of this ill-conceived venture, I was struck dumb by my sense of outrage. I could only hope and pray that when I at last came face to face again with my lord of Gloucester’s spymaster general, I would be able to find the words to describe my opinion of his conduct. But somehow, I doubted it. They simply didn’t exist.
I voiced another worry. ‘Why are we leaving Paris in such a rush? Why the hurry?’
‘Because,’ Raoul said impatiently, ‘as soon as the other inhabitants of that street find the Gaunts’ bodies — as they doubtless have done by this time — it will no longer be a case of a street brawl, but murder, and the chances are that you will get the blame. His neighbours must know that Gaunt — or de Ghent as you say he’s called — is an Englishman by birth, however long he’s lived here. And you’re an Englishman. That will be good enough for them. They’ll decide you have some old grudge against him.’
‘Why? And how would they know I’m English?’
‘Oh, in the name of all the saints, just think, man! The innkeeper, where you made your enquiries, and all his customers know you’re English. We have to get out of the city as soon as possible, before you find yourself under lock and key. Do you know what’s happened to the other man? The one who was with John Bradshaw?’
Philip! I had forgotten him. ‘No. He must have run away. Well, we can’t be bothered with him. He must look after himself.’
Eloise came back into the parlour, carrying my saddlebags. She looked rather pale, but perfectly composed. ‘I’m not coming with you,’ she said. ‘I’ve decided to remain in Paris. For the time being, I’ll go and stay with the Armigers, if they’ll have me. I’ll tell them you’ve deserted me for another woman. They’ll doubtless be very sympathetic, especially Master Lackpenny. I see no point in returning to England. There’s nothing for me there.’ Her gaze was a challenge, but I didn’t respond. ‘No,’ she went on, ‘it’s as I said: there’s no reason for my return. You can pass on the information I received from my cousin, Roger. In any case, everyone’s going to be privy to it soon. So I’ll say goodbye.’ She dropped my saddlebags on the floor and walked to the parlour door, where she turned, smiling slightly. ‘Incidentally, I’m not the only one of our merry band staying behind. Philip’s in the kitchen. It would appear he means to marry Marthe, if she’ll have him, and live with her, here, in Paris.’