‘Let us say, loaned. His Most Christian Majesty is in the formnate position of having two skilled confectioners. It is only reasonable that he offer one of them to his ally across the Channel.’
‘But . . . for how long must I be gone?’
Lionne shrugged. ‘Your task is to make the King of England merry again. Once he is merry, he will become once more the friend of France.’
Because he .will need your gold to pay for his pleasures, I thought, recalling what Olympe had said.
‘He will declare war against the Dutch. Then we will make our own move. The war itself will be swiftly won, and you can return to Versailles.’
I said nothing. Even I could see that it was unlikely to be quite so simple. And even if it was, by the time I returned Audiger would be well established in Paris as the president of the Confectioners’ Guild.
Lionne added casually, ‘And from time to time there may be certain other duties . . . Messages from the Breton girl, which you will pass back to us. Observations of her, and him, and various others whom we shall point out to you in the English court.’
‘The Breton girl?’
‘Did I not mention? It has been suggested to King Charles that it might ease his grief if he were to employ, as an act of charity, one of his sister’s ladies-in-waiting as an attendant to his own queen. That honour has been given to the Breton girl, de Keroualle. Yes? What is it?’ The minister’s shrewd gaze was searching my face. ,
I sighed. ‘Nothing.’
Satisfied, he went on, ‘It should be easy enough. You will move amongst them, hidden in plain sight, the purveyor of pleasures and trifles. What could be more natural?’
'* ♦
The little ship was beating upriver now, riding the last surge of the tide. The deck, despite the driving rain, had become quite crowded. More passengers had boarded at Gravesend, and even those travelling from France had come up from below, eager for a glimpse of familiar landmarks, chattering excitedly to each other in
that guttural language that always put me in mind of the baying of hounds.
Louise was not on board. We had travelled together as far as Dieppe in a borrowed coach and a strained silence. Once I asked her what was^rong, and she turned her tear-streaked face to me incredulously.
‘My mistress is dead, I am being sent to the most barbarous, heretical country in Europe, everything I have worked for these last two years hangs in the balance, and you ask me what is wrongV
After that I stayed silent, and when we reached Dieppe I took myself off to buy the supplies I would need. I had been lucky to find this ship: most of the captains I spoke to spat laconically as soon as England was mentioned.
Now, as the deck filled with people, I found myself standing next to a man who said he was a wool merchant, but who stood in the posture of a soldier, his hand on his hip near where his sword would be. He was friendly enough, though, and had taken to identifying the sights as we passed each one.
‘The Isle of Dogs.’ He pointed to yet another expanse of marsh. ‘And over here, Greenwich Palace.’ I made out a series of ruined buildings amongst the trees. ‘It does not look so very much, now,’ he admitted. ‘Like all the royal palaces it was much abused in - that is, during recent times.’
‘During the Commonwealth, you mean.^’
The man gave me a sideways look. ‘Aye.’
‘And what are those?’ I pointed to some tall white poles, like ships’ masts, festooned with coloured ribbons.
‘Those are maypoles, reintroduced by the king’s command, so that the common folk can join in the revels.’
‘I don’t see anyone revelling.’
He shrugged. ‘Some of his subjects have not yet reconciled themselves to the king’s return from exile. They will come round eventually’
Now a building I guessed must be the Tower of London came into view on our right, a squat white castle surrounded by fortifications and bristling with armed soldiers. But my attention was
«
drawn to what lay beyond it: a vast meadow of desecration, nearly a mile long and half a mile deep, strewn with rubble and cinderheaps and weeds. New buildings were going up, but they stood cheek-by-jowl with the blackened skeletons of older ones, gutted by fire. My companion eyed it all curiously, remarking on some changes here and there, but otherwise made no comment. It was, clearly, nothing new to him.
I remembered the words of another of those who had briefed me, a minor intelligencer to whom Lionne had tossed me once our business was complete. Of course they have been punished for their heresies: punished by God, with civil war, plague and fire. Perhaps they have learnt their lesson now. Perhaps not. The man waved his hand dismissively. Oh, you will find them industrious enough - they believe in hard work, these Protestants: religiously, one might almost say, although what glory there can possibly be, to God or anyone else, in rebuilding that muddy puddle of plague-infested ooze remains to be seen . . .
Plague-infested. I did not fear fire, but London’s infamous pestilence was a different matter. Automatically I crossed myself, then wished I had not. My companion’s eyes had gone to my chest, following the gesture, and although he said nothing he looked suddenly thoughtful. Ah welclass="underline" it could hardly be a secret that an ItaUan, lately come from France, might be a Catholic. Or perhaps the man had noticed my missing finger. But it seemed to me that from then on he watched me rather more warily.
The Great Bridge was ahead of us now. Made of stone and lined with houses, it was larger than any in Paris or Florence. Constrained by massive mill wheels on either side, the river rushed through the central arch as if through a giant spout, and although a few wherries from upstream nonchalantly shot the rapids, to the accompaniment of shouts and yells from their
passengers, it was clearly going to be impossible for our own boat to go any farther.
As the crew tied up at a nearby jetty, my companion nudged me and pointed upwards. ‘See that.^’
At one en'd of the bridge a necessary-house jutted over the water. Squinting up through the rain, I saw a row of half-a-dozen wooden privy seats into which were plopped, like eggs in an eggstand, one pair of male and two pairs of female buttocks. But it was not that lewd display to which the man was referring. Above one of the arches was a row of iron spikes, topped with what looked like rotting cabbages. Only some strands of hair, and a glint of white teeth from one, showed that they were not cabbages at all.
‘Papists,’ the man said pointedly.
Well, perhaps that was true, although I had been told in Paris that one of the heads on display in London was that of Cromwell himself, the Great Usurper, severed from his disinterred body afrer his death. The others, I guessed, had not been so fortunate. Perhaps as a consequence of their recent troubles, the penalty for treason or heresy in England was far worse than mere execution. I could imagine it all too easily - not the pain, for that would be literally unthinkable, but the horror: seeing your own guts pulled from your stomach like silks from a mountebank’s purse, then casually burnt before your eyes, the rain spitting and steaming as it met your innards, the last meal you ever had spilling and recooking as your intestines ruptured on the brazier. And that was before they had begun to saw you into pieces . . .
This time I managed to refrain from crossing myself, although my right hand twitched involuntarily. My companion noticed it and laughed. But he was not laughing maliciously, I saw: rather, having caused me this discomfort, he was laughing to show it had been done in jest. I had been warned of their strange sense of humour.
‘Where are you headed, friend?’ the man asked, clapping me on the shoulder as we walked up the narrow gangway.
‘I am to lodge in Vauxhall, and present myself at court.’
‘Court, is it.^l the man said, clearly impressed. ‘I did wonder. There’s a few of your kind up there.’ He nodded. ‘In that case, we can share transport. I’m going towards Vauxhall myself.’