‘… dead,’ Fra di Heredia said. ‘I believe that this was to have held her heart.’
I was shaking.
Fra Juan leaned forward. He spoke very slowly, as if I was a child, and very quietly. ‘These are bad men, even by my standards, Sir William. And very, very powerful men.’ He put a hand on my shoulder. ‘Their intention was to force you to meet with them. To turn you to their will.’
A small area of the parchment was legible, and in neat copyist’s Latin it said, ‘meet’ and then ‘To your advantage’ and later ‘unfortunate’.
‘This wasn’t the first letter,’ I said heavily.
Fra Juan pursed his lips. ‘No,’ he said. ‘There was a letter the same day you left. And when you did not attend their meeting, they meant to kill her.’ He looked at me.
‘You are killing me, my lord. Is she alive?’ I asked.
‘And very far away.’ Heredia nodded. ‘You owe me for this – understand?’
I fell to my knees, as the Order’s spymaster no doubt intended. But I didn’t care. I didn’t care that he had two mistresses and more ambition than the entire college of cardinals.
‘I took her from them. It is not important how.’ He shrugged, and in his long, ascetic Spanish face I saw a man as dangerous as any I had known. He permitted himself a small smile of satisfaction, and then the smile was gone. His eyes were bland – and blank. ‘I like you, Sir William. We have many things in common. You owe me one. That is all, except that the Bishop of Geneva means our legate harm, and this was but a small battle in that war.’ The Spanish knight tapped his teeth with his thumb. ‘Do not, I pray, offer this man or his minions any more hostages.’ He leaned back. ‘How is my … nephew?’ he asked.
At the time, I barely noticed his hesitation. ‘An excellent man, my lord, and ready for knighthood.’
‘Ah!’ Fra Juan nodded. ‘It is that time – indeed, the Crusade is a noble occasion. Thank you for the reminder.’
I went to my cell, lay full length on the cold floor, and prayed.
When I went down to eat with my brothers, I felt better, and that lasted for some hours, until I realised that Marc-Antonio was missing.
The Hospital was almost empty of knights and donats and even mercenary men-at-arms. They were all headed to Venice for the Passagium Generale and any knight worthy of his habit was with them except di Heredia, who was the Pope’s commander in Avignon.
I went to him first, instead of running through the streets like a fool.
‘I will send a message,’ he said. He looked at me. ‘Expect the worst.’
With the Bourc and d’Herblay, the worst was bad indeed. ‘I will kill them,’ I said. ‘The Bourc Camus.’ I paused. ‘The Comte d’Herblay.’
Di Heredia shrugged. ‘Just do not ask my permission,’ he said. ‘I command you not to leave the environs of the Hospital.’
While I fretted in my cell and tried to pray, I realised a number of things. I realised that Emile was a Savoyard, and that she lived somewhere in the debatable counties between Geneva and Burgundy. Her husband had served with the Savoyards at Brignais.
Her husband, who hated her, and knew the Bourc Camus.
Yet even in my panic, and as I began to understand the power of the coalition against Father Pierre and how I could be used against him, I was deep in panic. Still, I knew that Emile was a practical woman with a talent for controlling her husband. And that she would not have a will that would allow him a brass farthing if she were kidnapped and killed. I had to credit her with that much sense.