I’ll give the bishop this much, he merely waved his hand at my threat, as if bored. ‘Take your Ganymede and take the consequences,’ he said. ‘I enjoy punishing sinners. You will be fully punished, I think, for not knowing your place. You are a cook, not a knight. And God hates adultery, cook’s boy.’
I still hadn’t drawn, and I allowed my left hand to caress my hilt. ‘The Emperor thought differently,’ I said. I was ten steps from the Bourc, and my hand went to the door. ‘Send for my horse, my lord,’ I said.
He laughed. ‘You are a bold rascal. You think you can just walk away?’
I looked about me carefully. ‘If you had a dozen men with arbalests wound, I would see the odds as long.’ I met his eyes. ‘But even if you had them, I promise you that the first man to die would be you.’
‘You wouldn’t dare,’ he said easily.
‘Keep telling yourself that. My lord.’ I pushed the solar door open. ‘Come, Marc-Antonio,’ I said, and turned and began to walk towards the bishop on his dais.
Camus, sword drawn, stepped between us.
Three steps from him, I flicked my eyes and saw Marc-Antonio emerge from the solar. I altered course, stepping to the right. Camus turned.
‘Ah, Bourc. He has you leashed and muzzled, like the dog you are!’ I said, and smiled. I licked my lips at him.
Marc-Antonio passed behind me, headed for the door of the great hall.
Camus’s face worked and muscles bulged. I stepped backwards towards the door.
‘You have no idea,’ whispered the Bourc.
In a way, that was more frightening than any other part of the interview.
I backed out the door with my sword still in the scabbard. Because I knew that if I drew, I would kill, and I was old enough to know the consequences.
I heard the bishop laugh. ‘Tell Madame d’Herblay to say her prayers,’ he called. ‘False as Jezebel, doomed to hell. Eternity in hell – for fucking a cook’s boy!’
Camus slammed the oak door in my face.
I went to the stables and got my riding horse, still saddled, thanks to Saint George and Saint John and all the saints. My hands were shaking. In fact, I’ll admit I could scarcely stand, and to this day I’m proud of the badinage I made with that devil, the Bishop. I got Marc-Antonio up behind me, and we rode at a gallop through the streets as if the Legion of Hell was behind us.
As soon as we were through the gate of the Hospital, di Heredia sent for us. He embraced me and sent me to my cell and took Marc-Antonio.
He interrogated my squire for more than two hours. I heard all about it over the next few weeks. He was not kind: he treated Marc-Antonio as if the boy was hostile, an enemy.
Then, without allowing me to see my squire, he sent for me.
‘He bought you?’ di Heredia asked, his voice heavy with contempt.
I shot to my feet. ‘Crap! Merde. Nothing of the kind.’
He spent thirty minutes on me. He told me that Marc-Antonio had turned on me; he told me that I’d promised to kill Father Pierre.
At one point, I wept. It was so unfair and I went from rage to humiliation to anger to sorrow. I was wretched.
In half an hour.
The bells rang for Vespers, and di Heredia put a hand on my shoulder. ‘Come, come, my son. Let us go sing the divine offices.’
I looked up at him.