The Seal(115)

‘My equerries . . . ?’ The count nodded his head slowly. ‘You put my equerries in their way?’

‘In the most subtle manner.’

The other man sniffed. ‘But with what aim, Plaisians?’

‘With the aim that soon the world shall hear of it – the King’s sons are cuckold! The lovers of their wives will then be drawn and quartered and their heads shall be hung on gibbets and their tongues sold to the sorcerers.’

‘And my brother’s daughters-in-law shall lie in prison for life, or else die by the axe . . .’ It was obvious that a light was lit in the count’s vacuous head because he said very slowly, ‘And the King’s sons shall be left without heirs . . . !’

‘Most astute, Count! Now, look at your nephews: Louis is weak and hollow-chested, Philippe is thin, and Charles shall certainly succumb to . . . some terrible disease . . . Many uncles have been known to outlive their nephews . . . especially when there are no heirs to the throne . . .’

‘Yes . . . especially so.’ The count sniffed with his blocked nose and smiled as a wicked realisation dawned over his puffy features. ‘But . . . what shall you get quid pro quo, Plaisians?’

‘There is the matter of elevation . . .’

‘Yes. And further?’

‘If you should become king, it would be my pleasure to serve you as Keeper of the Royal Seals.’

The count frowned. ‘But Nogaret lives?’

‘There you have illustrated my point! He lives, but as Horace tells us, dear Count, one night awaits us all.’

‘I do not know if I wish to kill him . . .’

‘Well, shall we say that Nogaret was not so perturbed when your wife died, providing him with an advantageous lure which he used to tempt Jacques de Molay to remain in France.’

Charles looked at this and shrugged. ‘I was not myself much perturbed by it.’

‘No . . . however, I shall tell you that he also conspires with Marigny against you.’

‘Does he?’ There was a sudden note, the beginnings of fear in the count’s voice. ‘Does he conspire with that weasel?’

‘Of course . . . you are an important man, they fear your power. They poison the King’s ear . . . they convince him that you are conspiring against him.’

‘They do? Oh my Lord!’ The count was flustered now and biting his thumb. ‘He shall believe that I am conspiring against him, my own brother!’

‘The thing is, Count . . . you are conspiring against the King . . .’

‘I am?’

‘Of course! And for this very reason you must show Nogaret no mercy.’

‘No, I must not . . .’ He was lost in this thought, then: ‘But how will you do it? How will Nogaret succumb?’

There was a smile. ‘Nogaret burns oil when he stays up late at night working; the oil is scented to make his work more pleasant. It is said that he uses more than a bottle a week . . .’

‘And?’

‘And . . . he always buys his oil from a shop in the St Eustace quarter.’

‘Yes . . . so?’

De Plaisians knew the count to be lacking in estimative capacities, but even a donkey would have discerned his intentions. He looked at the man patiently. ‘We shall poison the oil, monsieur. It will be a long painful death full of hallucinations and the calls of devils.’

The count, a man who dreaded his own end, seemed to find something not so displeasing in another’s misfortune. ‘Brilliant!’ Then his face clouded over. ‘But what of my brother? He may live till he is a hundred . . . have you thought of that, Plaisians?’

‘I predict that heaven has only a short time allocated to him.’

The other man’s ignoble eyes became round with surprise. ‘How do you know?’

‘He is unwell . . . the six court doctors all agree. Tremors . . . a condition of the corpus nervus, perhaps due to substances administered by his astrologer . . . a poisoning of the source, like a tree whose roots are poisoned by degrees, loses firstly the leaves then the branches, then the rest. A sign that the body, or perhaps the mind, is diseased. Tertian fevers . . . the black biles . . . the bloody flux . . . madness . . . Tell me, Count, what is your pleasure?’

‘Madness . . .’ said the count, as if the word tasted good in his mouth. ‘And a cure?’

‘Tinctures, infusions, potions . . . draughts . . . and finally the dragons.’

‘Dragons?’

‘Snakes.’

The count narrowed his eyes in the gloom. ‘Not even I know of snakes – how comes it that you are so well informed?’

‘The astrologer is disgraced and fears for his life. He absconded from the castle weeks ago and has not been seen since, except by me. He looks for any advantage.’