Leaving Hanno and Thomas in the refectory, I followed the hosteller across a large well-swept courtyard to the Cardinal’s palace, a huge stone building on three storeys that, after the abbey church, was the largest structure in the vicinity. Once inside, I was swiftly shown into the presence of the great man himself.
Cardinal Heribert was enormous – perhaps the fattest man I have ever seen, a mountain of flesh with a baby’s head on top, dusted with light brown hair. I knew that he must be at least fifty, but he had the face of a man half that age. Had it not been for his huge, wobbling bulk, he could almost have been a young fellow of my own generation. When I was shown into his private chamber on the second floor, he was seated in a vast chair by a bay window, wrapped in a scarlet robe but bareheaded, clutching a big goblet of wine in one hand, while stroking a fluffy, white-haired lapdog with the other. I was announced, I bowed, and then went forward to kiss the hand, and the enormous jewelled golden ring squeezed on to his pudgy middle finger, that was extended towards me; it smelled of damp dog.
‘God’s peace be upon you, my son,’ said the Cardinal in a kindly tone. He had a surprisingly high voice for such a large man, and he wheezed slightly when he spoke – but his beady bright blue eyes, sunk deeply in the flesh of his face, glittered with a feverish, cruel intelligence.
‘Thank you, Your Grace, for seeing me,’ I said, releasing his massive, doughy hand and standing straight and tall in front of him. I was wearing my finest clothes – a dark blue tunic, scarlet hose, and soft black kidskin slippers – my jaw-length blond hair had been washed the previous day, and well-combed before dawn, I had been shaved by Thomas and I carried no weapons save for a small eating knife in a sheath at my waist.
‘I can only spare you a few minutes, my son, but I did wish to thank you personally for saving the life of our dear Brother Dominic – may he rest in Heaven. He was a good man called to God before his time. Do you have any knowledge of who it might have been who murdered him?’
‘Your Grace, I must confess that I do not, although I have my suspicions … But I must admit that it is not truly the matter of Brother Dominic’s death that brings me to you today. My name is—’
‘I know who you are,’ the Cardinal interrupted me; his voice had lost its kindly tone and cracked like a rotten branch breaking under a weight of winter snow. ‘And I know what you want. You are Sir Alan Dale – trouvère, former outlaw and liegeman of the Earl of Locksley. I know who your father was, too – that accursed thief Henri d’Alle – and I did not believe even for a moment that you came here to console me for the loss of one elderly monk.’
He glared at me, wheezing slightly in his passion, his tiny blue eyes like chips of smashed glass.
‘Let us speak plainly now, Sir Alan,’ he said, clearly trying to master himself. ‘I know the true reason why you are here today. You have it, do you not? You have that wondrous object that your father stole from me. You have it – and you wish to sell it back to me and make your fortune, that’s your grubby little design, is it not, you thief-spawned wretch? Tell me now, do not waste any more of my time, what is your price?’
I was stunned by the Cardinal’s words, and utterly bemused by his angry tone. I had to haul my jaw shut to stop myself looking like a straw-chewing yokel.
‘No, Your Grace,’ I stammered. ‘I swear to you, you are quite wrong. I do not wish to sell you anything. I have nothing to sell – nothing; I come to you seeking only information about my father.’
The Cardinal cocked his baby’s head on one side and examined me. For a long moment he remained silent and then he said: ‘Nothing to sell? Nothing?’ He peered at me for a while longer, his glass-chip eyes running up and down the length of my body. ‘Then you truly do not have it? You do not possess the – object.’
I shook my head.
‘I believe you, by Christ’s wounds, I honestly do—’ The Cardinal sounded as if he had surprised himself. ‘You might be the greatest liar in Christendom, and I the greatest fool, but I believe you. You really do not have it, do you?’
‘I do not know what this object is to which you refer.’ I was thinking: another candlestick? Whoever described a candlestick, even a golden one, as wondrous?
‘It leaves a mark, a special mark on all those who possess it – and you have no sign of that, none at all. But tell me: why should I indulge you in this? Why should I help you? You – the son of a man who stole from me; the son of a God-damned thief? I should have you whipped and thrown out of here this instant!’