The Lady Agnes Mystery, Volume 1 (17 page)

‘A fine catch, that Hugues de Souarcy, to be sure!'

‘It was no doubt preferable in the lady's eyes to wed him than be bedded by her wicked brother.'

‘How do you know all this?'

‘I am your Bailiff, my Lord. It is my task, my duty and my privilege to keep my “big ears” – as Julienne calls them – open in order to serve you.'

‘And I am grateful to you for it.'

C
lément had spent the last few days trying to decipher the coded message he had copied out. He had gone through every possible combination, varying the pattern, beginning with the first word of each psalm, then realigning his transcription by moving along a few words or lines. But to no avail. He had a nagging suspicion: what if he was wrong and Mabile had used a different book? But if so, which one? The few there were at Souarcy were mostly in Latin, and Clément was sure Mabile had no notion of that language reserved for erudite people. Given that piety was hardly the servant’s main virtue, she could have chosen something more suited to her, a work in French that would be more easily accessible. Where was she hiding it? Agnès was keeping the scoundrel occupied as they had planned earlier that morning.

When Clément walked into the kitchen, Adeline was sweeping the ashes out of the big hearth.

‘I’m looking for Mabile,’ he lied,

‘She’s with our lady.’

‘Well, in that case I’ll keep you company while I wait for her. Chatting lightens chores.’

‘That’s very true.’

‘You work hard and our lady is pleased with you.’

Adeline looked up, blushing.

‘She’s a good person.’

‘Yes, she is. Unlike … Well, sometimes I have the feeling Mabile isn’t very nice to you.’

The girl’s usually flaccid lips puckered.

‘She’s a nasty piece of work.’

‘To be sure.’

Adeline became emboldened, adding:

‘She’s like a boil on the backside, she is! Only I tell you one thing and that is you can prick a boil and it’ll stop hurting. She thinks she’s so high and mighty, with all her simpering … Just because she’s being …’

Adeline froze suddenly and her eyes darted anxiously towards Clément. She had spoken out of turn and felt afraid suddenly of Mabile’s possible retribution.

‘Just because she’s being tupped by her former master it doesn’t give her the right to lord it over the rest of us,’ Clément concluded to make the girl feel at ease. ‘This will be our secret.’

Adeline’s broad face lit up with a smile of relief and she nodded.

‘What’s more, she puts on airs and graces just because she can read a little,’ Clément continued.

‘Yes. Well, I don’t need to read to know how to prepare a dish. Whereas she … She’s always got her nose stuck in that meat recipe book of hers just to show off. She is a good cook, mind you, it’s just that …’

‘So she uses a meat recipe book, does she!’ exclaimed Clément. ‘And there I was thinking she knew it all herself …’

‘No, she cheats!’ affirmed Adeline. ‘But not me. It’s all in here, in my head, not in some book!’

‘Well! I’d be interested to know if that’s where she got the recipe for the sauce she made to go with the rack of wild boar, which so impressed the Comte d’Authon. For if she copied it from someone, then the compliments shouldn’t go to her.’

‘That’s the honest truth,’ agreed Adeline, pleased with herself.
‘Only she never lets that recipe book out of her sight in case anyone discovers her deception. She hides it in her room!’

‘By Jove she doesn’t!’

‘She does,’ Adeline assured him, puffed up by a sudden sense of her own importance, and with a glint in her eye she added:

‘But I know where she keeps it.’

‘I
thought
you were a crafty one!’

‘I am, too. It’s under her mattress.’

Clément stayed chatting with the girl for a while longer and then stood up to leave.

The door had scarcely closed behind him before he raced upstairs to the servants’ quarters. He only had a few minutes left before Agnès would be forced to release Mabile, who was surely astonished by the sudden interest her mistress was showing in her.

He immediately found the recipe book hidden where Adeline had told him. There was some writing on the first page: ‘Copied from Monsieur Debray, chef to his most gracious and powerful majesty Sire Louis VIII, the Lion King.’

The boy paused. Should he replace the book and wait until Mabile was absent again in order to compare it with the text of the message, or should he take it? Time was running out and he chose the second solution. If Mabile noticed it was gone before he had a chance to return it, she would no doubt accuse Adeline. Agnès would then need to protect the poor girl from the servant’s wrath.

He climbed silently back up to his eaves and set to work at once. He must be quick. The conflict was steadily becoming clearer. He must return to the secret library at Clairets Abbey to try to throw light on another mystery: the notebook of the Knight Eustache de Rioux.

C
ardinal Honorius Benedetti was deathly pale. Although he found the heat so insufferable, he was chilled to the bone.

Nicolas Boccasini, Benoît XI, lay gasping as he clutched the prelate’s fingers with his clammy hand.

The front of his white robe was disappearing under the blood-streaked vomit. All night long he had been racked by griping pains, leaving him exhausted by the early morning. Arnaud de Villeneuve* – one of the century’s most eminent doctors, whose ideas were a little too reformist for the Inquisition’s liking – had not left his bedside. His diagnosis had been immediate: the Pope was dying from poisoning and no antidote other than prayer could save him. Thus, without holding out much hope they had tried fumigating with incense, praying, and Monsieur de Villeneuve had been against bleeding, whose ineffectiveness in cases of poisoning was well known since the time of Monsieur Galen.

Benoît made a feeble but impatient gesture signalling that he wished to be left alone with his Cardinal. Before he left the dying Pope’s chambers, Villeneuve turned to the prelate and murmured in a voice trembling with emotion:

‘Your Eminence will have understood the nature of yesterday’s mysterious drowsiness.’

Honorius looked at him, puzzled. The practitioner continued:

‘You were drugged and, judging from your disorientation and encumbered speech in the afternoon, I would wager it was with opium powder. Somebody needed you out of the way in order to reach His Holiness.’

Honorius closed his eyes and crossed himself.

‘There was nothing you could have done, Your Eminence. These accursed poisoners always achieve their ends. I regret it from the very depths of my soul.’

Arnaud de Villeneuve then left the two men to their final exchange.

Benoît had heard nothing of this monologue. Death was in his chamber and deserved his full attention in the company of the only friend he had found in this palace that was too vast, too onerous.

The room was filled with a strange sickly-sweet odour – the odour of the dying man’s breath. His end was approaching and with it a miraculous release.

‘My brother …’

The voice was so frail that Honorius was obliged to bend over the Holy Father, fighting off the tears he had been holding back for hours.

‘Your Holiness …’

Benoît shook his head in frustration.

‘No … brother …’

‘My brother?’

A smile played across the dying man’s cracked lips:

‘Yes, your brother. That is all I wished to be … Do not suffer. It was inevitable and I have no fear. Bless me, my brother, my friend. The figs … What day is it today?’

‘The seventh of July.’

Soon after the extreme unction performed by his friend and confidant, the Pope sank into a coma punctuated by delirium.

‘… the almond trees at Ostia, how wonderful they were … Every year a little girl would offer me a basketful … I was so fond of them … She must be a mother now … I join You, my
Lord … It was a mistake … I tried to do my best, to foresee as best I could … The Light, behold the Light, It bathes me … Unto God, gentle brother.’

Nicolas Boccasini’s hand gripped Honorius’s fingers then suddenly relaxed, leaving the Cardinal cold and alone in the world.

There was a last sigh.

Eternal sorrow, infinite tears. Choking with sobs, Honorius Benedetti fell forward until his brow was resting on the large red stain soiling the deceased Pope’s chest.

He trembled for a long moment against the torso of his dead brother before managing to stand up to go and notify the people crammed into the anteroom where a deathly hush reigned.

D
awn was breaking, pushing back the night. Clément had not slept for two days. His head was spinning with exhaustion, or was it the euphoria of success?

A thought suddenly occurred to him that tempered his complacency. The poisonous snake! In those few lines he had transcribed from the message Vigil was carrying when he was pierced by an arrow was all the hatred and jealousy in the world. The venom was concealed in one of Mabile’s famously delicious recipes for broad bean purée.

Eudes and Mabile had made no effort of imagination, beginning their code with the first letter of the first line.

The deciphered text made Clément shudder with horror. Following the details of his birth, his lack of a surname, godmother and godfather, were the wicked words:

The evil scoundrel. She was lying shamelessly in order to please her master. Another more likely reason suddenly occurred to Clément. She was lying in order to hurt him, and also to take revenge. Eudes’s deep-rooted hatred of his half-sister was so confused, so mixed up with his unrequited love and unsatisfied
desire. He wanted Agnès to grovel even as he continued to believe that, were it not for their blood ties, she would have loved him more than anyone. Mabile was aware of this. Her hatred was keen and merciless, like the blade of a knife.

Clément waited another hour before stealing down to his mistress’s chamber to inform her of his discovery.

Seated on her bed, the lady studied him. A flush of anger had gradually replaced the pallor on her face when she learnt the contents of the message.

‘I’ll unmask her and throw her out on her ear. I’ll give her a good thrashing!’

‘I understand your anger, Madame, but it would be a mistake.’

‘She accuses me of …’

‘Of sharing your chaplain’s bed, indeed.’

‘It is a crime, not a mere error of judgement.’

‘I am well aware of that.’

‘Do you realise what would become of me if anyone were to give credence to this monstrous calumny?’

‘You would lose your dower.’

‘And more than that! Brother Bernard is not a man, he is a priest. I would be dragged before the courts, accused of demonically driving a man of God to commit the sin of sensual pleasure. In short, of being a succubus. And you know what fate is reserved for them.’

‘The stake.’

‘After everything else.’

She fell silent for a few moments before continuing:

‘Eudes is expecting this message. How many more has he received from the loyal Vigil since he offered him to me? No matter. The pigeon is dead and we have no way of replacing Mabile’s original note. Worse still, I cannot even rid myself of
her without rousing my half-brother’s suspicions. What am I to do, Clément?’

‘Kill her,’ he proposed, with great solemnity. Agnès looked at him aghast:

‘What are you saying?’

‘I can kill her. It is simple; there are so many plants I could use. I would not be guilty of committing a capital sin since she is not a human being but a snake.’

‘Have you lost your senses? I forbid it. Killing is only justified when one’s life is threatened.’

‘She is a threat to us. She threatens your life, and therefore mine.’

‘No. You will not taint your soul. Do you hear me? It is an order. If anyone is to send that witch to her damnation, it should be me.’

Clément lowered his head and murmured:

‘I refuse. I refuse to let you be damned. I will obey you, Madame, as I always obey, just to please you.’

Damnation? She had lived with the possibility for so long that she had ended up no longer fearing it.

‘Clément. There must be some other defence against his evil. I need precise information about the state of Monsieur de Larnay’s mines. I will give the order to saddle a horse for you. Our draught animals do not go very fast, but the journey will be less tiring for you and its imposing physique will deter brigands.’

They were running short of time.

Returning to her room that evening, Mabile discovered sooner than expected that her recipe book was missing. She charged to the end of the passageway leading to the servants’ quarters, and burst into Adeline’s chamber like a fury. The evil woman set
upon Adeline’s sleeping form, tearing at her hair and punching her.

The portly girl tried to scream, but a brutal hand clamped itself over her mouth and she felt the tip of a knife pricking her neck and a voice growled in her ear:

‘Where is it, pig? Where’s my recipe book? Give it to me now! If you cry out, I’ll skin you alive. Do you hear me?’

‘I haven’t got it, I haven’t got it, I swear on the Gospel! I didn’t take it,’ squealed Adeline.

‘Who did then? Quick, out with it, you ugly cow, my patience is wearing thin.’

‘It must’ve been Clément. He was asking me where you kept it – the recipe book, I mean! So I told him, I did.’

‘A pox on that sneak of a boy!’

Mabile’s thoughts were racing. She had been careless. They had certainly found the message meant for Eudes de Larnay – contrary to what she had believed so as to put her mind at rest. No doubt knowing that she would try to recover the dead pigeon, that loathsome dwarf had placed it in the Dame de Souarcy’s chamber for her to find. The missing recipe book showed he had discovered the nature of the code and probably already deciphered it.

She must leave the manor. Agnès had sufficient reason to demand her punishment.

Why did that miserable bastard always triumph? And why did Clément love her so much that he was prepared to risk Mabile’s vengeance? And Gilbert? And the others? Why?

A sudden calm came over Mabile. Up until then she thought she had hated the Dame de Souarcy, but she hadn’t. She had been content merely to hurt her. True hatred, the hatred that destroys
everything, was only just beginning. It drove her and nothing could withstand it. It eclipsed all fear, all remorse.

Adeline was still sobbing as the tip of the knife pulled away from her neck.

‘Listen to me carefully, you little fool! I’m going back to my room. If I so much as hear you move before dawn or raise the alarm, you’re dead. Do you understand? Wet the bed if you have to, but I don’t want to hear a sound!’

The girl nodded her head frantically.

Mabile left the tiny chamber. She only had a few hours’ head start to put a distance between her and Agnès de Souarcy’s men.

Agnès was not surprised to learn the news of Mabile’s disappearance. Even less so was Clément, to whom Adeline had confessed, her face puffy from crying.

‘May she be torn apart by bears,’ Clément began, as they stood in the hay barn where the corpse that the Bailiff’s men had brought back had lain.

‘They, too, are wary of snakes.’

‘Are you thinking of sending some men after her, Madame?’

‘She has several hours’ head start and they won’t catch up with her on our draught horses. And even if they did find her, what would I do with her? Remember, she is my half-brother’s property. I would be obliged to hand her over in order for him to mete out justice.’

‘Indeed, we would do better to let her roam in the forest. Adeline said she must have left in a great hurry. She took very little food with her and even less water and clothing. Who knows …?’

‘Do not hope for miracles, Clément.’

‘Then the war is at our gates.’

Agnès ran her fingers through the child’s hair, and murmured in a voice so weary it startled him:

‘You have summed up our situation admirably. Leave me now, I need to think.’

He appeared to hesitate, but did as she had asked.

Agnès climbed the stairs to her quarters, her limbs weighed down by an immeasurable fatigue. No sooner had she closed the door than the façade of self-control she had kept up for Clément’s sake fell away. If Mabile managed to spread her poisonous lies, Eudes would believe them or pretend to give them credence. If her half-brother then concluded that the irregularities in the chapel register regarding Clément’s birth and Sybille’s death were designed to conceal Sybille’s heresy, Agnès was lost. Her supposed crimes would be brought before the Inquisition. Choked with sobs, she slumped to her knees on the stone floor.

What would she do – what could she do? Her mind was flooded with questions, each more insoluble than the last.

What would become of Clément? He would be handed over to the Baron de Larnay – unless she managed to convince him to flee. He would never leave without her – she would force him. Above all, he must not suspect the danger Agnès faced, or he would cling to her in the hope of saving her, forgetting about his youth, the circumstances of his birth and what he knew he must conceal.

And what of Mathilde? Mathilde must be protected – but where could she send her? The Abbess of Clairets might take her in for a while. But if Agnès were accused of having incited a priest to commit concubinage, she would be stripped of her dower and her parental rights …

A garbled prayer came from her lips:

‘I beg you, Lord! Do not punish them for my sins. Do what You will with me, only spare them for they are innocent.’

How long did she cry like that? She had no idea. She fought against the exhaustion that made her eyelids heavy.

Fear will not save you from being bitten, my dear, on the contrary.

Agnès’s fury roused her and she castigated herself.

Stop this at once!

Stand up! Who do you think you are, grovelling like this! If you falter, they will pounce on you and rip you to shreds like the hounds their quarry.

If you falter, they will take Clément and Mathilde, your name and your estate. Think of what they will do to Clément.

If you falter, you will have deserved your fate and you will be responsible for what befalls the child.

Growl more fiercely, raise your ears and tail, and bare your teeth to ward off the dangers that threaten you.

Fight.