‘Not long.’
‘Oh? I assumed you had known him for some time.’
Baderon shook his head. ‘Until recently I knew him only by repute.’ He laughed. ‘Lord Gawain hasn’t shown much interest in the world of the troubadour before now.’
Swallowing hard, Elise gazed past Baderon’s shoulder at a line of poplars on the horizon.
‘Courtly love,’ Baderon continued, ‘and all that entails never interested him until this summer. You must mean much to him.’
Involuntarily, forgetting Baderon could not see her, Elise gave a swift head shake. ‘That’s not true. He’s helping me because—’
Baderon snorted. ‘Holy Mother, Elise, the man’s given you a manor! He must think well of you.’
Elise took a deep breath. If only that were true. The fact that Gawain had given her the manor proved how little he understood her. How could he think well of her if he didn’t understand her?
However, she didn’t want to argue—not when Baderon was going out of his way to help her. ‘Where will we stop tonight?’
‘I’m hoping we’ll reach the Haywain. We can pass the night there. The innkeeper will be able to tell us if he’s seen André.’
* * *
‘Have I seen another lute-player?’ A wide grin spread across the innkeeper’s face. ‘As a matter of fact, we were lucky enough to have a visit from one of your calling a few nights back. It was a lively night.’ He looked expectantly at Baderon. ‘Are you of a mind to entertain us too, monsieur?’
Elise felt herself relax as relief flooded through her. They were on the right track! ‘Excuse me, landlord,’ she asked, ‘did you get the lute-player’s name?’
The landlord scratched his nose. ‘Anton, I think it was. No, wait a moment, it was André, yes, André.’ His brow puckered. ‘He hailed from somewhere in the south.’
‘Poitiers?’
‘That’s the place.’
‘Monsieur, André is a dear friend and it’s vital I find him. I don’t suppose he mentioned where in Provins he was headed?’
The landlord smiled. ‘As a matter of fact, he did. He was trying to find a friend of his, name of Jerome. I know Jerome of old. He’s the son of a wine merchant—the same wine merchant who supplies most of the inns along the Provins road.’
Elise exchanged glances with Baderon. ‘Where might I find this Jerome?’
‘In Provins lower town. The family have lodgings over the Sun Inn—it’s next to the church of Saint Ayoul. Ask there and you’ll soon find your friend.’
Elise released her breath in a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you, landlord, that is most helpful.’
The landlord turned his attention back to Baderon. ‘Will you play for us, monsieur?’
Baderon’s eyes danced. ‘For the right inducements, I might. You’ll throw in our board and lodging?’
‘Naturally.’
Baderon looked expectantly at Elise. ‘Elise, what about you? Will you sing?’
Elise was hot and tired, but discovering the name of the man that André was looking for was invigorating. Jerome. The son of a wine merchant who lives over the Sun Inn. She pulled her travel-stained gown away from her body with a grimace. ‘Aye, provided I can refresh myself first.’ She smiled at the landlord. ‘Please tell me you have a bathhouse.’
‘We do indeed.’ The landlord swept them a bow worthy of royalty. ‘Madame, monsieur, you are most welcome.’
* * *
The next day, Elise and Baderon continued on the main highway. They stopped at the Four Princes on the second night and again they sang for their supper. And again they learned that André had trod the same path and that when he had left the Four Princes, he had taken the road to Provins.
The day after that, the wooden fortifications of Provins hove into sight. A brace of towers flanked the main gates to the lower town. The grass on the margins of the approach road was brown, desiccated by weeks of scorching sun. Butterflies hovered hopefully over wilting wildflowers—poppies, clover, cornflowers. Baderon and Elise clopped through the gate, nodding at a guard whose face was as brown as a nut.
‘We’ll go straight to the Sun Inn,’ Elise said.
‘Very well.’ Baderon twisted round in the saddle to look at her. ‘Are you of a mind to sing again?’
Elise grimaced, rubbing her thigh with the heel of her hand. ‘Not tonight.’
‘You’ve enough money? I can help you if—’
‘Thank you, but I have money.’ Elise had the fee from the Harvest Banquet. She also had some bezants her father had given her before he died. They were pure gold and she’d tucked them into the bottom of her purse. She had been saving them for Pearl, but she’d happily part with them if they helped bring André back in one piece.
Elise took note of the lie of the land as they rode into the lower town. The streets were very like those in Troyes, narrow and lined with wooden houses. House martins’ nests clung beneath the eaves; smoke curled through roofs and louvres; geese honked; cartwheels rumbled. Some of the streets ran sharply uphill. Higher up, she could see stone fortifications, the top of a tower. She looked at Baderon. ‘I assume that’s the castle?’
Baderon nodded.
Elise wasn’t sure how open she could be with Baderon. He knew she was looking for André, but so far she hadn’t breathed a word about counterfeiters. She would have liked to tell him everything, but she had a strong suspicion that if she mentioned the fakers, he would refuse to go on helping her. Still, she had a name—Jerome—and Gabrielle had mentioned the caves. Apparently, everyone knew about the Provins caves, she could surely ask him about them.
‘And the caves? Do you know where they are?’
‘They’re everywhere in the town. A network of tunnels runs under the streets.’
Gripping Baderon’s waist, Elise found herself staring at the dusty ground. ‘They’re beneath the streets?’ She had assumed the caves would be some way from the actual town, but beneath the streets?
‘For the most part the townsfolk rent them out to foreign merchants. They use them for surplus stock and as lockups for their goods between trade fairs.’
Elise’s heart sank. ‘How many caves are there?’
‘I’ve never seen them myself, but I was told it’s an underground maze. There’s an entire network cut into the chalk. Why the interest?’
‘I...I am not sure exactly. A friend suggested I find out about the caves. But I am afraid of asking about them too closely in case...’ Her voice trailed off. If André was mixed up with fraudsters and they were using these caves as their headquarters, she didn’t want her questions to put him in danger. ‘Baderon, we need to be discreet.’
Baderon grunted. ‘The landlord at the Sun Inn will surely know about the caves. And so will this Jerome if his father is a wine merchant.’
* * *
The Sun Inn lay in the shadow of St Ayoul. Leaving Magpie in the stable, they went inside.
The inn was busy and the landlord so surrounded by customers it was impossible to claim his attention for long. Once they’d managed to secure a place for the night, Elise went straight to the heart of the matter.
‘Landlord, we are looking for a friend. André de Poitiers. Have you seen him?’
‘Never heard of him.’
‘Then what of Jerome? I believe his father is a wine merchant with lodgings here.’
‘Jerome? Haven’t seen him lately, but I will ask about for you.’
‘Thank you, monsieur.’
Elise and Baderon elbowed their way to a table, and after a short wait a serving boy brought them a jug of wine. The wine jug was half-empty by the time the boy returned with a platter of chicken and onions.
‘You want to speak to Jerome, ma demoiselle?’ the boy asked. ‘He is not here at present, but if you
are prepared to offer something in the way of a pourboire, I am sure something might be arranged.’ His fingers wiggled under Elise’s nose, and she slipped him a coin. The boy’s teeth flashed white in the lamplight and the coin vanished. ‘He’ll meet you by the market cross in the lower market. At noon. The market cross at noon. Come alone, ma demoiselle.’
Baderon made a sharp movement as though to catch the boy’s arm, but he twisted like an eel and vanished in the direction of the cookhouse. ‘I don’t like it,’ Baderon muttered, swearing softly. ‘Why the devil can’t he meet both of us? I’m coming with you.’
Elise hesitated. If only Gabrielle had been able to tell her more. She didn’t know why, but her instincts were telling her that the mystery of André’s disappearance would be solved if only she could speak to Jerome. ‘Baderon, I have to talk to this man. I have to. André must have been coming here, yet the landlord hasn’t seen him. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?’ She felt a prickling sensation, shivery fingers trailing down her back despite the heat. She took Baderon by the hand. ‘I have to go. And if Jerome wants me to go alone, that’s what I shall do. You would do the same if André was your friend, I’m sure.’
Baderon sighed into his wine. ‘Very well. Take heed though. I shall be watching you—following you every step of the way. Agreed?’
She bit her lip. ‘You’ll be discreet? You won’t let him see you?’
‘Elise, I have some intelligence. Naturally I’ll be discreet.’
* * *
At noon, Provins lower town was so busy that the market square didn’t seem big enough. The townsfolk pushed and shoved, flowing past the market cross like a stream running round an island. The sun beat down on everyone’s heads, as relentless and blinding as it had been these many days. The tang of overheated bodies hung in the air. Ducks quacked. Goats bleated. The cheese on one of the stalls, though shaded by a thick awning, looked sweaty. It was surely on the point of melting.
Elise eyed the sun. The bells of Saint Ayoul had chimed the hour some time since. Jerome was late. Irritably, she plucked at the neck of her gown. There was no shade by the market cross. She was melting along with the cheeses. Baderon was lounging against a house a few yards away, in the shade, lucky thing. Elise hadn’t looked at him once since she’d come to stand by the cross, nor would she, but she was aware of him and grateful for his watching presence.
‘Ma demoiselle?’
A young man broke free of the heaving crowd and nodded at her. ‘You are the young lady who wishes to speak to Jerome?’
‘Yes, I—’
Hand on his heart, the young man executed a bow worthy of the Paris court. Oddly, his smile had cold fingers skittering down the back of Elise’s neck.
‘Permit me to introduce myself,’ he said, smoothly. ‘My name is Jerome. My father and I have been importing wine from Burgundy for many years. Count Henry is one of our most valued customers.’
Count Henry had vineyards of his own, but Elise knew it was likely he bought other wines, so she simply nodded. She shivered. This young man—Jerome—seemed perfectly civilised. He was unusually personable with his neatly cut tawny hair and amber eyes, but she didn’t warm to him.
‘You are searching for your friend André, I believe? This way, ma demoiselle.’
Jerome set off, diving in and out of the townsfolk as they cleared the market square. Elise followed as he ducked into one alley and then another. Lord, Provins was a maze. Thank God for Baderon, she thought. If not for him, she doubted that she’d have the courage to follow Jerome. The street began sloping upwards, which likely meant they were headed for the upper town. When the stone ramparts of Count Henry’s castle came into view above them, Elise knew she had guessed aright. The street narrowed as the way got steeper. Jerome paused and looked back at her.
‘Walking is hot work this summer,’ he said, smiling.
Elise’s skin crawled. Every instinct was telling her that the less time she spent with Jerome the better, but she couldn’t walk away. ‘Indeed.’ Elise swallowed and managed to smile back. She thought about André.
A lichen-encrusted wall rose up on her left, curving along with the rising street. Widely spaced steps took them higher. They were yet some way from the top when Jerome halted at a door in the wall. It had thick iron hinges.
‘The entrance to our vaults, ma demoiselle.’
A clump of ivy, crisp and brown through lack of rain, trailed along the cracks at their feet. Jerome produced two large keys. The lock grated and the door swung inwards. Elise’s pulse began to thud. Several steps ran down into a gloomy cavern.
‘Ma demoiselle, the family cellar.’
Elise felt her throat work. It came to her that if she went into the cave with Jerome, she might never come out again. On impulse she ran her hand round the back of her neck, lifting her hair as if to cool herself. She cast a swift look down towards the lower town. The street was empty.
Where was Baderon? Holy Virgin, had he lost her? With the press of people in the market square and the crooked route they had taken, it was entirely possible. In a flash of inspiration, she hooked her fingers around the cord of her enamel pendant.
‘Saints, but it’s hot.’ She forced another smile.
The young man’s eyes gleamed as he looked at her and she was put in mind of a cat toying with its prey. ‘It’s cool in the caves, ma demoiselle. You will find it a welcome change, I am sure.’
Elise took a deep breath. ‘Lead on, sir.’
She saw him glance down the street—it remained deserted—and jerked hard on the cord of her pendant. It came away easily. Dropping it at the foot of the wall, she shifted her foot and nudged it into the sunlight. God willing, Baderon was on her tail. He would see it.
‘After you, ma demoiselle.’
Elise started down the steps. A shaft of light lit up a vast empty space that was edged with grey shadows. Round stone pillars held up the ceiling. As Elise’s eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness, she saw faint glimmers of light filtering in through vents in the top of the walls. If someone had told her she was descending into the hall of a dwarf king, she wouldn’t have been surprised. Her heart thumped. Her breath quickened. Though large, it felt very enclosed. Her skin seemed to shrink.
A hiss and a flicker of light made her turn. Jerome had a torch. She watched him push the door shut and heard the crack of a bolt being shot home.
They were shut in! Every muscle in Elise’s body seemed to freeze. She found herself humming the Magnificat. ‘My soul doth magnify the Lord...’ The nuns had chanted it daily in the convent and though Elise wasn’t made for convent life, though she found the life there restricting, she had found solace in the chanting. I am here for André, she reminded herself. I am here for André.
Jerome came down the steps. ‘This way, ma demoiselle.’
He disappeared into an archway hewn from the bowels of the earth, leaving Elise with no choice but to follow him. She didn’t want to be left in the empty hall alone. She chanted softly under her breath. ‘Glory be to the Father...’ It took her mind from her fear.
They entered a tunnel where the wavering torchlight gleamed on ochre-coloured walls that were flecked with white. Chalk, she supposed. The walls were rough to the touch and the air frigid. Goosebumps ran up her arms. She could smell mushrooms. The silence was unearthly.
Beyond the wavering light, the corridor ran deep into the earth. The walls glistened. And there—yes, tiny mushrooms were indeed thriving in the crevices. Tipping back her head, Elise could see an iron grille. They must be walking beneath one of the streets. Dried grasses blocked the opening. She fancied she heard the screech of a jay.
There was movement behind her. Something hit the back of her head and everything went black.
* * *
Gawain was roused before dawn by Aubin. That was not unusual. What was unusual
was the anxiety in his squire’s voice. ‘Lord Gawain, you have a visitor.’
Gawain opened weary eyes and blinked at the candle wobbling in Aubin’s grasp. ‘Mon Dieu, Aubin, go away. Daybreak’s at least an hour away. It’s far too early for visitors.’
Aubin set the candle on the coffer by the bed and Gawain rolled over, turning his back on him. He was aware that his uncalled-for visitor had had the temerity to step into the bedchamber, but it really was too early.
‘You’ll want to see me,’ a familiar voice said.
Gawain rolled over again. ‘Baderon? What the devil are you doing here?’
‘It’s Elise, my lord. I thought you’d want to know. She’s missing.’
Gawain felt himself go still. ‘Missing? Elise’s isn’t missing. I know exactly where she is. In Troyes.’
‘No, my lord, she is not.’
Slowly, Gawain sat up. It crossed his mind that this might be some ghastly joke, but Baderon’s expression was earnest. ‘You’re serious.’ He was aware of Aubin opening trunks; laying his tunic and hose at the foot of the bed; lifting his sword and belt down from the hook on the wall. A cold dread settled over him.
Baderon’s expression was grim. ‘Lord Gawain, Elise left Troyes shortly after you did. She went to Provins in search of André de Poitiers. He was seen heading that way.’
Gawain swung out of bed and padded to the ewer to splash water on his face. ‘You let her come?’ He reached for a drying cloth.
‘There was no stopping her. She was convinced that she could find him and bring him back to Troyes. His woman—Vivienne—is frantic.’ Baderon swallowed. ‘Since Elise was set on coming, I thought it best to escort her. If I hadn’t done so, she would have set out on her own.’
Head thumping—he must have drunk too much wine last eve—Gawain looked at him.
‘My lord, there was no stopping her.’
‘I understand.’ Gawain tossed the cloth at Aubin and turned for his clothes. ‘While I dress, you had best tell me everything. Everything.’
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