The City of Tears

by Kate Mosse

  Marie stood up and began to pace the room. Her plot was excellent. She had to have faith that it would all fall into place.

  ‘It must work.’ The sound of her own voice gave her courage. ‘It will.’

  She had suggested she could go to his house in the Rue du Cheval Blanc. That would be safer. Pierre, the ale-soaked labourer she’d recruited to masquerade as her father – now snoring his guts out in the box room next door – would keep watch at a suitable distance. Though everything depended on Marie convincing Evreux to trust her, she was not foolish enough to go alone.

  She took a deep breath. Her nerves were strung tight tonight. Anxiety fluttered in her stomach. All she had to do was confirm that Evreux was Vidal – she knew his every distinguishing mark from her father – and take her leave before he had any idea the relic was a fake.

  The forger had done an excellent job. But was it good enough to deceive so practised an eye as Evreux’s? She would only know when she laid the false Veil before him.

  Her heart skipped a beat. She had to believe the stars would align.

  All being well, she would quit Chartres immediately afterwards and make her way home to Paris. With luck, she would be there by Michaelmas and back in their modest lodgings on the rue Saint-Antoine. They had been gone for over a year.

  There was no one waiting for her now. She’d no brothers and sisters, she barely remembered her mother – a drab streak of a woman, who had died in the epidemic that swept Paris after the St Bartholomew’s Day massacre – and her father had died last winter. A stupid brawl in a boarding house in Rouen.

  Cabanel had been a rough and taciturn man, not one to show affection, but he’d never raised a hand to her. In his own way, she thought he had been fond of her. She had no illusions about his character – he was a paid assassin, a murderer and a schemer – but he had treated her like a son and educated her in the way of life lived in the shadows.

  The next stage of her plan would be to seek an audience with the Duke of Guise. She would wear her finest blue dress and would be demure and charming, without guile. She would beg his forgiveness as she told him how she, a girl of nineteen, had fulfilled the mission he had set her father, Pierre Cabanel. Marie had been in the duke’s presence with him once before – she must have been thirteen or fourteen. The duke had honoured her with his attention, commenting favourably on her boldness and the unusual colour of her eyes, one brown and one blue. She thought he would remember her.

  And then?

  Marie allowed herself to dream.

  What she hoped for – with a recommendation from Guise – was that she might come to the attention of Charlotte de Sauve, the leader of Catherine de’ Medici’s escadron volant. A former mistress of both Navarre and the King’s younger brother, ‘Monsieur’, it was known in Paris that the duke’s eye had been caught by Charlotte. Surely, if Guise was satisfied with what Marie had achieved in Chartres, then might he not effect an introduction? And she would change her name. Cabanel was too ordinary, she had never felt it suited her. With a new identity, she would start afresh as the woman she was meant to be.

  Then, suddenly, she experienced an unaccountable feeling of loss. And shame. Marie’s fingers curled into a fist. She pushed the emotion away. She did not have to justify herself to anyone. There was no one who would even care. She had not chosen the life she lived, and she had no choice but to survive on her wits and her looks. There would be time enough to repent and live a better life when she had money of her own, when she was finally safe.

  A shout below drew her back from the precipice of her treacherous thoughts.

  Marie rushed back to the window in time to see the youngest stable hand, a sweet boy with a claret birthmark on his face, rush out and grasp the reins of a carriage-and-pair cantering too fast into the courtyard.

  ‘Steady,’ he cried. ‘Steady now.’

  Marie’s spirits fell. It was not the messenger returning from Evreux, but rather guests arriving for the night.

  For a while longer, she stood in the window looking out over the empty countryside, still listening for the sound of a horse’s hooves. It had stopped raining, but the evening was humid and there was now a white night mist lying over the dark flat land. Without warning, a phrase came into her mind.

  ‘My lady of the mists.’

  Now she was assailed by a faint half-memory: of a winter’s night and cobbled streets, of a girl and a boy meeting in the shadow of the misty cathedral. A girl who looked like her.

  Shaken, Marie pushed the glass open as far as she could to drink in the night air. The tavern below had fallen silent. Nothing was stirring. Only the sour scent of straw after rain and horse piss and manure drifted up to where she stood watching.

  Marie sat down on the chest by the window and picked up her father’s dagger. He’d valued it more than anything, never letting it out of his sight. His lucky charm, he’d told her, a symbol of the night his fortunes had changed. He had been holding it when he died, his life bleeding away for the sake of a quart of ale in a harbour tavern. Suddenly, Marie remembered the last words he’d uttered.

  ‘I didn’t mean to keep you,’ he’d whispered.

  Marie relived the moment in her mind’s eye: the ice on the ground; the sailor swaying, horrified at what he’d done; the sound of the tavern door and the smell of sweat and ale as men came to carry her father inside. The crying of the gulls over the water. She hadn’t cried. There’d been no point.

  ‘I didn’t mean to keep you…’

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO

  EVREUX ESTATE

  Louis stood outside the library door, holding his father’s letter in his hand. The message from the woman claiming to be in possession of the Sudarium had arrived nigh on midnight. It was now two o’clock in the morning and the messenger was still waiting for a response.

  It was dark, but still he hesitated. Listened. Not a mouse was stirring, the servants were in their quarters, his father had retired to his bedchamber. Satisfied he was unobserved, Louis slipped the tip of his dagger under the Evreux seal and cracked the wax. He told himself his actions were justified to protect his father’s interests.

  Louis tilted the paper towards his candle and read the few words set down – nothing more than he already knew, that Marie Cabanel was to come to the estate tomorrow at sunset. The name Cabanel meant nothing to him.

  He passed the red seal across the flame, just long enough to soften it, and resealed the missive. Then, full of misgiving, he went out into the courtyard and round to the kitchen garden where the messenger had been sent to wait.

  The boy was dozing on a bench.

  Louis stood over him. ‘How now?’

  The boy scrambled to his feet. ‘Sire!’

  ‘With Lord Evreux’s compliments,’ Louis said, pinching the letter between his thumb and forefinger: ‘Where are you to deliver this?’

  ‘I cannot say, sire.’

  Louis stared at him. ‘Cannot, or will not?’

  ‘The lady asked me not to – her reputation.’

  ‘Do you imagine my father is in the habit of –’ Louis slapped the boy on the shoulder. ‘In which case, I hope for your sake that you do not have too long a ride ahead of you.’

  ‘No, sire.’

  ‘I warrant Mademoiselle Cabanel is staying close enough at hand, but far enough to be discreet.’ Louis handed over a coin. ‘Lord Evreux will be grateful for your tact in this matter. You know how people talk.’

  ‘Thank you, sire.’ The messenger sighed with relief. ‘The lodging is but a league away, then I will ride back to Chartres.’

  RUE DE LA POISSONNERIE

  Minou sat in the dark in their bedchamber. Her restless mind would not let her sleep.

  She felt as if she was going into battle. Resolved, full of anticipation yet also terrified at what might lie ahead. Her head was filled with thoughts of her beautiful daughter and what she might be like. What would she say when they stood face to face after all these years? How would she feel
?

  Minou tried to remember all the versions of Marta she had conjured into life over the past twelve years of grieving: her daughter at ten years old, a little taller but the same; at twelve, with her hair braided and dressed; at fifteen, on the verge of womanhood. Now, if Antoine was to be believed, as alike to her as a reflection in a looking glass. The same manner and bearing, he had said. The same unusual eyes, blue and brown, so rarely found together. Minou would be looking at a young version of herself, and that thought both pleased and terrified her. But, in truth, only the child who had gone missing on this same day in 1572 was clear in her mind. The girl in the tapestry.

  Minou felt a sharp pain in her chest and she pressed her hands against her ribs to stop herself crying out. After so many years of being careful, she had let down her guard and allowed herself to hope. If she was disappointed again, Minou was not sure her heart could bear it.

  EVREUX ESTATE

  Louis rushed to the stables.

  There was only one lodging house within striking distance of the estate. If his suspicions were right, and Marie Cabanel was there, then he could observe her as she received his father’s invitation and assess the situation. If she seemed genuine, then so be it. But if something seemed awry, then at least he was forewarned.

  ‘Where the hell do you think you’re going?’

  Louis felt himself punched between his shoulder blades. He spun round.

  ‘Don’t you dare touch me!’

  Xavier shoved him again, pushing him back against the rail. Louis heard the stamp of the horse’s hooves on the straw.

  ‘I’m warning you, do not try my patience.’

  The steward laughed. ‘Or what? You’ll go crying to Papa? How do you think our noble lord would react if he knew you were opening his private correspondence? Or if he learnt you were absconding in the middle of the night?’

  Louis stood his ground. ‘It is none of your business. Get out of my way.’

  ‘I asked you a question, boy. Where are you going?’

  To his horror, he saw a flash of silver in the steward’s hand.

  ‘Don’t be a fool,’ he said, glancing desperately around for something with which to defend himself. ‘Neither of us wants trouble.’

  Xavier jabbed the knife towards him. ‘From the moment we went to Saint-Antonin you have been nothing but trouble. I told his Eminence then, and I remind him now, you are no good. You have no loyalty, no affection. You’re vermin. He cannot trust you, especially now he is sickening.’ Xavier gave a crooked smile. ‘So terribly sick. Not long for this world, I’d say.’

  Louis turned cold. ‘What do you mean?’

  Xavier’s answer came with another jagged thrust of the knife, slashing Louis’s forearm.

  ‘Just because you have his blood in your veins, because you have his countenance, did you think I would let you displace me when I’ve served him for so long?’

  Out of the corner of his eye, Louis saw a rake leaning against the wooden strut at the end of the horse’s stall. He flung out his arm, grasped the rake and sent the handle slamming down on Xavier’s shoulder.

  The man howled, but didn’t drop the knife.

  ‘Don’t do this, Xavier,’ Louis shouted and swung the rake again.

  There was a stomach-turning crunch as the wood connected with the side of the steward’s head, and he went down. In the stalls behind him, the horses started to whinny and stamp.

  For a moment, Louis just stared in horror. Was he dead?

  He knelt down. ‘Xavier?’

  Louis pressed his fingers to the man’s neck, but could feel no pulse. He didn’t seem to be breathing. Had he killed him? A wave of pure horror swept through him, and he felt like the same powerless child incarcerated in the monastery in Saint-Antonin all those years ago.

  Then Louis stood up. He was no longer a weak boy waiting in the dark for the punishment that would surely come. He was the son of Lord Evreux, his father’s legitimate heir. He had acted in self-defence. He had been protecting his father’s interests.

  But would Vidal believe him?

  Louis looked out through the open stable door and saw the first glimmers of dawn in the east. One thing was certain. He could not leave Xavier here. His best hope was if Xavier’s absence went undiscovered for as long as possible. His father’s attention would be focused on the arrival of Marie Cabanel at dusk. Vidal’s obsession was to complete his collection. Surely he would have no thought for anything else this day?

  Hoping he was right, Louis hid the blood-stained rake, then, praying none of the estate workers were yet awake, he grabbed Xavier by the legs. Carefully, slowly, in the gathering day, he dragged the body away from the stables all the way down to the lake. It was hard going and the grass was damp with early morning dew, but he made it.

  Panting, Louis took a moment to catch his breath, then rolled the corpse over into the water and watched Xavier sink beneath the dark surface. Then, shocked by what he had done, he ran back to the manor house before anyone could notice he was not in his bed.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE

  EVREUX ESTATE

  Wednesday, 22 August

  As the day was dawning, Marie Cabanel and her two companions made their way through the woodland that marked the northern boundary of Evreux’s lands. They had assured her that no soldiers would be on duty in this part of the estate so early in the day. If they were unlucky, a gamekeeper might see them, but so long as there were no dogs, they should be safe enough.

  Marie had received word from Evreux in the middle of the night. He had agreed to receive her, but the rendezvous was not to be at Evreux’s town house in Chartres, as Marie had hoped, but rather his countryside estate. At that point, her resolve had wavered. No doubt it made the operation more dangerous and her position more perilous.

  But as a pink sunrise crept over the window sill, she had strengthened her resolve. She’d come too far to give up now. Success was within her grasp, she just had to hold her nerve.

  At six o’clock, Marie had vacated her chamber, settled her debts with the landlord, then loaded the carriage with her belongings. It seemed wise to familiarise herself with the estate before she returned there at nightfall. Though the expenditure would further dent her dwindling resources, she had elected to take with her for protection not only Pierre, who was pretending to be her father, but Pierre’s brother also. With the coachman, that made three. All were local men, they knew the lie of the land. Besides, if all went according to plan, the money Evreux would give her for the forged Sudarium would easily cover these additional costs.

  If he was deceived by the forgery.

  Marie moved forward to the edge of the line of trees, then stopped. In the far distance she could see the manor house standing alone in the middle of a wide and open space at the top of the hill.

  ‘I will approach the house by carriage along the main drive.’

  Pierre cleared his throat. ‘It’s not the house you need. It’s here you will find him.’

  Marie followed the direction he was pointing in and saw a shimmer of water. She narrowed her gaze. In a dip in the green expanse she saw an ornamental lake. In its centre was an island and, on it, a white building.

  ‘A church! I’m not intending to pray, messieurs!’

  Jean gave her a sly look. ‘Lord Evreux is accustomed to go across to the island each evening at sunset.’

  Marie frowned, feeling nerves flutter in her chest. This complicated matters further. To walk into Evreux’s house alone was risky enough, but this?

  ‘And he is usually unaccompanied?’ she asked.

  ‘Except for the boatman who takes him across, yes.’

  ‘His son does not go with him?’

  Pierre shrugged. ‘From time to time.’

  ‘On whose authority do you know this?’

  Pierre and Jean exchanged a look. ‘We have a man on the inside,’ the older brother said. ‘Lord Evreux’s steward.’

  ‘He is to be trusted?’

 
‘Xavier has served Evreux for some twenty years.’

  Marie stared at the building. As the light grew stronger, the white tower stood even more starkly against the blue sky. Was it a private chapel? A mausoleum? Then, she realised. If everything she knew about Evreux was true, wasn’t it likely to be a reliquary?

  Marie felt her confidence soar again. This raised the stakes. Her thoughts started to run ahead, now imagining how grateful the Duke of Guise would be if she brought him not only news of Vidal’s whereabouts but also information about his cache of relics. They would be of inestimable value to the Catholic League.

  ‘There is a boat?’

  Pierre coughed. ‘There is a chain on the far side, linking a jetty below the manor house to the island.’

  ‘Though there is no need for it,’ Jean said. ‘Unless there’s too much rain, or the river bursts its banks, the water is no deeper than this.’ He made a mark at his shoulders.

  ‘So, if we are to be in the reliquary,’ Marie said, thinking aloud, ‘you would be able to be there, too.’

  Pierre nodded. ‘Exactly so.’

  Marie frowned. ‘How will you know? I doubt if I will be able to get any message to you.’

  ‘We will watch the house, mademoiselle. If we see you come out and down to the lake, then we will get across to the island, too.’

  Marie’s hand went to her father’s dagger at her waist. Many times sharpened on the whetstone, it had served him well until the day of his death. Perhaps it would protect her now, too.

  She knew she was taking a huge risk. Even if he was deceived by the relic, what guarantee did she have that Lord Evreux would let her go? All the same, the stakes were high. If she succeeded, then she would be able to start fashioning for herself the life she deserved. She would, at last, be safe.