Tannhauser 02: The Twelve Children of Paris (73 page)

Tannhauser walked to the window. The killing by the river continued. By the clock on the tower of the Conciergerie it was twenty minutes to ten o’clock. He could get Carla to the gate at the Porte Saint-Denis by the time it opened at midnight.

‘The day was expensive, sire. About thirty pistoles, over half in
écus d’or
.’

Christian was looking inside two open sacks.

‘Bring both sacks with you.’

Tannhauser closed the casement.

In his mind he saw Pascale.

‘What were Le Tellier’s orders concerning the children at Frogier’s sister’s?’

‘Frogier?’

Christian retreated and cowered as Tannhauser walked to the desk.

‘You were with Frogier this evening.’

Tannhauser shoved Le Tellier with a boot. Le Tellier howled into his ruff.

‘Le Tellier sent three
sergents
to hold Anne in custody, at Irène’s,’ said Christian. ‘In case you returned.’

‘Anne?’

He remembered. Frogier knew Pascale as Anne.

‘The girl with raven hair. Le Tellier asked which one you were most fond of.’

Tannhauser looked down. Le Tellier’s eyes were marbled with terror.

‘And the others?’

‘He said Anne would be enough, and that the rest would just get in the way.’

Tannhauser remembered the Mice laughing at the spilled eggs. Juste eating fig pies. Flore. His right hand closed around Le Tellier’s throat. The skin was papery and sweaty against his palm. As he lifted him from the floor he felt the tug of the anchored bolt against tendon and bone, the spasms in the unsocketed shoulders. He sensed the policeman’s excruciation. And that excruciation wasn’t enough.

‘I had nothing to do with it.’

Christian’s whimpered disavowal restored Tannhauser’s wits.

He didn’t want Le Tellier to die just yet. He dropped him to squirm.

‘Take me to Orlandu.’

Tannhauser aimed to leave no one to tell of his doings in the
hôtel
; but he didn’t want to kill Stefano. Christian laboured up the stair on his broken pelvis. Tannhauser pushed past him and grabbed him by the scruff and dragged him to the second floor. The domestic staff had been dismissed for the night and wouldn’t emerge unless summoned. They stopped at a door. Tannhauser knocked.

‘Stefano of Sion, Mattias Tannhauser.’

The big Swiss opened the door, holding a sword. He took in Tannhauser’s blood-boltered corpus, the gold collar, the crossbow. He sheathed the sword and saluted.

Tannhauser spoke in Italian.

‘How went the day?’

‘My lord, since last I saw you, my hardest battle has been not to fall asleep.’

‘How is Orlandu? Is he fit to travel?’

‘If no forced march is required. He’s poorly – hot chills – but his head’s clear. I’ve had him walk up and down the room for a quarter of every hour.’

‘Excellent man. Now, with regret, we must part again.’

‘If I may, my lord, I’ve seen that collar before –’

‘If it were still around Le Tellier’s neck you’d be dead by morning.’

‘That’s why I didn’t nap. I’ve sniffed ill will since we got here, though Orlandu was content. If you need me further, only ask.’

Tannhauser was tempted. But Stefano could have no idea what might be required. Tannhauser didn’t want the Swiss Guards on his back, which, if he led one of their corporals that far astray, they might well be.

‘I want everything you’ve seen and done since you left the Hôtel Béthizy with Sergent Baro – who is dead – to be your fastest secret. Spin some tale to cover your absence. On a day like this what tale could not be spun? Will you do that, on your word?’

‘On my word, my lord, the secret is fast. May I know why?’

‘We both of us were drawn into a conspiracy not of our making. The conspiracy began, and ends, with Marcel Le Tellier, and his end stands before you. Whatever investigation there may be of his conspiracy – or of his end – it would spell your doom to have played any part in it. At the same time, in no possible circumstance could playing any such part bring you any benefit.’

Stefano glanced at Christian. He looked at Tannhauser.

Tannhauser said, ‘There will be no witnesses as to your presence here.’

‘I understand, my lord. And I can spin tales.’

Tannhauser took the lighter of the sacks from Christian and handed it to Stefano.

‘I’d keep this secret, too. Spend it in Sion.’

The sack’s weight caused the Swiss’s eyebrows to rise.

Tannhauser clapped him on the back.

‘Some other day, then, some other battle.’

‘I hope so, my lord. As long as we’re on the same side.’

‘If not, strike hard, for I will.’

Stefano saluted. He started down the stair.

‘Stefano, use the back door, or a girl might shoot you in the chest. And be warned, down in the lobby you’ll find –’

‘I already found them, my lord, while you claimed the collar.
Buona fortuna
.’

Tannhauser heard Orlandu’s voice.

‘Mattias?’

Tannhauser removed the bolt and propped the crossbow. He pushed Christian into the room ahead of him. Orlandu sat in a chair, his tanned complexion waxy, but he was hale enough to rise to his feet and stand up straight. His eyes were as dark as his father’s, to all intents black. Tannhauser grinned; an effect the sight of the lad had always had on him. Orlandu didn’t smile.

He said, ‘You’re covered in blood.’

‘Don’t worry, it’s not mine.’

Still Orlandu did not smile.

‘Let me embrace you,’ said Tannhauser, ‘or at least shake your hand.’

Orlandu’s left arm was bound across his chest in a sling. He held out his right hand and Tannhauser took it in his. His joy was tarnished by the sight of the porter.

The porter shrank back into the shadows.

‘This is Boniface,’ said Orlandu.

‘We’ve met,’ said Tannhauser. ‘Can you walk down the stairs?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Sit on the steps in the lobby, I won’t be long. If anyone knocks, call for me, then ask them who they are.’

‘Please, my boy,’ said Boniface. ‘He’s going to murder me in cold blood.’

‘Be thankful it’s not hotter.’ Tannhauser looked at Orlandu. ‘“My boy”?’

Orlandu twitched. He looked at the gold collar on Tannhauser’s chest.

‘You’ve killed his Excellency?’

Tannhauser was more disturbed than Orlandu was.

‘His Excellency prays for death, down below.’

‘Mattias,’ said Orlandu, ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Neither do I, but it can wait. Carla is in danger. Go and watch the front door.’

‘Boniface is my friend. I lodge in his home.’

Tannhauser’s stomach turned. He looked at the porter.

Boniface lowered himself to his knees and clasped his hands.

‘Yesterday,’ said Tannhauser, ‘this friend told me he couldn’t remember the last time he saw your face. Are you mates with this degenerate, too?’

Orlandu glanced at Petit Christian, and Tannhauser saw that it was so.

‘These clowns schemed with Le Tellier to kill your mother.’

‘That’s not possible.’

Tannhauser stared at him. ‘Are you still delirious?’

‘Le Tellier is a great man,’ said Orlandu. ‘A brilliant man. He’s taught me many things about politics. Thanks to him, I was to be ordained into the Pilgrims of Saint-Jacques, which is a –’

‘I know what they are. Soon, so will you.’

Tannhauser closed his mind to the pain he felt. Orlandu’s father, Ludovico, had been a fanatic, an inquisitor. Did it run in the blood? He took a breath.

‘Le Tellier’s only claim to brilliance is as a deceiver. And you have been deceived.’

‘Is it true?’ Orlandu directed the question to Petit Christian.

Tannhauser backhanded Petit Christian to the floor.

‘You ask this sack of filth to vouch for my word?’

Orlandu stepped back from his rage, as well he might.

‘To what degree are you in league with these beasts?’

‘Not against you, Mattias. Nor my mother. How could you –’

‘Then against who?’

Orlandu retreated further, no longer unreadable. He was terrified.

At this moment, Tannhauser could summon no sympathy.

‘You’ve not been here,’ said Orlandu. ‘You don’t know the radical Huguenots, or what they’re like or what they intend to do, to the Crown, to the country –’

‘Who shot you?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Orlandu. ‘It was dark. They came from behind.’

Tannhauser trod on Christian’s head and compressed his skull into the planks.

‘Who shot him?’

‘Dominic shot him,’ said Christian. ‘Dominic and Baro.’

‘Why?’

‘We couldn’t let Carla leave,’ panted Christian, ‘or the scheme would fail. I saved the boy’s life. Dominic would have finished him but those weren’t the orders. I reminded him. I said he might yet prove useful.’

‘“Couldn’t let her leave”? What do you mean?’

‘Orlandu tried to move his mother out of the Hôtel D’Aubray.’

Tannhauser looked at Orlandu. In the dark eyes lurked something terrible.

‘You found out about their scheme,’ said Tannhauser.

Orlandu didn’t speak. Perhaps he couldn’t.

‘Answer me, lad.’

Still Orlandu didn’t speak.

‘Christian, how did Orlandu learn of your scheme?’

‘I don’t know.’

Tannhauser leaned more weight on his heel and felt the cranium underneath it change shape. Christian’s eyes bulged. He flailed and gibbered.

‘I don’t know. I don’t know. Oh God, stop, I don’t know.’

‘Yes, yes, stop this, I beg you,’ cried Boniface. ‘I told him.’

Tannhauser lifted his foot. He looked at the porter.

‘Not all of it, but enough,’ said Boniface. ‘I grew to love Orlandu, long since. Then his mother came to Paris. When he would return from his visits with her, I witnessed his joy. He was so beautiful, more beautiful than ever, though I’d not thought that possible. I didn’t care about her. I’ve never seen her. I kept silent. But when the day neared, I couldn’t bear to see that beauty ruined. I told him I’d heard, from a reliable source, that assassins had been hired to kill Symonne D’Aubray, and that in her home his mother was in danger of her life.’

Boniface fell to weeping.

Tannhauser looked at Orlandu. Clearly the lad had no conception of the nature of Boniface’s love, and so it should stay. The tale begged other questions, but Tannhauser didn’t ask them. He had had enough of answers. He drew his dagger and walked to Boniface. The withered pederast grabbed at his boots.

‘The old fear dying more than do the young. You’d think it would be otherwise.’ Tannhauser glanced at Orlandu. ‘If you don’t want to watch, wait below.’

‘Mattias –’

Tannhauser stooped and knifed the porter in the right lower quarter of his skinny gut. He slit him to the upper left ribcage and left him to convulse in his own entrails.

‘You want to know if I would have saved the D’Aubrays, too.’

Tannhauser wiped the blade. ‘I don’t need to hear it.’

‘You’ve never concealed your truth from me.’

‘You would’ve left the D’Aubrays to die. Fine. Now let’s be on.’

‘No, Mattias. You must hear it.’

Tannhauser braced himself and sheathed his dagger. He nodded.

‘I came here and told Le Tellier what Boniface had told me. I told him I had overheard the rumour in a tavern.’

Tannhauser grunted. What passed for cunning on the docks in Malta was something less than subtle in Paris. Le Tellier had done as he would have done himself; mark Boniface as unsound but keep him working.

Orlandu mistook him. ‘You’ve lied, when you needed to.’

‘It’s a fine art. Go on.’

‘He showed every surprise and concern, and said he would arrange the safest lodgings for my mother. He said more.’

Tannhauser waited.

‘Admiral Coligny had been shot just that morning. The Huguenot nobles were in uproar, threatening retribution in the streets. Le Tellier explained that in a mood of such outrage, the murder of the widow –’ Orlandu swallowed gall ‘– and the children – of Roger D’Aubray would be sure to incite the Huguenots to war. Even Coligny. He said we could not know the origin of this stratagem – which I took to mean the palace – but that its genius could not be denied. I understood. I agreed. I did not deny it.’

Tannhauser couldn’t think of anything to say to ease his self-disgust.

‘I knew those children,’ said Orlandu. ‘I played with them in the garden. I made them laugh. Do you know what happened to them?’

Tannhauser thought of the polished oak table, the gilded chair. In such rooms, no less than in perfumed carriages, the lives of children counted for nothing.

‘They’re dead.’

Orlandu’s mouth trembled.

‘You must never tell your mother this tale. She saw them die.’

‘What?’ Orlandu’s confusion was appalling. ‘How?’

Tannhauser shook his head.

‘When I woke up, here, Le Tellier told me he’d sent her to the Louvre.’

‘He’s a better liar than you are,’ said Tannhauser. ‘And tell no lies to Carla. Never lie to a woman. They only believe you if they want to, and even then, they know.’

‘Then what should I tell her?’

‘The truth. You were on your way to see her, you were shot and drugged, you woke up here. You were as much a victim of their conspiracy as she was.’

‘Where is she?’

‘She’s waiting for us. Come here.’

Orlandu stumbled over. Tannhauser took his head onto his shoulder.

‘When I was your age I butchered Shiites for the Sultan and thought the work holy. So take my advice. If you must commit mortal crimes, commit them for yourself alone, not for some other, nor for his creed, nor his crown, nor his favour. Then at least we might be damned as men, not as whores.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Let’s be on.’

Tannhauser held him at arm’s length and grinned. Orlandu couldn’t.

‘How can I help?’

‘Carry the bow and quiver, be ready to feed me.’

Tannhauser dragged Christian by his collar and belt and pitched him down the stairs. Moans drifted up from the bottom. Tannhauser dragged the mattress from the bed and threw it after him. He retrieved the crossbow and armed it.

‘Why did Le Tellier plot against Carla?’ asked Orlandu.