Lady Agnes Mystery Vol.2. Andrea Japp

you were a brigand …’

      The other man gave a faint smile and said:

      ‘It was unwise of you to venture down such an alleyway at night.’

      ‘I … I wasn’t thinking properly.’

      ‘I will walk with you. Where were you headed?’

      ‘I was going to Saint-Aignan Church to offer a prayer and attend the service for Advent.’1

      They walked in silence. Leone hesitated. He was searching for a way of formulating the question that had been plaguing him for weeks – for years. Agnan was wondering. Should he risk putting his mind at rest? Who was he to ask this knight, who both fascinated and terrified him, to satisfy his curiosity? His desire to know was too strong, however, and without daring to look the Hospitaller in the eye, he blurted out:

      ‘Was it you … Was it you, Monsieur, who …’

      ‘Who killed, or rather executed, Florin? I confess it was, and in doing so I demand your silence. I could see no other way. He left me no choice and, if I am honest, it is no doubt what I was hoping for.’

      ‘I will for ever be indebted to you for this … gesture, which I sense weighs heavily on you. That wicked creature’s disappearance has cast more darkness out of the world. We are too sorely in need of light to allow us to regret Florin’s passing.’

      ‘You mean his murder,’ corrected Leone. ‘It is charitable of you to employ the general, natural term “passing”, but this was true murder, Agnan. I stabbed the man knowing him to be unarmed. It would be dishonourable of me to try to shirk my responsibility.’

      ‘Vermin are not murdered, they are exterminated,’ the clerk exclaimed firmly.

      ‘With all due respect, it is not for you to judge. Only God can do that and I have already accepted His verdict.’ Leone sighed and went on: ‘What was Florin, a freak of nature? Or one of those challenges we encounter in life that serve to remind us how we veer between greatness and intolerable failure? Admittedly, had Madame de Souarcy’s life not been in danger, I am not sure that I would have soiled my hands with the inquisitor’s blood.’

      Agnan looked at him for the first time since their strange meeting in the alleyway and pursed his lips anxiously:

      ‘Oh … You are right. My mind has been in turmoil these past few days …’ Suddenly, he threw caution to the wind, declaring: ‘Do you know Madame de Souarcy’s true identity, knight? I had … I had the overwhelming sensation that something not of this world was taking place …’

      ‘What nonsense! Unless I’m gravely mistaken, it is very much of this world.’

      Silencing his doubts and fears, Leone now demanded in a voice trembling with such emotion as to be scarcely recognisable:

      ‘Did you see her blood?’

      Agnan paused and, puzzled, asked:

      ‘I beg your pardon, knight?’

      ‘Did you … see Madame de Souarcy’s blood?’

      This man, this saviour, this warrior could not possibly request such a detail in order to satisfy some ghoulish appetite. Accordingly, Agnan responded in a choked voice:

      ‘Oh, Monsieur, indeed I did, and I would have gladly shed every last drop of my own rather than dress her poor, tortured flesh. Florin … rubbed salt in her wounds to stop them from healing and to increase her pain. The fiend was unaware that I knew what the grey powder was that he kept in his gilded phial. I washed her lash wounds with water. I rubbed salve on her torn flesh until the brother at the infirmary took over from me.’

      ‘But did you see her blood?’ Leone insisted, trying hard to conceal his unease.

      ‘It streamed down her back and sides, turning her hair red. It covered my hands, knight, and I kissed them.’

      ‘What …’ The Hospitaller’s voice was so choked with emotion that he was scarcely able to finish the question: ‘What did it look like?’

      ‘I beg your pardon?’

      ‘I mean … Was it like the blood of other victims? Did you notice anything peculiar about it?’

      Agnan tried in vain to understand his escort’s persistent questioning. He stammered:

      ‘I’m a little lost … it was bright red, full of life … It wrenched my heart to see it turn the water a brilliant scarlet … I confess that I felt a sudden chill. Is this what you wanted to know?’

      ‘Yes.’ Leone nodded, clumsily trying to hide his sudden panic.

      As he stood before the entrance to Saint-Aignan after taking his leave of Agnan and then walked back the way they had come, he was weighed down by an indescribable sorrow.

       Clairets Abbey,* Perche, December 1304

      The fire, which, days before, had so alarmed the nuns until it was swiftly brought under control, had scarcely blackened the walls of the guest house. The Abbess, Éleusie de Beaufort, accompanied by Annelette Beaupré, the apothecary nun, carried out her inspection in silence. The guest mistress, Thibaude de Gartempe, bleated:

      ‘You must believe me, Reverend Mother. The blaze was not the result of any carelessness on my part. I don’t understand how it could have started in a straw mattress in the middle of the room, so far from the hearth …’

      Annelette looked intently at the Abbess, who nodded discreetly before reassuring the guest mistress with an explanation whose absurdity nevertheless appeared to convince her:

      ‘My dear Thibaude, fires can be fickle things … It is conceivable that a spark landed on the straw mattress and set it alight. In any event, the essential thing is that the fire produced more smoke than flames and more panic than real damage.’

      Presently, the two women left the guest mistress, who, together with a few lay servants, went to work to remove the traces of what had been no more than a diversionary tactic.

      They walked in silence back to the Abbess’s study. Annelette sensed that Éleusie de Beaufort was using the time to weigh up the pros and cons before revealing her secret. The apothecary had long suspected that their Abbess was concealing a thorny truth, the nature of which eluded her. She followed the Abbess into the freezing study and stood waiting, her hands clasped in front of her.

      Éleusie walked around the heavy oak table and slumped into her armchair. She closed her eyes for a moment and sighed before murmuring:

      ‘I am guilty of a terrible mistake. Hesitation weakened my resolve. I brought about the situation that has allowed this evildoer …’

      She leapt to her feet and brought her fist crashing down on the table as she hissed:

      ‘She has not seen the last of me!’

      Annelette said nothing, waiting to see what would follow.

      ‘You were right, Annelette. That trifling fire was no more than a ruse to draw us away from here. You were also right when you advised me to trust you that day – how long ago it seems now – when you confided in me. My failure to do so unreservedly is a source of genuine regret. I lied out of fear, which in no way excuses my blunder or, worse still, my error of judgement.’

      Annelette lowered her head without saying a word, fearful, almost, of finally learning the truth.

      ‘Upon my arrival at Clairets, I discovered something which at first I believed was a curious coincidence, and which led me to commit what I do not think it an exaggeration to call the crime of failing to inform Rome. Boniface VIII,* our then Holy Father, was not one of our allies. However, when Benoît XI* was elected I did not hesitate to inform him, and I confess that his response astonished me. I had the