Later

Here at Blois there is a stink and all seems dirty compared to Anet, and above the stink there is something worse: the sweet perfume of Queen Catherine. It precedes her wherever she goes. I smell it now. She is coming. Her courtiers scurry ahead like little rodents. I hear the scritch scratch of their elegantly booted feet. Their boots are made from the skin of unborn calves. It is an Italian fashion. The Italians love their leather, and of course Catherine de Medici is Italian and was born into what was thought to be a noble family. And yes, I hear as well the tap tap of her own high-heeled shoes. Catherine de Medici always wears high heels because she is so short. Then a voice pricks the air. Tap tap, scritch scratch, yap yap. That is the “music” of Catherine de Medici. I always count to eight before I let my old Rufflets open the door. One, two, three… The Queen’s own lapdogs, of which there are nearly a dozen, yap at my door.