The feeling of agonising numbness that scarcely left Camerlingo Benedetti was cut short by the arrival of an usher:
‘Your visitor is here, Your Eminence.’
A sigh of relief stirred Honorius. He felt as though this blessed announcement had finally allowed him to reach dry land, to leave behind the turbulent seas that had been buffeting him for the past few days and nights.
‘Give me a moment to say a short prayer and then show her in.’
The other man bowed and left.
And yet, the camerlingo had no intention of spending the time in quiet contemplation. He wanted to savour it, be aware of its every nuance.
Aude, the magnificent Aude. Aude de Neyrat. The mere sound of her name worked on him like a magic charm. The tightness that had gripped the prelate’s throat for months abated. He could breathe the almost cool air again, exhilarated. The insistent throbbing pain in his chest vanished, and for the first time in what seemed an age he dared to stand up and stretch without being afraid he might shatter.
To behold Aude, to smile at her. Unable to contain himself any longer, he rushed over to the tall double doors of his office and flung them open, to the astonishment of the usher, who was waiting outside with Madame de Neyrat.
‘Come in, my dear, good friend.’
The woman stood up with an exquisitely graceful movement. Honorius thought to himself that she was even more stunningly beautiful than he had recalled. She was quite simply miraculous. One of those miracles that occur once in a lifetime, and whose perfection leaves the onlooker humbled. A mass of blonde locks framed a tiny, angelic, perfectly oval-shaped face. Two almond eyes like emerald-green pools stared at him joyfully, and a pair of heart-shaped lips broke into a charming smile. Honorius closed his eyes in a gesture of contentment. That graceful figure, that domed forehead concealed one of the most powerful, most sophisticated minds he had ever encountered.
She walked towards him, her feet barely touching the ground, it seemed to him. Honorius closed the doors behind them.
Aude de Neyrat took a seat and smiled, tilting her ravishing head to one side:
‘It has been such a long time, Your Eminence.’
‘Please, Aude, let us pretend that time, which has scarcely left its mark on you while turning me into an old man, never really passed.’
She consented with an exquisite gesture of her pretty hand, and corrected herself:
‘Gladly … It has been no time at all, then, dear Honorius.’ Pursing her full lips, she declared in a more solemn voice:
‘Your letter delighted me at first and then, I confess, I found it troubling.’
‘Forgive me, I beg you. But I am plagued by worries, and no doubt it showed through in my words …’
The camerlingo paused and looked at her. Aude de Neyrat had led a turbulent life. Only a miracle could explain how she bore no signs of it. Orphaned at an early age, she had been placed under the tutelage of an elderly uncle who had quickly confused family charity and incest. The scoundrel had not enjoyed his niece’s charms for long, and had died a slow and painful death while his protégée stood over him devotedly. At the tender age of twelve Aude discovered she had a flair for poison, murder and deception, equalled only by her beauty and brains. An aunt, two cousins who stood to inherit, and an elderly husband had shared the same fate as the hateful uncle, until one day the chief bailiff of Auxerre’s men had become suspicious of the series of misfortunes befalling her relatives. Honorius Benedetti, a simple bishop at the time, happened to be in the town during her trial. Madame de Neyrat’s striking beauty had made him recall the follies of his youth, during which he would leave one lady’s bed, only to fall into the bed of another. He had insisted on questioning her, arguing that his robe would encourage a confession. She had confessed to nothing but had spun a web of lies which, as a connoisseur, had impressed him. In his view such cunning, such astuteness, such talent should not end up with a rope round its neck, still less burnt like a witch at the stake. He had moved heaven and earth, using money, threats and persuasion. Aude had been released from custody and cleared of all suspicion. She had been the prelate’s only carnal transgression since his renouncement of the world. He had joined her a week later in the town house she had inherited from the husband she had sent to an allegedly better world. For a moment, Honorius had been afraid that she would not willingly take part in his violation of the rule. He had been mistaken. And, as he had secretly hoped, she did not feel indebted or under any obligation to spend those few hours with him naked and sweating between the sheets. She had done him the honour of offering herself to him because he was a man, not her creditor. During these hours of perfect folly, they had discovered one another, sized one another up like two wild beasts of equal stature. They had made love as one makes a pact.
Typically, Aude had considered that the ends justified the means. Had she not confided during the early hours:
‘What else was I to do, dear man? Life is too short to allow it to be ruined by spoilsports. If only people were more sensible, there would be no need for me to poison them. I am a woman of my word and a woman of honour – admittedly in my own peculiar way. Consequently, my uncle, who believed he had the right to take away my innocence and my virginity, paid with his life. I had no say in the deal he struck over my young body and therefore I saw no need to ask his opinion regarding his death. Promise me that you are a sensible man, Honorius. I would hate it if you disappeared … You are far too special and precious not to be part of my life.’
He had roared with laughter at the charming threat. He had not had many reasons to laugh since; his life had veered out of control and become bleak and joyless. In the end, Aude’s cheerful vivacity revived the only memory that allowed him to breathe freely.
‘What I am about to tell you, my radiant Aude …’ he began before she interrupted him with a look of glee:
‘Must never leave this room? Surely you know me better than that, my dear man.’
He exhaled slowly. Could he have dreamed of a more perfect confessor than Aude? The one person he could trust. He closed his eyes and continued with difficulty:
‘Aude, my wonderful Aude … If only you knew … Benoît is dead and I am responsible. His death wounds me, gnaws relentlessly at my insides, and yet it had to be done.’
‘Why?’ she asked, apparently untroubled by his admission.
‘Because Benoît was a purist, whose obstinacy threatened to undermine the foundations of our Church. He had a dangerous dream and clung to his idea of evangelical purity at a time when we are threatened from all sides, at a time when, on the contrary, we need to strengthen the authority of the Church in the West. Dialogue, exchange and openness are no longer appropriate … Indeed, I ask myself whether they ever have been. A reform of the Church, a display of mea culpa would be fatal to us, I am convinced of it. Aude, we are the guarantors of an order and a stability without which mankind cannot survive. We are confronted by forces which I consider to be evil, and which are attempting to undermine our power. A number of European monarchs, including Philip the Fair, are intent upon weakening our authority, my dear. However, they are not my main concern. We will succeed in forcing them back. It is the others, I confess, who make me afraid.’
‘The others? What others?’ enquired the splendid young woman.
‘If I knew who they were, my worries would be over. I can feel them closing in on all sides. I see evidence of them in the proliferation of heresies, in the zealous austerity of some of the mendicant friars, in the benevolent attitudes towards their ideas on the part of nobles and burghers. I seek them out tirelessly … Already the hopes of the wealthy and erudite minorities rest with these reformers. The others, the poor, will soon follow suit, seduced by their grotesque theories of equality. We fend off and will continue to fend off heretical movements, but they are merely the outer expression of a deeper hatred of us and of what we stand for.’
‘And yet, the Inquisition has never seemed so active,’ his guest pointed out.
‘The Inquisition is a jack-in-the-box used to scare people. There have been past uprisings against it, proving that the people will react if they find a … leader.’ Honorius paused before continuing: ‘A leader or a miracle. Just imagine, my friend … Just imagine …’
‘What is it you are not telling me? I sense your fear and it alarms me.’
The young woman’s perceptiveness convinced him to tell her everything:
‘I am involved in a struggle which at times I fear will be in vain. I fear imminent failure. It would only take a miracle – a convincing miracle – to tip the scales.’
‘What kind of miracle?’
‘I don’t know. I doubt whether even Benoît understood the true nature of it, and yet he was ready to protect it with his life, as is one of his key combatants, the Knight Hospitaller Francesco de Leone.’
He looked at her intently for a moment before continuing:
‘If my explanations seem vague and uncertain, it is because for years I have been searching blindly. A text, a sacred prophecy fell into our hands and was spirited away. It contained two birth charts. After long years of futile searching and disappointment, Boniface became aware of the existence of an astronomical treatise written by a monk at the Vallombroso Monastery. The revolution contained within its pages could under no circumstances be propagated. The work was locked away in our private library. We were making headway in our calculations, which would have allowed us to decipher both charts, when the treatise was stolen by a chamberlain and sold to the highest bidder … Leone. The fact remains that we were able to interpret the first chart and, thanks to an eclipse of the moon, to find the person it referred to: Agnès de Souarcy.’
‘Who is she?’
‘The illegitimate recognised child of a lowly baron, Robert de Larnay.’
A disbelieving frown creased Madame de Neyrat’s pretty brow.
‘What an absurd story. What possible part could a minor French noble play in a clash between the forces of conservatism and reform within the Church?’
‘An admirable summary of the chaos into which I have been plunged for years.’
‘Moreover, a woman. What are women in the eyes of a prelate? Saints, nuns or mothers on the one hand, and whores, delinquents and temptresses on the other. What possible importance could a woman have?’
Honorius said nothing as she reeled off her list. He was clever enough to know that she was right. Be that as it may, what other role could a woman play? Was not she, Aude, the charming murderess, living proof of this?
‘I am hopelessly in the dark, my dear. All I know about the woman is that she represents a terrible threat, the exact nature of which escapes me. She must die, and quickly.’
‘And you want me to carry out her execution?’ Madame de Neyrat enquired with a smile.
‘No. I took care of that long before I called upon you.’
‘What is it you want from me, then, dear Honorius?’
‘I need that Vallombroso treatise. I need it urgently so as to be able to calculate the second birth chart and pre-empt my enemies. I engaged the services of a henchman whose incompetence worries me and is beginning to exasperate me. I counted upon his anger, his bitterness, his need to exact revenge on life for the injustice of which he believes he is a victim.’
A brief silence followed this admission. Aude de Neyrat responded thoughtfully:
‘Honorius, Honorius, it is wrong to place your trust in fear and envy. They are the attributes of a coward, and cowards are the worst traitors.’
‘I did not have much choice, my lovely woman. Will you help me?’
‘I told you once that I am a woman of my word and a woman of honour. I always repay my debts, Monsieur,’ she replied unsmilingly for the first time. ‘Moreover, very few of those I have incurred I hold dear. I will help you …’ and then, aware that the tone of her conversation had become rather serious, she added light-heartedly: ‘And, who knows, I might even be doing our future pope a service.’
He shook his head before replying:
‘I prefer to remain in the shadows, my dear. I am waiting anxiously behind the scenes for a man whom I can serve better than I serve myself. Benoît … Benoît, though I loved him dearly, was not this man.’
‘And what shall I do with your spy?’
‘Eliminate him if the need arises; he has given me proof enough of his ineptitude.’
‘I find the idea quite appealing, Honorius.’
Aude stood up, and the camerlingo followed suit, clasping her hands before raising them to his lips. She murmured:
‘I will remain in Rome for two days in order to rest. Do not hesitate to pay me a discreet visit if you so wish.’
‘I think not, my dear. We know each other too well, but above all we like each other too much.’
She closed her eyes and, flashing one of her most dazzling smiles at him, whispered:
‘Why would I have given you the same reply had you been the one to make such a brazen proposition?’
‘Precisely because we know each other too well and like each other too much.’