London/Paris
March 1794
After my somewhat hasty return from Paris following my first encounter with the Revolution, Andrew and I put matters in motion that ended up with myself being declared Marquis of Tewkesbury, and his heir, in the Autumn of 1793. However, to save on confusion, I decided to make my residence in London, rather than at Millbank, so as not to undermine his authority. After all, I wasn't planning to inherit for at least another twenty years. So I decided to take up residence in the townhouse near Hyde Park which father had brought shortly before he died, and settled there for the duration. That way I could stay active in social circles and keep abreast of the political situation in Europe, most especially in France.
Rumours of a group of young nobles who had pledged themselves to rescuing aristocrats from Madame Guillotine were already abounding by then, and I was one of those who applauded their efforts. My own experience had been just a little too close for comfort. I would have willingly joined them, too, had I succeeded in identifying any of them, but to me at least their names remained a mystery.
In the time since my return to England, Jean-Paul du Près, and his co-rescuees - le Comte de Frènois and le Marquis d'Alsace - had become settled in their new country, and had joined the London social circle. They, like other escaped aristocrats, had achieved a certain popularity due to their change in circumstances. As for le Marquis du ë...he had dropped out of public life, somewhat to the relief of those he had helped, I suspect. What thoughts I had caught from Jean-Paul on our few meetings after I had rescued him had him scared rigid of me.
I was sitting in the smoking room of my new home one cold evening in late March, with a book on my lap and a brandy on the side table, when I heard the sound of a coach drawing up outside. I was a little surprised, as I was not expecting anyone, so I laid the book on the table and walked across to the door. I opened it, to see Wilson, my butler, crossing to the front door to admit my guest. He opened it to reveal a woman in travelling clothes.
"May I help you?" he asked.
"I must speak with the Marquis immediately," replied a tired, shaking voice. However, what startled me was that I knew it.
"May I announce you?"
"I am Suzanne du Près," she replied, confirming my suspicions, "I knew a cousin of his in France."
"I am the Marquis of Tewkesbury," I replied from the smoking room door, "how may I be of assistance?"
With that my butler admitted her into the hall and took her cloak from her, and hung it over his arm. "Wilson, hot wine and some food for the lady," I ordered.
"At once, sir," came the reply, and he headed towards the kitchens, still carrying Suzanne's cloak. She watched him go, and then returned her attention to me. I could see her studying me, but I was fairly confident that she would not realise who she was talking to. After all, le Marquis du ë had been a heavy set, dark man in his late thirties, whereas Robert de Lacy, heir to the Duke of Worcester, was only in his late twenties, having obtained his doctorate at Kings comparatively young, and was most definitely blond.
Of course, there was the possibility that once de Vassigny had cut me off from my magic - a trick I was still trying to emulate - everyone, rather than just my enemy, had seen my real face, but I felt fairly certain that Suzanne had had her mind too much on other things. She had always been very close to her brother, and I suspected that her concern for him had blocked out mere trivialities like my appearance. People tend to see what they expect to see, as far as disguise spells are concerned.
"How may I be of assistance, Mademoiselle?" I repeated as I showed her into the drawing room and indicating a chair.
"I have come with a message," she replied, hesitantly, her English heavily accented.
"An unusual charge for a woman," I commented. In those days it was still not all that common for a lady to travel on her own, especially from Paris to London, and that, I assumed, was the distance she had come.
"I have an acquaintance who needed someone he could trust, and he chose me."
At that point the door opened to admit Wilson, carrying a tray of spiced wine and some light refreshments. He laid these down on the table in front of Suzanne, and then turned and left. I waited until the door had closed behind him before turning back to my companion and replying to her comment.
"And this friend. Is he one of the Revolutionaries?" I asked, mildly, reverting to French so that we could talk more easily.
She went bright red, and paused before answering, but eventually she composed herself enough to do so. "What are you implying?" she demanded, finally.
"As I understand it, you were the one who betrayed my cousin to the Revolution. Have you come to do the same for me?"
"How dare you!" she said, angrily.
"I dare, because you nearly cost my cousin his life," I answered, coolly.
She looked at me, unflinching, and then finally made her reply. "I had no choice. The Revolutionaries had my brother and were going to kill him. They told me that if I betrayed Robert they would free Jean-Paul."
"And you believed them?"
"Yes I did," she almost shouted, "and I regret it, but what is done is done. However, having acted against Robert helped me in one way. The Revolutionaries remember that I have served them in the past, and therefore I was given comparatively free passage across France."
I just nodded. I did not trust her any more because of the admission, but at least it had some ring of truth to it. "So what is this message?" I asked, finally.
"Robert had a friend, another former aristocrat by the name of François Germain. Five days ago he was taken by the Revolution on the charge of being an emigrant who has returned to France - despite the fact that he has never claimed to be a citizen of France," she began.
I never had worked out what had possessed Francesco to return to Paris in the early years of the Revolution, when most of the people we had known were trying their damnedest to flee the place. My best guess was that he was once again working as an agent for one of the European governments, although he never discussed the matter, or even made reference to it. However, I did not take any pleasure in the fact that my concerns for his safety had apparently been justified.
Most of all, I was surprised to hear that my friend had actually let himself be captured - unless he had been taken by one of the occasional black moods that made him careless. Normally, I would have thought that he was canny enough to avoid letting himself fall into the clutches of a group of fanatics like Robespierre and his men. However, I held my peace and waited for her to continue.
"His manservant approached me the evening after Germain had been taken, and asked if I could get word to you. How he knew that I would be able to contact you, I am not sure, but I said I would try. I left Paris immediately and made my way here."
The story still held together for the most part. Francesco's valet would certainly be the one person who knew for certain that my connection with his master went back sixty years, whatever names we chose to call ourselves, and he would also be aware of Suzanne's part in my own near demise. All that surprised me was that he was willing to trust her with the task of getting word to me, which suggested to me that he was desperate for help. Either that or she was weaving a pretty little trap.
"Did he give you any other message?" I asked, feigning incredulity.
"No, he did not," she replied.
"I see," I muttered, noncommittally, and paused a moment to consider what she had said, "did he give you any indication of how long it would be before Germain is hauled up in front of the Tribunal?"
"I'm afraid he didn't," she replied, and I shook my head, a little frustrated at the lack of further information.
"Will you help?"
"I shall see what I can do," I replied, and she seemed genuinely relieved. "What are your plans? Are you intending to return to Paris, or will you be staying here in England with your brother?"
"I have not decided. There are those in Paris who know I have come to London - you need papers to travel across France - and they might be suspicious if I do not return. However, I will probably spend a few days here at least...unless you need my help in getting to Paris yourself."
"I shall make my own arrangements," I answered, having no intention of telling her what they were, "do you wish to stay here tonight, or shall I have you escorted to your brother's lodgings?"
"My brother's home would be more appropriate, I think," she replied. With that I rang for Wilson, and when he appeared I asked him to tell the stables to prepare my own mount and one other, and to get the lady's coach ready for her. He returned a short while later to inform me that it had been done. I excused myself from the lady for a short while and went up to my rooms to change into something more appropriate for riding.
"Are you ready to leave?" I asked, calmly, when I rejoined her.
"I am," she replied and I helped her to her feet, "thank you for agreeing to help."
With that, I took her arm and escorted her out into the hall and through the front door to her waiting carriage. Once she was seated comfortably, I slammed the door and then crossed to my mount and swung myself up into the saddle. Then I indicated to the driver, and we rode out of the gates and set off for the home of her brother Jean-Paul.
I returned to my own home once she was safely delivered, and set about planning my next move. I had no intention of wasting time making my way to Paris by land. Teleporting there would serve to both speed up my chances of getting to Francesco in time, and keep me one step ahead of anyone who might want to follow me to France. The question was where to arrive, and finally the side chapel in Notre Dame cathedral struck me as a reasonable location.
I prepared myself a light travelling bag, left instructions with Wilson that should he not hear from me for a month he should inform the Duke of Worcester that I had gone to Paris, and then headed up to my study. From there I brought to mind the spell which would teleport me to Notre Dame, and triggered it.
The cathedral was dark when I appeared, not totally surprising for three o'clock in the morning, I'll admit, but as soon as I arrived I got the distinct impression that something was wrong. I waited in silence for several minutes, to see if there was any sign of any other living soul, but I was sure pretty quickly that I was alone. Cautiously, I triggered a light spell and looked around me, but what I saw took me by surprise. All the trappings I would have expected to see were gone and the chapel was strangely bare.
Somewhat disconcerted, I moved towards the main sanctuary, my hand on the hilt of my sword as a precaution against...I wasn't sure what. When I reached the holiest part of the cathedral I saw that it, like the chapel, had been stripped of any trappings that one would associate with a place of Christian worship. Still, at least the place did not feel overtly evil - it had nothing of the black curses about it that I had come to associate with my former adversary de Vassigny - but it certainly made me uncomfortable. Had the Church also fallen prey to the wild fanaticism of the Revolutionaries? and if so, what had happened to the priests who had formerly served here? One at least, I owed a debt of gratitude to.
Very cautiously I made my way to the great north door and cast a simple spell to unlock it, I slipped out quietly, ready for trouble, but there was no-one outside. The place was a quiet as the grave, and much to my dismay the atmosphere did not seem much better. How much worse the city was than it had been when I had fled the guillotine. I locked the door behind me, doused the light spell, and then made my way across the Seine to the north, through the slush of a recent snow fall.
My first priority was to contact Roger and find out what had happened to his master. The last address I had for them put them staying in the Faubourg Montmartre, so that was where I initially headed. I walked quickly through the darkened, dirty streets, looking purposeful and avoiding the majority of the few citizens who were still out at that time. It took me about an hour to get to the address I had been given, and the snow was falling again by the time I arrived.
On reaching my destination, I was pleasantly surprised to see that the place showed some signs of recent occupation. However, it was also obvious that the front door had been forced and repaired in the last few days. Hand once again on the hilt of my sword, I knocked twice at the door and then waited. A short while later, I thought I heard footsteps.
"Who is it?" came a familiar voice from the other side.
Somewhat naturally I did not want to shout a reply which would identify me, so I settled for a more neutral answer. "I got your message. May I come in?"
The handle turned and the door swung inwards, to reveal Roger's familiar, middle-aged face. I could see a fading bruise above his right eye and a healing cut by the side of his mouth.
"The Revolution doesn't usually knock," I said, trying to sound light hearted, as I stepped over the threshold, "damn but it's cold out there and the city looks worse than I remember it."
"I will get you some spiced wine to drink," he replied, "do you wish to take a seat in the drawing room?"
"I don't think this is a moment to stand on ceremony, " I answered, smiling. Somewhat relieved, he nodded his agreement and headed towards one of the doors to the left of the hall. I followed him, noticing signs that the place had been partially wrecked, recently, and slowly put back together again. He took me into the kitchen, where a small fire was burning. I stripped off my travelling cloak, hung it over the back of one of the chairs, and then crossed to warm myself in front of the fire. We remained in silence while he prepared a drink for me, and soon the smell of mulling wine and cloves filled the air. Once he was satisfied, he poured me a glass and then sat at the table opposite me.
"What happened?" I asked, finally, as I joined him.
"They came while he was asleep," replied my companion, "in the middle of the afternoon five days ago. I tried to prevent them entering, but they overpowered me and knocked me unconscious. When I came around they had all gone, and so had my master."
"How many?"
"About fifteen of them."
"You're sure they took him?"
"His rooms had been wrecked, and he has not returned, so yes. Unfortunately I have not been able to discover where he is being held, and as yet there has been no indication of when he will be brought before the Tribunal."
"Then it's possible we still have time," I answered, as much to myself as to Roger. Then I changed the subject, "if I may ask, why did you ask Suzanne to contact me?"
"I felt I should remain in Paris to discover my master's fate."
"I appreciate that, but why did you choose her?"
When he answered, his voice was considerably softer than it had been, as if he wanted to avoid being overheard. "Since your departure, she has tried to make amends for what she did to you, and has been working against the Revolution. My master seems to trust her as they have certain mutual aims, and that was enough for me."
"So that is why he came back here..." I said, equally quietly. Perhaps he had thought that the fact that he was not French would protect him, although it seemed like an uncharacteristic miscalculation if that was the case.
Roger just nodded and then diverted the conversation once more. "Do you wish to sleep?" he asked.
"I could do to. It's been a long day," I replied, "if you can just show me a room and give me some blankets I'll be fine."
In reply he just nodded, then escorted me upstairs, found the blankets, and left me to rest.
I awoke reasonably early the following morning and headed downstairs to the kitchen. On the table was a plate of bread and a little meat, and Roger was building up the fire once more.
"Were you comfortable, sir?" he asked as he saw me.
"Fine, thank you," I replied and settled down to the meagre meal, "do you have a plan of campaign?"
"Since he was taken, I have been trying to find out where they are holding him. I intend to continue doing so today."
"I'll see what I can do to help," I answered, trying to think of options. The main thing that was bothering me was that he hadn't used his magic to escape his captors. He, like me, was a sorcerer of some power, and yet if he had been able, I would have expected him to return home. After all, as far as I could read between the lines from things Francesco had said, he and Roger had been together far too long for him to just abandon his companion to the revolution. Did that mean, therefore, that de Vassigny or one of his cronies was interfering in matters? It was something I would have to find out, although I was pretty sure that my adversary himself was dead.
"Do you have any idea how many sorcerers the revolutionaries have in their camp?" I asked, finally.
"I have been unable to discover that, either," he replied, "you might have more luck on that score as I expect you know who was around Paris before the Terror began."
"I'll see what I can do," I assured him, "one final question. What is the status of the Church here? When I arrived in Notre Dame it seemed to have been stripped."
"The Jacobins have dis-established the Church and are redistributing its wealth," he replied, "I understand that Robespierre is trying to form a new civil religion to replace it, although I will be surprised if he succeeds."
"And the priests from the cathedral?"
"For the most part they have taken themselves out of the limelight. Unfavourable laws were passed regarding the status of the clergy and legalising the de-Christianisation of France towards the end of last year and the majority of the priests from Notre Dame, like the other clergy, are keeping their heads down."
"I had no idea that it had gotten so bad," I commented, as much to myself as to him.
"I am afraid it gets worse. I believe that one or two have recently been taken into custody of the people," he continued, "and at least one has been sent to the guillotine in the last week."
"On what charge?"
"Aiding an aristocrat to escape," he replied, and I felt myself pale slightly.
"Father Laurent?" I asked, worried that my benefactor had suffered because he had aided me.
"The name is familiar," answered Roger, "but no, I think he was only brought before the Tribunal yesterday. If they have sentenced him, then he will be taken to la Place de la Révolution this afternoon."
"I need to find out," I said, firmly.
"Might I ask why?" he inquired, quietly, obviously worried that I would do something stupid that would prejudice our chances of freeing Francesco.
"It might be best if you did not know," I replied. I saw a crease of frustration cross his brow, but he said nothing. "Don't worry," I continued, finally, "I am remembering why I'm here."
With that we lapsed into silence, and I finished the meal he had put out for me. Then, once I had eaten, I rose and took my travelling cloak off the chair where I had left it the previous night. "I should be on my way," I commented.
"Then I will see you this evening, Duke Robert," he said, formally.
"Unless we need to meet before. Good hunting."
"You too," he replied, and set about clearing away. With that I put the cloak around my shoulders, and left via the back door.
In the grey March daylight, with a sky promising more snow, the city looked worse than I had imagined. Whatever else the revolution had done, it had not made the place any cleaner or healthier in the poor quarters than it had been under the ancien régime. In fact, if anything it was worse.
I spent the morning visiting the bars and wine shops I had frequented in the days before the revolution, and eventually managed to meet up with one or two of the sorcerer-acquaintances of le Marquis du ë. From them I gleaned that there were at least two mages in the direct employ of the Tribunal, although I was relieved to hear that de Vassigny was not one of them. Apparently du ë's actions had led to the bastard's death and to yet another warrant in the Marquis's name that would get him guillotined if he was caught. It is disconcerting walking around enemy territory with one's doom already upon one's head, as you can expect no quarter if you make a mistake.
News on Father Laurent was less easy to come by, but eventually I managed to confirm that he was one of those scheduled to be executed that afternoon. The question was how to prevent it. Breaking into the Conciergerie did not strike me as particularly wise, but I could not think of an alternative, short of trying to rescue him out of the tumbrils on the way to his place of execution, and that was a habit I did not want to get into. It would be bad enough if we had to do that for Francesco.
I made my way towards the Conciergerie, trying to avoid getting caught up in the fevered crowds that were assembling to observe the afternoon's sitting of the great and noble Tribunal. Eventually I reached the final holding place for the condemned, and pausing only to render myself invisible in the cover of a nearby alley, I took up a position to observe the comings and goings at the building. Cautiously I probed the place magically, but could not immediately spot any wards that would prevent me from gaining entrance. Once inside, all I had to do was find out where the good Father was being held, and arrange for his removal.
All, I say.
The crowd was moving past in waves, and I timed my move to coincide with one of the points where fewer of the general populous were between myself and the entrance to the Conciergerie. I made it across the street fairly easily, still maintaining the shield of invisibility, and then waited for a moment when the guards on the door of the building opened it to admit or allow someone to leave. When the opportunity came I had to move fast, and I still barely made it inside. Getting out that way would be a non-starter, although I hoped I would be able to leave directly once I had found Father Laurent.
I prowled the corridors of the building, trying to keep myself concealed just in case, and searched for someone from whom I might be able to learn the priest's location. Unfortunately, finding someone suitable proved to be a difficult task, and by the time I heard the clocks strike one I was beginning to give up hope of managing to achieve what I wanted subtly. Eventually, however, I came across a rough looking man with a heavy bunch of keys at his belt, closing the door to one of the offices. I checked up and down the corridor, to confirm that we were temporarily alone, and then took the opportunity to rest my hand on his shoulder. He started and turned, at which point I succeeded in catching his eye. I locked wills with him, felt his part before me, and let myself into his mind.
As I had hoped, he was one of the turnkeys for the condemned cells downstairs. I persuaded him to go back into the office, which I could see from his mind that he had left empty, and then once we were assured of privacy I started to seek out the information I had been seeking. Laurent was in one of the cells on the first level, and was indeed slated for execution. I salvaged various other information from then man, such as the route downstairs, the necessary passwords, etc., and hoped it was enough to do a reasonable impersonation of him that would be good enough to get me to the priest's cell.
On the off chance, I also quickly went looking to see if he had any information on either the Tribunal's mages, or on Francesco. On the former score, I gleaned that the sorcerers were both Frenchmen, and went by the names of Lebec and de Longueville. The latter was familiar to me, although when I had known him he had been an aristocrat mixing in the same circles as myself. I did not know him well, although we had been introduced, however my memories were of a polished, but somehow unsavoury man. If de Vassigny did have a protégé, de Longueville was the more likely candidate. On Francesco, alas, there was nothing. I would have to pursue my enquiries regarding him separately.
I left the man sleeping, and quietly let myself out of the door, wearing his face as a disguise. I made my way downstairs, nodding to but not speaking to those citoyens who greeted me.
"Citoyen Janneau," said one of them as I passed. I tried to continue, after a cursory greeting, but he stepped into my path, "Citoyen, why are you in this part of the building?"
I looked up at him, feigning confusion. "I was sent to arrange a special holding cell for one of the prisoners...weren't you informed?"
"Who authorised this?"
"The President of the Tribunal himself. Apparently they have a special prisoner in custody at La Force and they want to move him here, prior to his hearing."
"Who is this prisoner?" he asked, obviously unconvinced. I thought quickly, and then came up with an obvious candidate.
"François Germain."
"The English spy?" he inquired, still uncertain, "I understood he was already in special custody, not at La Force. Where are your authorisation papers, Citoyen?"
I took a brief look around me, to see how many people were observing us. There were a pair of guards looking at us from across the corridor, but I got the impression that they were merely curious, although both were armed and they seemed alert. Other than them, we were alone.
"Your papers, Citoyen," my antagonist repeated.
"I have them right here," I replied, and pretended to look for the imaginary documents. As I did so, I brought to mind a spell that would put both my accuser and the guards to sleep.
"Now, Citoyen," he said, obviously losing patience, and I saw him make a gesture towards the two guards. Suddenly more alert, they came towards us, and began drawing their swords.
"This really isn't necessary, Citoyen," I said, "I know they are here somewhere."
He made another gesture towards the guards, though, ignoring my protestations, and they came close enough to me that one of them could place his sword against my chest. Then the spell was ready, and I finally managed to trigger it. One of the guards and the man who had challenged me fell immediately, but of all the ill luck the second guard shook his head slightly but did not fall. My immediate thought was that he had a latent Talent, and that did not bode well.
I dived past him to try and reach the fallen guard's sword, but he caught me in the side as I went. I felt his blade bite into my flesh and cursed. I had not wanted to kill anyone, but it looked as if I would have no choice. I grabbed the sword and brought it up as he moved in on me. It caught him in the abdomen, and he gasped in pain. Then his own blade clattered to the ground as it fell from numbed figures. With a look of surprise, he sagged to his knees and fell to one side. I withdrew the blade, altering the disguise spell I had around myself to hide the blood, and looked down the corridor. As yet there was no sign that anyone was coming to investigate the noise.
I knelt beside the wounded guard to see if there was anything I could do to help him, but he was gone. The others, though, were sleeping peacefully. I took the opportunity of altering their memories, so they had no recollection of either me or the dead man having been there, and then dragged the body into one of the nearby cells and locked it in. Beyond that, I had no time to do anything else if I was going to get to the good Father out before other guards came to escort the prisoners away.
I moved quickly, and eventually found my way to the correct cell. Through the barred opening in the door I could see the familiar figure, sitting on the side of his sleeping pallet, eyes closed as if meditating. He looked a lot older than he had just two years before. Quickly but cautiously I checked the bunch of keys I was holding in the lock. At the sound of the first, I saw him open his eyes and look towards the door, but it took about half a dozen tries before I found one that would unlock the cell. Finally, however, the door swung open, and I saw Laurent get to his feet.
"Is it time?" he asked, in the quiet, confident voice of one completely at peace with himself and fate.
"Yes," I replied, and he crossed to me, "but not for what you think."
He looked puzzled, but said nothing more. I checked the corridor, and in the distance I could hear the sound of marching feet. "We do not have long," I said, stepping into the cell to join him. I shut the door to conceal us, and then started concentrating on bringing a spell to mind.
"I think I should know you," he commented, "but I cannot place your face."
"We have met before," I replied, "once."
"What are you doing?" he asked, finally.
"Making sure that we can leave undetected," I answered, and laid my hand on his shoulder before triggering the spell that would return us once more to Notre Dame. For some reason it seemed to be appropriate. It took him a few seconds to reorient himself, but soon he was glancing around our arrival point, having realised what had happened, and then I thought I spotted recognition on his face.
"I do know you," he commented, "you are du ë, aren't you?"
"Not any more, but I have been known by that name, yes."
"You seem to make a habit of this, my son," he said, finally, "why did you come for me?"
"I'll answer your questions when I return, Father. However, I need to return something to the Conciergerie," I replied. I brought an image of Janneau's office to mind, and teleported back there. As I had hoped, the man was still sleeping. I slipped the keys back onto his belt and then returned to the place where I had left Father Laurent. He had seated himself on one of the few remaining pews and was awaiting my return, and as the pain from my side was worsening, I decided to join him. Eventually I would heal it, but I was beginning to feel very tired.
"You are hurt," he commented, presumably noticing the grimace of pain I failed to keep off my face as I sat down, and moved around to check the wound and to attempt to staunch the bleeding. Then I saw him gesture briefly and the pain lessened. "How many people did you kill to save my life?" he asked, finally.
The question startled me, and I wasn't immediately sure how to respond. "Just one," I replied, finally, but I found it difficult to meet his gaze as I said it. Then I felt his other hand on my chin as he gently made me face him, and once more I felt as if he was reading my innermost self.
"I do not know what to make of you, du ë." he said after a few seconds, dropping his hand back to his side, "I can tell that you are not inherently an evil man, but blood seems to follow you wherever you go."
I looked at him, puzzled by his words, so he continued, "from what I can read from you, which is not all that much, I predict that you will have a long but violent life," he replied, his face impassive, "even now you have a heavier weight on your soul than your apparent years would suggest...why did you help me?"
"When I first came here, you protected me from those who would do me harm. Today I returned to discover that you were paying for that, and I was not willing to let you die because you helped me."
He shook his head, sadly, "My son, I am a priest. It is my calling to help people, and as such I could not sit idly by and watch as the fanatics of the Revolution coated the streets of Paris in blood. However, I knew what I was doing, and was willing to accept the dangers inherent in opposing them."
His attitude surprised me. I consider myself to be an honourable man, but I could not have accepted my fate so readily.
"You do not understand, do you?" he said, finally.
"No, I don't believe I do," I replied, admitting it as much to myself as to him.
"Maybe one day you will, and perhaps then you will be prepared to die for someone else," he said, "however, now I suspect that you are standing there in disbelief because I appear to be throwing your actions, undertaken with some considerable measure of personal risk to yourself, back in your face with little or no measure of gratitude." As he said it I felt myself flush. His assessment was far too close to the mark for comfort. His next words were kinder, though, "believe me, du ë, I am grateful to you for caring enough to find me, but I am not sure that I am worthy enough for someone to have died so that I could continue to live."
"I felt had no choice," I replied.
"That is what you said last time, and I believed you then, too," he answered, softly, and lapsed into silence for a few seconds before continuing, "I am curious. Who are you really?"
"My name is Robert de Lacy," I replied after a moment's thought. I felt I owed him that much, "at this time I am the Marquis of Tewkesbury."
"An Englishman, then?" he said, possibly a little surprised, "I had not realised."
"Over the last few years, I have tried not to make it too obvious," I answered, smiling for the first time since we had arrived in the side chapel.
"Understandable, given the circumstances," he concurred.
"What are your plans now?" I asked, curious.
"I have friends who will protect me, and with their help I should be able to continue my work," he replied, "they will be surprised to see me, of course, and I had resigned myself to never seeing them in this life again. You leave me in an interesting position."
"While in your eyes my sense of honour probably leaves a lot to be desired, it is such that I will risk a great deal to aid those who help me."
"That, my son, is why you have not been claimed by the darkness that overwhelmed the man you brought here on your last visit," he answered, as he walked towards a door I had not previously noticed before, further up the north wall from the main entrance,.
"Can I escort you anywhere?" I asked when we reached it, "by now the good citoyens will have realised that you are gone and there may be trouble."
"It depends on how they react to the method of my disappearance," he answered, "after all, the door was unlocked, was it not, and yet the keys will not be found anywhere near the cell. No, thank you for your offer, but I will decline it. I should reach my friends with little enough trouble."
"As you wish," I said, finally, bringing to mind the spell that would unlock it. I cast it, and heard a click from the lock. I opened it and looked out, but everything seemed quiet so I stood out of his way and let him pass. "Be careful."
"As always, I will walk the path that has been appointed for me," he replied, with a strange confidence, "goodbye, my son. I am not sure if we will meet again," he finished, and as before I was left watching his retreating back, before turning back to the door and locking it again. Once he was gone, I set off back towards the Faubourg Montmartre to find out if Roger had had any more luck in finding Francesco.