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prophecies! Isn’t that so, Father Marchant?’
    A tall priest bowed to the Pope. ‘Your Holiness is miracle enough.’
    ‘Ah no! The miracle is in here! In the painting! It is superb. I congratulate you, my son,’ the Pope spoke to Giacomo.
    Thomas stole a glance at Father Marchant, seeing a slim, dark-faced man with eyes that seemed to glitter; green eyes, forceful eyes, frightening eyes that suddenly looked straight at Thomas, who dropped his gaze to stare at the Pope’s slippers, which were embroidered with Saint Peter’s keys.
    The Pope blessed Giacomo and then, pleased with the progress of the new frescoes, limped from the room. His entourage followed him, all but for the fat cardinal and the green-eyed priest, who stayed. Thomas was about to rise, but the cardinal placed a heavy hand on Thomas’s bare head and pressed him back down. ‘Say your name again,’ the cardinal demanded.
    ‘Guillaume d’Evecque, Your Eminence.’
    ‘And I am Cardinal Bessières,’ the red-robed man said, keeping his hand on Thomas’s head, ‘Cardinal Bessières, Cardinal Archbishop of Livorno, Papal Legate to King Jean of France, whom God bless above all earthly monarchs.’ He paused, plainly wanting Thomas to echo his last words.
    ‘May God bless His Majesty,’ Thomas said dutifully.
    ‘I heard Guillaume d’Evecque died,’ the cardinal said in a dangerous tone.
    ‘My cousin, Your Eminence.’
    ‘How did he die?’
    ‘The plague,’ Thomas said vaguely. Sire Guillaume d’Evecque had been Thomas’s enemy, then his friend, and he had died of the plague, but not before he had fought on Thomas’s side.
    ‘He fought for the English,’ the cardinal said.
    ‘I have heard as much, Your Eminence, and it is to our family’s shame. But I hardly knew my cousin.’
    The cardinal withdrew his hand and Thomas stood. The priest with the green eyes was staring at the faded painting on the end wall. ‘Did you paint this?’ he demanded of Giacomo.
    ‘No, father,’ Giacomo answered, ‘it is a very old painting and very badly done, so it was probably daubed there by a Frenchman or perhaps a Burgundian? The Holy Father wants me to replace it.’
    ‘Make sure you do.’
    The priest’s tone drew the attention of the cardinal who now stared at the old painting. He had been looking at Thomas, frowning as if he doubted the truth of what Thomas had said, but the sight of the painting distracted him. The faded picture showed Saint Peter, identifiable because in one hand he held two golden keys, offering a sword towards a kneeling monk. The two men were in a snow-covered field, though the patch of ground about the kneeling man had been cleared of snow. The monk was reaching for the sword, watched by a second monk who peered apprehensively through the half-opened shutter of a small snow-covered house. The cardinal gazed at it for a long time and looked surprised at first, but then shuddered in anger. ‘Who is the monk?’ he demanded of Giacomo.
    ‘I don’t know, Your Eminence,’ the Italian answered.
    The cardinal glanced quizzically at the green-eyed priest, who merely answered with a shrug. The cardinal glowered. ‘Why haven’t you covered it over already?’ he demanded of the painter.
    ‘Because the Holy Father ordered the ceiling painted before the walls, Your Eminence.’
    ‘Then cover it now!’ the Cardinal snarled. ‘Cover it before you finish the ceiling.’ He snatched a glance at Thomas. ‘Why are you here?’ he demanded.
    ‘To receive the Holy Father’s blessing, Your Eminence.’
    Cardinal Bessières frowned. He was plainly suspicious of the name Thomas had given, but the existence of the old painting seemed to trouble him even more. ‘Just cover it!’ he ordered Giacomo again, then looked back to Thomas. ‘Where do you lodge?’ he asked.
    ‘By Saint Bénézet’s church, Your Eminence,’ Thomas lied. In truth he had left Genevieve, Hugh and a score of his men in a tavern beyond the great bridge, far from Saint Bénézet’s church. He lied because the last thing he wanted was Cardinal Bessières to take a sudden interest in Guillaume d’Evecque. Thomas had killed the cardinal’s brother, and if Bessières knew who Thomas really was then the fires of heresy would be lit in the great square beneath the Papal palace.
    ‘I am curious,’ the cardinal said, ‘about the state of affairs in Normandy. I shall send for you after the None prayers. Father Marchant will fetch you.’
    ‘I shall