A Treasonous Path: Murder and double-dealings in Elizabethan England (Tom Walsingham Mysteries Book 2) by C. P. Giuliani

Author:C. P. Giuliani [Giuliani, C. P.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sapere Books
Published: 2022-10-28T04:00:00+00:00

By the time the Ambassador’s flock entered it in a small procession, the gallery was brightly lit. There were exclamations of astonished pleasure — and they were well-earned. An abundance of fine wax candles burnt in candelabra and sconces, their flames reflected in the four glazed windows. Seen from the garden — and even more from the river — it must have looked like a prodigious lantern, held aloof by a giant’s hand. Under Girault’s watchful gaze, a handful of servants hovered, ready to trim the wicks as need arose, while at the far end three men stood with the air of having just retired there. None of them, it was worth noting, was Claude de Courcelles. Tom recognised the scribe Laurent, a tall stranger and, more surprisingly, Archibald Douglas. Had he been ensconced here all evening, watching them all from above? A braw place to see who comes and goes, he’d called it… That he had worked with Feron seemed unlikely, and surely he stood aloof, and showed much less interest in surveying the arrangements than the other two did…

The arrangements consisted of three sideboards, arrayed between the windows and draped with wine-coloured cloth, each carrying three pictures of some sort, each picture set so to catch the best of the light.

“Fine and rare prints,” Monsieur de Castelnau beamed at Tom, with the delight of all collectors — half child with a toy, half prey-laden hunter. “Come and admire my find, Monsieur Walsingham. It cannot but be to your taste.”

And indeed, it was. Little as Tom knew of printing and pictures, he was astonished at the fine, intricate workmanship, at the rich detail bringing the scene to vivid life. See how the minute leaves sprouted from Daphne’s fleeing limbs, her plaited hair coming undone in her flight… “These are exquisite, Excellency. Even to as untrained an eye as mine.” He glanced at the next print: Andromeda chained to the rock, the sea serpent rearing its head above the waves. “Are they all from Ovid?”

Castelnau beamed — and truly, truly, could this be the man who had spies poisoned in his own kitchen?

“But yes, the Metamorphoses!” he explained. “The work of Virgil Solis — the original work, etched by his own hand. Exquisite, as you say. There are many more, but so hard to find now! It was a great chance and a great work to find the nine you see.”

“Do not despair, Signor Ambasciatore,” a new voice said in Italian, and Tom turned to find Bruno at his shoulder, and Jauffray with him.

This mysterious fellow, clad in the soberest drab, had shed his earlier scowl in favour of mildness, in perfect counterpoint to the Italian’s animation — Calm and Liveliness from an old-fashioned play. He used to be a Dominican friar, Sidney had said of Bruno. Just as sharp-witted, no doubt — but had he been this bright, in the Dominican black and white?

“We were just discussing, were we not, Signor Jauffray? Of what a miracle it is that your Sauldane found even what he found.

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