Eventually, preceded by a severe-looking individual with a noticeably receding hairline, the Grand Coesre arrived.
Slender and blond, the Grand Coesre was no more than seventeen years old, an age when one was already reckoned an adult in these times, but he seemed rather young to be leader of some of the toughest and most frightening members of the Parisian underworld. He nevertheless displayed all the self-assurance of a feared and respected monarch, whose authority was never disputed without blood and tears flowing from the challenge. His right cheek carried the scar from a badly healed gash. His clear eyes shone with cynicism and intelligence. He was unarmed, certain that no harm would befall him in his own stronghold where a mere glance on his part could condemn another to death.
While the Grand Coesre settled himself comfortably on the high-backed armchair reserved for his use, the man who had held the door for him moved to his side, standing straight and expressionless. Saint-Lucq knew him. His name was Grangier and he was an archisuppot. Within the strict hierarchical organisation of the Cour des Miracles, archisuppots ranked just below the Grand Coesre, along with the cagoux. The latter were responsible for organising the troops and training new recruits in the arts of picking pockets and eliciting compassion-and money-from strangers. The archisuppots, in contrast, were often highly educated judges and advisors. A defrocked priest, Grangier had his master’s ear due to his formidable perspicacity.
Saint-Lucq bowed his head, but did not remove his hat.
“I must admit you’re not lacking in courage,” the Grand Coesre observed without preamble. “If anyone but you behaved like this, I would think I was dealing with a cretin.”
The half-blood didn’t respond.
“To come here after having manhandled two of my men and threatened to cut poor Tranchelard’s throat-”
“I had to be sure he would not forget to pass on my message.”
“You realise that he now speaks of nothing but disembowelling you?”
“He’s of no importance.”
Tranchelard bristled, visibly itching to draw his sword. As for his undisputed master, he burst out laughing.
“Well! You can always boast later of how you piqued my curiosity. Speak, I’m listening.”
“It concerns the Corbins gang.”
At hearing these words, the Grand Coesre’s face darkened.
“And?”
“Recently, the Corbins have seized certain goods. Precious, fragile merchandise. Merchandise of a kind which, up until now, had never interested them. Do you know what I am referring to?”
“Perhaps.”
“I would like to find out where they stash their goods. I know the place is not in Paris, but nothing more than that. You, on the other hand…”
The master of the Cour des Miracles paused for a moment without speaking. Then he leaned toward Grangier and said a few words to him in narquois, a language which was incomprehensible to the uninitiated. The archisuppot replied in the same idiom. Without reacting, Saint-Lucq waited for their secretive discussion to end. It was brief.
“Supposing I have the information you seek,” the Grand Coesre said to him. “Why should I tell you?”
“It’s information for which I’m willing to pay full price.”
“I’m already rich.”
“You’re also a bastard without faith or morality. But above all, you are a shrewd man.”
“Which is to say?”
“The Corbins are making inroads into your territory. Because of them, your influence and your business revenues are shrinking. But, in particular, they don’t take their orders from you.”
“This problem will soon be resolved.”
“Really? I can resolve it for you now. Tell me what I want to know, and I will deliver the Corbins a blow from which they will have trouble recovering. You can even take the credit if you want… We don’t like one another, Grand Coesre. And no doubt, one day or another, blood will be spilt between us. But in this matter our interests coincide.”
The other stroked his well-trimmed moustache and goatee thoughtfully, although they were still not so much hair as down.
“This merchandise is precious to you, then?”
“To you, it’s worth nothing.”
“And for the Corbins?”
“It is worth the price they have been offered. I think they are only hirelings in this business and soon they will deliver the goods to their employers. For my purposes, it will be too late to act once that occurs, and you will have lost a beautiful opportunity to give them a taste of their own medicine. Time is short.”
“Allow me an hour to consider it.”
The man and the half-blood exchanged a long glance, in which each delved into the heart of the other.
“One hour, no more,” Saint-Lucq stipulated.
Once Saint-Lucq had gone, the Grand Coesre asked his archisuppot: “What did you make of that?”
Grangier took a moment to reflect.
“Two things,” he said.
“Which are?”
“To begin with, it is in your interest to help the half-blood against the Corbins.”
“And then?”
Rather than replying, the archisuppot turned toward the old woman who, he knew, had followed his chain of thought. Between nibbles of her wafer, her gaze still directed straight ahead like someone either blind or indifferent to the world, she said: “The following day, he will have to be killed.”
25
Within the Cardinal’s Guards, the troops received their pay every thirty-six days. This occasion demanded a roll call, which was also an opportunity to take a precise count of the cardinal’s manpower. The guards lined up. Then the captain or his lieutenant walked past with a list in hand. Each man in turn called out his name, which was immediately ticked off the list. Each ticked name was then copied out onto a list which was certified and signed by the ranking officer. This document was given to the paymaster, and the guards would go-in good order-to receive their due at his office.
Today, it had been decided that roll call would take place at five in the afternoon, in the courtyard of the Palais-Cardinal, since His Eminence was currently residing there. Unless they were excused, all the guards not currently on duty thus found themselves collected here. They were impeccably turned out-boots polished, capes pressed, and weapons burnished. They waited to be called to attention and chattered amongst themselves, enjoying the idea of soon being a little richer. They might have been gentlemen in social rank, but most of them lacked fortunes of their own and lived on their pay. Happily, the cardinal paid well-fifty livres for a guard and up to four hundred for a captain. But above all, he paid punctually. Even the prestigious King’s Musketeers were not remunerated so regularly.
Sitting by himself on a windowsill, Arnaud de Laincourt was reading when Neuvelle joined him. The young man, delighted to be taking part in his first roll call, was beaming.
“So, monsieur Laincourt, what will you do with your hundred and fifty-four livres?”
It was the pay grade of an ensign with the Cardinal’s Guards.
“Pay my landlord, Neuvelle. And also my debts.”
“You? You have debts? That’s not like you. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I can’t imagine you burning through money…”
Laincourt smiled amiably without replying.
“Let’s see,” continued Neuvelle. “I have observed that you don’t drink and you scorn the pleasures of the table. You don’t gamble. You’re not vain. Do you have a hidden mistress? Rumour has it that you give all you have to good works. But you can’t run into debt through acts of charity, can you?”