Madrigal Read Online Free

Though hard to define, its scent was musty, earthy and still quite strong, though he had the thought the ambergris wasn’t recent.
    All over the walls there was the finely engraved design of an alternating upright lute, separated by a downwardly pointing needle, beneath which was an upended thimble to catch a single droplet of blood.
    The pomander was very old and, in keeping with the riddles of those times, he wondered if in its design there wasn’t a rebus, a puzzle with which she would tease others to discover its true meaning?
    When he opened the purse, he found gold double dinars, base-silver dineros and silver pennies, gold écus and agnels, salutos, ducats and a Cretan coin, an exquisite piece, dating perhaps from the first century BC. Cast with all its imperfections of roundness, it held the beautifully executed, raised design of a maze.
    â€˜ Le fil d ’ Ariane ,’ he sighed. ‘Is this why you carried it?’ Ariadne’s clue. The thread Theseus used to escape the labyrinth after slaying the Minotaur. ‘Were you trying to indicate that should something happen to you, that others must find the thread and follow it?’
    Among the hoard at the bottom of the purse there was a tin of sardines that had definitely not come from the very early Renaissance or from such a far distant time as the maze.
    â€˜Hermann,’ he said. ‘Hermann, what is this?’ But his partner was busy elsewhere.
    The corridor was dark except for the faint flickering of an ‘Occupation’ fire in the room ahead. Kohler waited. Drawn by the smell of smoke that the mistral had driven down the chimney and throughout the palace’s ground floor, he had at last found them.
    Their voices were muted, the patois not easily understood and soon silenced, they sensing an intruder.
    The monk, still with hood covering his head, sat to the left on a three-legged stool that must have been rescued from a medieval cowshed; the boy was to his right, sitting on the hearthstone, all but hidden under a filthy horse blanket and no doubt freezing.
    â€˜Okay,’ sighed Kohler. ‘Let’s start by your telling me who the hell you are and why the kid’s here, and don’t tell me he’s taken the vow of silence.’
    Such impatience befitted Gestapo Paris-Central. ‘My name is Brother Matthieu. I am envoy to His Eminence, the Bishop. I do odd jobs.’
    â€˜In sackcloth?’
    â€˜It’s my mistral coat. You’d be surprised how effective are the clothes of our departed brethren. Six hundred years ago the mistral was every bit as much of a curse. Now, please, Inspector, I must send Xavier back to the kitchens and to his bed. The boy knows nothing of the matter here.’
    Neither of them had turned from the fire. Too afraid perhaps. The room was barren except for the stool, a wooden soup bowl, a wooden spoon and a small cast-iron stew pot whose lid had been set aside.
    A thin litter of reeds barely raised the threat of a fire.
    â€˜Xavier is a ward of the Church, Inspector, and was given into God’s Holy Service by his parents as was I myself. We share much in common, and out of the great goodness of his heart he has brought me a modest repast for which I am truly grateful.’
    â€˜ Un civet de lièvre , eh?’ snorted the Kripo. A hare stew. Both continued to stare at the tender flames. ‘Hey, mon fin , trapping hare and rabbit is illegal, and so is eating meat on Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays, and it is Wednesday now.’
    All spoils to the victor, even small game. ‘Are you threatening me with three years in prison, Inspector, or with forced labour in the Reich?’
    The official and much-touted penalty.
    The face that had turned to look up at him was in shadow but darker still and fierce, the nose prominent and scarred.
    â€˜Pull the hood back. Go on, do it!’
    â€˜If it pleases you,’ came the mild rebuke. The harshness of a