Herald of Hell

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Thibault wished the night was not so black. The rain had ceased but a dense fog had now descended, swiftly falling over both the river and city, creeping along the alleyways, lurking in the narrow yards, drooping from the gables and eaves of houses to clog the eyes and pinch the skin. Nevertheless, the regent’s Master of Secrets conceded to himself, the fog also provided a cover for subtle intrigue and tortuous treason which, if discovered, could send him to the scaffold on Tower Hill. He wiped his face and sat back against the stern of the narrow boat. He could only dimly make out the snow-white hair, creamy skin and milky blue eyes of his henchman, Albinus, who was straining at the oars. The man had become his soul-sharer, his father confessor, comforter and counsellor. If their treason failed he too would join Thibault on the scaffold. Albinus lifted his head and smiled through the murk at his master.

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