‘God bless you,’ he said. ‘I do admire your guts.’
For the second time that morning, Sylvie was thrown off balance by unexpected admiration. She was not brave, she was scared. ‘I just do what has to be done,’ she said.
‘But you can’t do this,’ Luc said. ‘There’s no safe route, and you’re a young woman who can’t afford a bodyguard of men-at-arms to protect you from bandits, thieving tavern-keepers and randy peasants armed with wooden shovels.’
Sylvie frowned at the image of randy peasants. Why did men so often speak of rape as if it were a joke? But she refused to be distracted. ‘Humour me,’ she said. ‘How do people get to Geneva?’
‘The quickest way is to go up the Seine from here as far as Montereau, which is about sixty miles. The rest of the journey, another two hundred and fifty miles or so, is mostly overland, all right if you have no goods to transport. Two to three weeks, with no serious delays, although there are always delays. Your mother will go with you, of course.’
‘No. She needs to stay here and keep the shop open.’
‘Seriously, Sylvie, you can’t do this alone.’
‘I may have to.’
‘Then you must attach yourself to a large party at every stage of the journey. Families are safest. Avoid all-male groups, for obvious reasons.’
‘Of course.’ All this was new to Sylvie. The prospect was terrifying. She felt foolish for having spoken glibly of going to Geneva. ‘I still want to do it,’ she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt.
‘In that case, what’s your story?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’ll be in company. Travellers have nothing to do but talk. They will ask you questions. You’re not going to admit that you’re on your way to Geneva to buy illegal books. In fact, you’d better not say you’re going to Geneva at all, since everyone knows it’s the world capital of heresy. You need a story.’
Sylvie was stumped. ‘I’ll think of something.’
He looked thoughtful. ‘You could say you’re on a pilgrimage.’
‘To where?’
‘Vézelay, which is halfway to Geneva. The abbey has relics of Mary Magdalene. Women often go there.’
‘Perfect.’
‘When do you want to go?’
‘Soon.’ She did not want to spend too long worrying about the trip. ‘This week.’
‘I’ll find a trustworthy captain to take you to Montereau. At least you’ll get that far safely. Then just keep your wits about you.’
‘Thank you.’ She hesitated, thinking she should say something polite after picking his brains. ‘How is Georges? I haven’t seen him for a while.’
‘Fine, thank you, and opening a branch of our business at Rouen now.’
‘He was always clever.’
Luc smiled wryly. ‘I love my son dearly, but he was never a match for you, Sylvie.’
That was true, but embarrassing, so Sylvie let it pass without comment, and said: ‘Thank you for your help. I’ll call at your office tomorrow, if I may.’
‘Come on Tuesday morning. By then I will have found you a captain.’
Sylvie extracted her mother from a group of women. She was impatient to get home and start making preparations.
On the way back to the rue de la Serpente, she found a cheap draper’s store and bought a length of coarse grey cloth, ugly but hard-wearing. ‘When we get home, I need you to sew me a nun’s costume,’ she said to her mother.
‘Of course, though I’m almost as bad a seamstress as you.’
