'All of it. Every thorn, every stitch, every bone. I will lose my throne, sir, and all my vassals shall be cast out if I do not act now, this instant. So, how much?' 'To whom?' the Captain asked, as calm as ever.
'To whoever wants it’ said Baldwin. He was smiling, but shaking his head in exasperation.
The Captain brought his fingertips together and regarded them for a long moment. A death-bed hush had abruptly descended on the room. I watched the dust motes dance in a golden swarm through the sunlight from which Baldwin had withdrawn himself. Then the Captain stood up, a great black shadow that loomed over the emperor. The boy flinched.
'You ask me to put a price on what is priceless’ he said, and his voice was as hard and sharp as flint. ‘I am not a pawnbroker. These relics, things that have touched Our Lord, that have rent His flesh, have no worth at all. They are truly valueless, as prayer is valueless. The prayer itself is nothing more than air. But what price the prayer that reaches the ear of the Almighty? I will not value these things of yours. If someone wishes to buy them, take what is offered. I can give you no more advice.' He gestured to me and I too rose to my feet, watching the man at my side for any sign as to what might happen next.
We thank you for your hospitality’ the Captain went on at last. 'It is one of my dearest wishes to set foot inside the Pharos Chapel, and I am relieved to hear that it did not suffer the hideous fate that befell the rest of your city when Doge Dandolo and Baldwin of Flanders took it for themselves. But I cannot help you. I am no usurer, nor am I a banker. If you wish to raise a loan, there are many here in this city to whom you can turn. And there are many more, scrupulous and not, in Christendom and beyond. And now, by your leave’ He took a step towards the door, and I made as if to follow.
Baldwin let out a great cry, and instantly the two knights rushed into the room. When they saw the Captain and I standing there so solemnly they stopped and looked to their master. Baldwin had risen too. He turned impatiently to his men and shooed them out again. Then he turned to us, and flung out his arms beseechingly. 'Please, sir, please! Do not leave!' he cried. Why should we not?' asked the Captain bluntly.
'Because you have misconstrued me! You have taken offence where none was intended, but I clearly see my error. I beg you to reconsider’ the poor boy pleaded.
Your Majesty’ said the Captain, to my surprise, as I had never heard him honour anyone with their title, no matter how illustrious. 'I am a businessman, and as such a very hard person to offend. You have not offended me in the slightest, but I fear you have wasted my time and yours. I wish you every good fortune, and now I must be on my way.'
Jean de Sol, I command you… oh, fuck it’ said Baldwin, sinking down on his chair. ‘I just want you to talk to the King of France on my behalf’ he went on. 'That is all. I have nothing, do you hear? Nothing!' His voice was pinched, shrill. You would not fix- a price on a prayer, you say? Well, Louis would! For one of Christ's farts in a bottle he would pay enough for me to build a wall around my whole empire! These things are all I have, and you tell me they are nothing? Is this my punishment for trying to sell what should not be sold? Dear God, I am a Christian king!' His last words were shouted at the ceiling.
'I am sure that no one doubts your piety’ said the Captain in a softer tone. 'But if you put the Crown of Thorns up for sale as if it were a bale of silk or a sausage hanging on a butchers stall, you will be reviled. Canon law is not specific on this subject’ he went on, sitting down again and arranging his sleeves like a schoolmaster. 'But I can assure you that the Holy See would accuse you of the sin of simony, simonia realis in this case, although to some even considering such an action makes you guilty. And simony is a grievous sin.'
'But simony is merely the buying and selling of benefices and indulgences’ protested Baldwin. He too seemed a little calmer, and had taken his seat once more. I was the only one standing, so I refilled my cup and sat down. 'It goes on all the time. I would guess every bishopric in my empire was bought, and who has not given a few coins for an indulgence? I know many who would not go into battle without one.'
'It is all a matter of scale’ said the Captain patiently. 'The Church turns a blind eye to many simoniac benefices because it is simply too troublesome to do anything about them, and too easy to bribe one's way out of trouble. It likes to sell indulgences because it is a simple way to raise coin. In my estimation, however, putting the relics of the Passion on the open market would be akin to buying the papacy. You would be excommunicated.' 'Really?'
The Captain shrugged. 'Perhaps. Who knows what the Church will do? How are your relations with the Holy Father?'
'His Holiness Pope Gregory has been kind enough to take a… a keen interest in our affairs’ said Baldwin. For once he sounded like a courtier, and I understood that this was a speech he had made many times in the last two years. 'He has preached a crusade against John Asen, he…'
'Concrete assistance? Forgive my interruption, but has he opened Saint Peter's purse for you?' 'Not yet, but…'
'He was quick to excommunicate your cousin Frederick,' the Captain pointed out.
'Frederick Hohenstaufen is a godless, pitiless voluptuary,' squeaked Baldwin primly.
'But Gregory excommunicated him merely for not being quick enough to set off on crusade,' said the Captain. 'For all your protestations, Frederick too is a Christian king – your pardon, an emperor. No, I think you might find that old Gregory would swiftly show you his whip-hand if you attempted to sell the relics.'
'Then what am I to do? I cannot risk Gregory's anger. He is our one true friend in all Christendom.'
Strange, I thought, that young Baldwin had spent his life in thrall to old men. His Regent, John de Brienne, had been approaching his ninetieth year when death took him, and Pope Gregory was already ninety. This boy, who fancied himself a lion, was no more than a gelded ram at the mercy of prodigiously ancient shepherds. I shuddered: there was nothing in Baldwin's lot that I envied.
‘We are here, sir, because you have a buyer for these things you cannot sell,' said the Captain. It was a statement, and Baldwin stiffened. 'But there is a difficulty,' he continued. 'Louis desires your relics, but he cannot buy them. And he would not: Louis, of all men, would not risk his mortal soul thus, nor would he be so vulgar.'
'That is it!' cried Baldwin, slapping his knees. ‘You have cut to the very quick. My empire is saved, but for the scruples of my saintly cousin! He would give anything for the Crown alone, let alone the… the rest of it, but he cannot. I am like Taranto in Hades: I approach water to slake my thirst, and it turns to dust!'
'I think you mean Tantalus’ I said, before I could stop myself. Fortunately my remark went unnoticed.
What does the empire require?' asked the Captain. 'I mean to say, what price had you intended to place on your treasures?'
'I – that is, the empire… we require money, and men. Fifty thousand men at least, and the money to keep them victualled and armed. More money to pay our debtors.' He shook his head. We have nothing’ he said again.
The Captain was looking at me as if he wished me to contribute something sensible to the proceedings, so I steepled my fingers as well and leaned forward. 'Have you discussed the relics with Louis?' I asked.
I had expected Baldwin to be surprised and affronted, but he seemed to take me for an important confederate of the Captain, and answered willingly.
'Of course! Many times’ he said. 'It is a subject very dear to his heart – not, perhaps, as dear as the welfare of his kingdom, but…' He closed his eyes for a moment as if remembering something. 'One day he took me to his private chapel at Vincennes and showed me his collection of holy relics. It was marvellous, I was duly impressed, and after we had prayed together we walked through the fields, as is his custom. He was greatly animated, and spoke of all the great treasures in his realm: the Milk-tooth of Christ, the two abbeys that claim to possess His…' he coughed delicately, '… His Foreskin; the Robe of Our Lady, of course, in the Cathedral of Char
tres. But none of these compared, he insisted, to the treasures of my house. How he envied me! That made me feel altogether dreadful, I can assure you, being all but overcome with envy for my dear cousin at that moment. The king seems to regard me as little more than a boy…' he sniffed disapprovingly, and we did our best to look sympathetic. 'But in this matter alone he pays me some small deference’
'Forgive me, but I must know: you have requested aid from the king?' I enquired delicately.
'I have. He is most sympathetic: one Christian monarch to another, you know. He has made me some promises and offered a little money. A very little money, although more than Henry, that… no matter. His promises and gifts so far would barely pay for my passage home.'
'And why do you not simply approach the Venetian banks? One hears that their purses are practically bottomless. We assumed that was why you were here’ This last was pure inspiration, but I could tell by the way the Captain cocked his head that I had asked the right question. And indeed Baldwin puffed out his cheeks and expelled the air noisily.
'The Regent John has already placed my empire very solidly in the Serene Republic's debt,' he said ruefully. 'Indeed, until I return to Constantinople I will not know the true extent of it. And I am quite anxious that the Republic does not discover that I am here. I have placed myself in the Hons mouth – the winged lion as it were – to seek you out, sirs.'
The Captain nodded slowly. Reaching for a honey cake, he nibbled the edge, studied it for a moment as if it were of great worth, then popped it into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully, washed the remains down with a sip of wine, and sat back.
‘You will give the Crown of Thorns to Louis Capet as a gift,' he pronounced. 'I beg your pardon?' spluttered Baldwin.
You will make a gift of the Crown of Thorns to your cousin’ 'But why? No, certainly not!'
You will make him a gift of the most precious thing in your kingdom. I will ensure that Louis makes you an equally precious gift in return’
You? How?' said Baldwin. He was beginning to lose his patience, I saw.
The Captain stood up and Baldwin recoiled once more, but he merely brushed the cake crumbs from his clothing and sat down again.
'Do you actually know who I am?' he asked, a little pointedly.
'A dealer’ said the boy. He was trying to be flippant, but the Captain had him once again.
You are right. I am a dealer. I am the dealer. Every important relic that is bought and sold in Christendom has passed or will pass through my hands in one way or another. Not the little vials of martyrs' blood or poor bits of sacking that have touched some saint's tomb: my business is the relic over which a cathedral will be built, a town founded, a cardinal's hat bought. I do not buy arid sell: I arrange for the invention and translation of these things.'
Baldwin looked blank, so I explained: 'Church dogma has it that invention is the discovery of a relic. Translation is its transfer to a new home.'
'So I conduct my affairs under the mantle of dogma’ said the Captain. 'Thus souls can remain spotless. I have taken wine with popes, and taken their money. I am known to the greater number of your royal cousins, including Frederick Hohenstaufen, whom I count as a friend.' Baldwin looked surprised at that, and I was taken off guard as well: this was the first I had heard of such a friendship.
'Louis Capet, as I have said, is a man I know well. He will not buy the Crown, or any other thing, from you. He certainly would not buy them from me, and I would not offer them to him: as I have said, they have no worth. But a gift, an imperial gift: that, I will guarantee, will bring you a mighty reward. We have spoken of this very thing, sitting beneath his oak tree at Vincennes. "My dear Jean," I remember him saying, "Think of all the treasures yet behind the walls of Constantinople, the things that bore witness to the suffering of Our dear Lord’"
I had never heard the Captain talk so much like a common huckster, but then I saw that Baldwin was rapt, and that tears were welling in his eyes.
"Would that it were in my remit to bring them to you, my lord," I answered,' the Captain went on. '"But I fear the Venetian wolves stole everything at the time of the fatal Crusade." "Ah, not so," he replied, "for I have read an account, The Story of Those Who Conquered Constantinople, by a noble knight of Picardy, one Robert de Clari. He lists the things the Venetians took, but the Crown remains in Constantine's palace, alongside all these others." And he listed to me the things that this Robert claimed had been saved from pillage. He believes you have in your possession the Crown, the Nails, the Burial Cloths, the Spear, Sponge, Tunic, Cane; the Stone of the Tomb, and the Cross itself, or parts thereof. "If," I said then, "if these things were indeed still owned by the emperor it is a great wonder, for I thought them lost." "No, no," he said, "They are there, and I tell you, I would give every coin in my kingdom to bring them here to France’" 'You heard those very words?' said Baldwin, faintly. 'And many more on the subject, over the years.' The emperor opened his mouth, then closed it again. He reached for the wine jug and filled his cup to the rim, drank most of it off and set the cup down again. His hand was trembling slightly. 'Can you help me?' he said.
Chapter Five
After the two knights had shown us out of the inn we strolled in silence across the square. The Captain was frowning slightly.
'Did that meet your expectations?' I asked, insanely curious.
He paused and bought us each a peach from an old woman. It was early for peaches and it was a little woody, but the sweet flesh was welcome after Baldwin's tart wine. 'It could hardly have gone better’ he said, a little distantly. What, then?'
‘I do not know, Patch’ he said. 'It was all so simple, was it not?'
'Certainly’ I agreed. Young Baldwin is desperate. He will do anything you say.'
"Young" Baldwin, is it? He is older than you, I think. No, that is right. This is a moment I have thought about for many years: as I told you, the ultimate of prizes. And it appears the boy has placed everything in my hands. I suppose that I cannot quite believe it.'
And he said no more, leaving me fairly boiling with excitement. So wrapped up was I in the complexities of what I had heard, and what I was now imagining, that I barely noticed the streets we were passing through, and even the squatting menace of the Castel SantAngelo failed to make me look up from the cobblestones. It was not until we were upon the marble pavement of Saint Peters Bridge that my reverie was broken, and that was only because the Captain had caught me by the arm. Urn?' I muttered. 'Hold up, lad’ said the Captain. He sounded tense.
Then I saw why. A small company of soldiers, I hurriedly counted eight of them – were strung out across our path. They did not loll, like most soldiers do when they wish to be menacing, but stood like statues. Five of them held short, broad-bladed spears, and all wore both swords and knives over surcoats of red and yellow. They all wore kettle-helms, brightly polished and gleaming, except for one man, the tallest, who was bareheaded. What is this?' I hissed.
'They wear the livery of the pope,' the Captain answered under his breath. 'Keep still, Patch. And on your life, do not touch your blade’ The tall man stepped towards us, hand raised imperiously.
'In the name of the Holy Father, halt!' he proclaimed, somewhat unnecessarily, for we were rooted to the spot. 'Signor Michel de Montalhac?' he asked. 'At your service’ the Captain answered levelly.
‘You will accompany me immediately. You too’ he added, with a haughty jerk of his chin in my direction. Without turning, he snapped his fingers, and his men started towards us. I noted, with more than a little unease, that they marched in perfect step with each other.
'Please walk ahead’ said the officer, for so I assumed him to be, with perfect politeness.
Well, well. This day grows ever more interesting’ said the Captain calmly.
'My God, sir, what do you mean? What is happening?' I hissed.
We have just received an invitation from the pope himself. Do not worry, lad: all this nonsense is merely a bit of mummery, meant to im
press us. You are thinking of the poor flitches hanging from the tower over there, are you not?' I nodded, biting my lip. Well, do not fear. Those to whom the pope wishes harm are visited in the dead of night. You would do well to fear a knock at your door, but polished helmets at midday? Mere Roman nonsense. And besides, His Holiness is in Viterbo, I believe’ 'So what is all this about, then?'
The Captain gave one of his French shrugs. A diversion’ he said, carelessly.
And so we walked – calmly, for despite their order, our escort was polite enough not to hurry us – across the bridge, past the Tor di Nona and into the narrow streets beyond. Mummery it may have been, but the crowds parted before us as water divides around the prow of a ship. Through the broad ways we passed, through squares where marketing wives gawped at us, under beetling towers hung with flags, past knots of urchins who mocked us with great skill, for mockery was their stock-in-trade and they took pride in it. I did not notice much of this, for despite the Captain's easy words I did not feel at ease, and kept my eyes on the ground, watching my feet pace out the flagstones that lay between me and God knew what fate. The towers of the noble families loomed over us on all sides like a sinister forest of branchless trees: columns of brick all emblazoned and battlemented with the furious pride of their makers. Then we were in that quarter where the ancient ruins are more plentiful than the works of modern man, but even these are piled up with more brick towers and strange little fortlets that perch upon the ancient marble like the daubed nests of swallows. And then a great shape rose before us, squatting, heavy as the sins of the world, upon the earth. The Coliseum, almost domestic at this time of day: as we skirted it, I noticed that here and there a face peered out of a window in a crudely bricked-up arch, or a flag of newly washed clothing flapped pathetically.
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