The Vault of bones bp-2

by Pip Vaughan-Hughes

  The Genoese captain was a fine sailor. He had hung just enough sail to carry us sweetly and gently forward, and the fat ship was gliding like a swan, tacking up into the wind, trailing its own modest pennants in the lively air, for the royal standard had been furled at Andrew's request. We edged towards the quay, until I could see the red of the Regent's cheeks. A man in white robes stepped forward and raised his hand to us in a lordly greeting. There was a loud crack! and the great flag of France unfurled behind us. There was a cheer from the quay. At that moment Andrew gave the captain a nod. The Genoese gave a curt command. All of a sudden the deck was alive with scurrying men, all grabbing up ropes and hurling themselves into the rigging. There was a commotion of canvas and air, and the ship began to go about. With timing so perfect that I found myself sharply envious of the crew's skill, the hull drew a white circle upon the dirty waters of the Golden Horn, until it presented its stern to the Regent and his party. With another command, the crew heaved upon the lines, the sail filled, and the ship began to gather speed. The great blue and gold standard of Louis Capet waved a mocking farewell to Constantinople, and to the men on the quay, now milling about in consternation. But they were fading from view, for we were already out past the boom, out into the currents of the Bosphorus, with a fine, fast day's westward sailing ahead of us, out of the Sea of Marmara and the ruined city that squatted at its end, like a dead spider in an empty web.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  ‘Nicholas Querini owns an island’ said Letice. They were the first words she had spoken to anyone – save a few mutterings to me, ill-tempered with fatigue – for she had slept her way across the Sea of Marmara and down through the Hellespont, and now that she had made her way on deck to join us for luncheon, we were out in the Aegean, with Lemnos far away to starboard and Tenedos behind us.

  ‘I’m sorry?' said James, looking at her in some amazement, or possibly discomfort, for although his sensual complexion made this seem unlikely, he was the shyer of the two Dominicans.

  ‘It is called Stampalia’ she went on, and I realised she was speaking Paris French, and well at that. 'Rich Venetians tend to have their own islands’ she explained, cutting herself a slice of salted ham. 'Querini has Stampalia, which lies to the south, near Naxos.'

  'How interesting’ said Andrew, distractedly. He was attempting to eat a piece of dry and crumbling bread on which perched a tough sliver of ham while reading some official-looking document. Crumbs were showering over the parchment.

  'And I was wondering if, perhaps, he is there’ she said primly, dabbing at her lips with her sleeve. With the holy relic.' The Dominicans looked up as one. 'How far is this Stampalia?' asked Andrew. 'Three or four days’ sail’ said Letice.

  'Why would he not have carried his prize back to Venice?' I asked. James nodded in agreement.

  ‘I do not know, but I wonder… these seas are dangerous at this time of year, and the news in Constantinople, again and again, was of the Greek Emperors navy and their raids on the ships of the Latins. Perhaps he is holding court in his castle until spring comes. Or perhaps he has left the holy relic there under guard. In either case…'

  'My dear daughter, you are not suggesting…' began James, a frown ploughing across his pink forehead.

  'No, no, I am sure Mistress Letitia was not implying that we should abscond with the relic’ I said hurriedly. 'But…' and I stared hard at Letice as I spoke, 'if Messer Nicholas is at home, we will perhaps be able to treat with him there, and thus save us the long and uncertain passage to Venice.'

  'I do not think that Querini has the authority to treat with us’ said Andrew kindly, a little as if he were addressing a child or perhaps a horse. I waited for Letice to bridle at his tone, but she merely smiled impassively. 'I have assumed, from what Master Petroc has told us, that Querini is merely acting as an agent for the Serene Republic of Venice, and that it is in Venice that we will conclude our business.'

  'I do not know if that is actually true’I put in. 'That is, I assumed the same thing at first, but now… if he were an agent of the Doge, he would not have made off with Monsieur de Sol, or tried to kill me. De Sol is a resident of the Republic. He is on friendly terms with the Doges' palace.'

  Well, then, I… how far is this Stampalia? Perhaps I will at least mention it to the good captain’ said Andrew, and returned to his battle with bread and ham. 'Good Brother Andrew, perhaps you can tell me how this matter is to be settled?' I said. That question had been preying upon my mind since first I had set foot aboard the Seynt Victor, and this seemed as good a time as any to broach it. For it seemed that, if Captain de Montalhac's company was to reap any reward from this ghastly mess, I would have to do the reaping. And indeed I seemed to hear the Captain's voice in my ear: 'Pay attention, Patch! Pay attention.'

  The friar looked up again, crumbs flying, jaws working furiously upon a piece of pig gristle. 'It is a simple transaction,' he said at last, after a mighty swallow. 'Possession of the Crown is transferred to His Majesty Louis, depending upon its exchange for a gift, a token of gratitude, from the king to the emperor or empire.'

  'Exactly! And the size of this putative gift was, I hazard, known by my master?'

  'No,' said Andrew, wiping his greasy mouth with the back of his hand.

  'Oh?' I said, surprised. This was not going to be easy, then.

  'It had not been decided,' said Andrew. 'Has not, even yet. We were to adjust the magnitude of the gift to the needs, the requirements, of Baldwin de Courtenay. These needs, we hoped, we could estimate without putting His Majesty the Emperor to any embarrassing questions. As, now, the Crown is being held in surety for a loan, the gift, to my thinking, will be in the amount of said loan – for how better to reward Baldwin but to discharge him from onerous and shameful obligation?'

  'Indeed. So…' I paused, my mind scurrying ahead to commissions and percentages. 'The mortgage imposed by Querini is in the sum of…' There was a sharp burst of pain in my lower shinbone. I looked around to see that Letice was glaring at me with her piercing eyes, the same docile smile upon her lips. She had kicked me smartly under the table.

  'Querini's mortgage is the crux of the matter’ agreed Andrew, not noticing a thing. As soon as we find out what it is, we can send back to Paris and make arrangements. But it is to be assumed that we are concerned with a considerable sum – a very considerable sum indeed, to necessitate such a holy, an indeed priceless security. I would place the Crown's worth far above that of the whole empire, from what I have heard and seen of that!

  'Quite so, quite so’ I said smoothly, placing my chin upon steepled fingers, something I had seen Gilles do. I felt like a rank impostor, but nonetheless we seemed, incredibly, to have come to the nub of the matter. And what sum is in your remit to… to disburse?' I enquired casually.

  'Oh, good heavens!' cried Andrew. The piece of bread burst asunder in his fist, blasting crumbs everywhere. One caught in my eyebrow, and I spied another upon the ivory skin of Letice's neck. I bit my lip in frustration: I had gone too far. But no: Andrew was brushing his hands together and gazing at the clouds overhead, as if performing some kinetic prayer. I could see his great teeth. He was smiling.

  'My dear son’ he said at last, tugging abstractedly at his earlobe, 'I cannot quite believe it myself, but I have the authority – and I tell you this only because you are now, to my mind, the successor of Monsieur de Sol…' he broke off and glanced at Letice. She stood up and dashed the breadcrumbs from her tunic front. 'I believe we need a little more wine’ she said brightly, taking up the jug and wandering off towards the stern.

  An extremely well-bred young lady’ I murmured, sanctimoniously. The friar nodded his agreement.

  'Indeed, yes’ he said. 'Most discreet, most discreet. Now…' he leaned forward until his mouth was inches from my ear. It is King Louis' wish that James and I give whatever is necessary to secure the Crown.'

  Whatever necessary being…?' I could barely get the words out.

  When I said that
the Crown was worth more than the empire, I was not indulging in rhetoric,' said Andrew, softly. 'Louis is willing to present Baldwin with… with half the royal treasury of France!' he finished in a rush and regarded me, panting a little, as if he had relieved himself of a physical burden. And indeed he had, I thought. What could the kingdom of France be worth? I thought of the barber of King Midas, rushing out to bellow his secret to the bullrushes. Well, I would press on.

  'My… my merciful Lord!' I squeaked, blinking in unfeigned shock. 'That could be no less than… than…'

  'One hundred and fifty thousand golden livres,' hissed Andrew, in a rapture of release. 'There. It is told. I would have told Monsieur de Sol ere now, and so I am telling you.' 'And I shall tell no one,' I assured him.

  Andrew stood up and rubbed his cheeks briskly, as if to force the blood back into them. You see what a dilemma James and I have been in?' he asked. I nodded.

  'Good brother Andrew,' I said, leaning forward over the food-strewn table, 'I see what a burden you have borne. But consider this. It may be that to find Querini away from Venice would put us to some advantage. If he should reach Venice, is it not possible, given the record of past Doges, that the Republic might be loath to surrender the relic, even to King Louis himself?'

  'It… it is possible,' Andrew conceded. He turned away and gazed eastwards, towards the golden backs of the islands that shimmered there. 'Four days' sail, eh? Not so very far. I shall consult my brother.' And without another word he drifted off, leaving me in possession of the table, and of the ham, on to which I fell in an ecstasy of greed, made sharper by relief, and by the appalling, wonderful secret with which I had just been entrusted. I had not had time to think much about Letice of Smooth Field since we had escaped from the Pharos Chapel. I might have left her there on the shore, but my mind and body were in painful turmoil and it had been easier to take her with me. And strange to say, her kneeling to pray by the water had moved me in some way I could not have explained then or now. Since we had climbed aboard the Seynt Victor we had barely seen each other. But when she had insinuated herself into my conversation with Andrew, and that sly kick beneath the table… All the desolate, impotent rage I had felt when Michael had revealed to me the circumstances of Anna’s death had come flooding back. But I was trapped now, for I could not ill-treat any woman, no matter how evil; nor could I have her put ashore, for I was but a passenger on this ship. We had no power over each other here, and that very thought was a knife in my heart.

  Thank you’ I told her now. I had cornered her in the prow, where she was watching the land slip by in the distance. 'Thank you very much. Do not..’ I held up my hand, for she had turned to me in surprise. 'Do not mistake yourself, lady. I do not know what is in your mind, but I know what you are, and what you have done. That you and I are alive together on this ship is an accident, nothing more. You will keep out of my affairs, or by God I'll.. ‘ I broke off, and smacked the rail in confused rage.

  'Master Petroc, there is something I must say to you’ I rounded on her in fury, for how dare she address me? But her eyes were cast down and she was hugging herself tightly across the chest, and the unbidden memory of that day in Rome when I had witnessed Querini beating her stilled my tongue.

  'I was in London when you were there’ she muttered. With some others. They were looking for…'

  ‘I know who you were looking for’ I said, quiet in my turn, for I feared that if I raised my voice I would lose control of my passions and strike her, or worse.

  'Facio was riding the horse’ she said, eyes still down. 'He was the tall man with me in Rome, down by the river, the one who.. ‘ She gave me a rueful look, and I narrowed my eyes. 'I told him not to kill you, though he had planned on it. He was a mercenary once, before he met Nicholas Querini, and can ride a destrier as well as any knight’ she went on. 'I did not know they planned to kill your woman. I thought they would take her back to Venice. I… I would not have been party to it, I swear’

  'I do not believe you’ I told her. Why should I? You are a murderess and the tool of an evil-doer. You killed your own friend in front of me. And Fulk de Grez in Rome, and his companion, no doubt: why would you not murder.. ‘ I could not utter Anna's name in the presence of this creature. 'It would surely be as easy, nay, easier by far, to strike down a defenceless woman’ You were there!' She pleaded. You saw!'

  "Twas not you upon the horse’ I hissed, 'but you no doubt guided your friends to Cheapside. That is why you were in London, was it not?'

  Well, you are right’ she said, and her eyes met mine. They were rimmed with red, and the pale skin beneath them was bruised with exhaustion. We knew your plans – Nicholas keeps an army of spies to tell him of friends and enemies, and what the world's gold is doing; and at Pope Gregory's court there was a certain Peter of Verona, newly become Inquisitor General of northern Italy, courtesy of Querini gold…'I closed my eyes. The trap that had caught us was monstrous. I saw Peters jolly face and cold eyes, and how spittle had flown from his grinning mouth as he spoke of heretics and what he did with them.'… we were waiting for your ship’ Letice was saying. We had been there since November…'

  'But I do not care about this’ I snapped. What does it matter? I know. All of it: all the schemes, all the… waste.' She opened her mouth in shock. 'Oh, do not play the virtuous one’ I told her. 'I have found out your masters plan at last – too late, but a simpleton like me is always late to the feast, eh?'

  We were to kidnap the lady, no more’ insisted Letice. 'I thought Nicholas was going to ransom her off to her uncle. And then I heard… I saw her, out in the streets; followed her. She was a fine lady…'

  'She was a princess? I cried. 'But that is not why – dear God, I cannot bear this!'

  'That wasn't why you loved her’ said Letice, quietly. I stared at her, horrified. 'And Querini is not my master, no matter what you might think – I'd not blame you for thinking it, mind. No, listen’ she said hurriedly, for I had begun to turn away. 'I was his woman, it is true. He took care of me, and what I gave him in return should be obvious. And more: I was useful to him, for I have a quick mind, and men will betray themselves happily for a pretty face. Nicholas has grown rich on such betrayals. I am not dull enough to think I am the first woman he has used thus, and I shall not be the last. But he gave me a fine life and I was happy to do his bidding. Until that day. No: listen to me. I saw you in Rome that day, when Nicholas blacked my eye: remember? He had taken me out to buy me something, or so he said, but we were following you. When I realised, I told him I would have nothing more to do with it, that he had no right…'

  'Please, do not mock me with this morality play,' I scoffed, but she shook her head furiously.

  Whatever else I may not be, I am a woman’ she said, eyes blazing. 'I will not suffer to watch my sisters ill-treated. I am a whore, Master Petroc’ she said defiantly. 'Not a princess, but I know how men use women, how they hurt us, defile us, kill us as if we were beasts. Do you know why Nicholas had your woman killed? Because it was easier than carrying her off. If she had been a man, do not think but that he would have taken the trouble. That's what I told him, there in the market, and he knocked me down.' 'Much you have suffered’ I sneered.

  'Oh, I have suffered all right’ she said, suddenly angry. We've all fucking suffered, haven't we? Do not come the high-handed one with me, Master Gurt Dog of Balecester, Master Priest-killer! You would not blanch at the killing of a lady, from what I've heard! The priest you once were is showing, you moralising popinjay!'

  'I was never a fucking priest!' I hissed. 'I was a novice monk, no matter what the… the stories, the songs about me – and they are not about me, no matter what the London street believes – are all of them lies, and…'

  'And you are innocent. You never done it, eh?' said the girl, with an angry smile. Well, you must have done something.' ‘I am no priest, no priest-killer, and no-'

  'No what? You have done your share, my lad. You've killed more men than I.'

&n
bsp; 'Is that so?' I asked, bitterly. You seem to know how to use a knife. Who taught you to kill, since we are speaking of such things?' She gave a grim little chuckle and and peered at me sidelong.

  'Taught me?' she said. 'I worked it out for myself. Not very hard, is it? Who taught you, then?'

  I was silent, remembering Sir Hugh de Kervezey, and the first words he had ever spoken to me: This is how you kill someone quickly and efficiently. Knife forward, your thumb on the blade. Strike upwards under the ribs, and keep pushing upwards.' And I remembered how the light had gone out of his eyes after I had killed him. He had proved a good teacher after all, and I a fine student. I found that I had clenched my fists so tightly that they had gone numb, and that the terrible agonising rage I had felt was quenched, although I could not have said why, or what was taking its place.

  'Not hard?' I said at last. 'I suppose it isn't. But it makes everything else impossible.'

  She gave me that sidelong look again. 'Depends on who it is, doesn't it?' 'Those who believe in the immortal soul would disagree.'

  'Fuck. Of course, you used to be a priest. You aren't squeamish, though, Gurt Dog…'

  'Do you not listen? I was never a priest,' I growled. 'As for my soul, it is destroyed, beyond a doubt, but I have ceased to believe in salvation or a loving Saviour. I will not give myself that luxury, to be a murderer and a thief and still under His protection. I leave that to the soldier-priests and the crusaders.'

  'I didn't kill your friend,' she said, suddenly. 'The German, in Foligno. That was Facio. You want to know if my arms are bloody to the shoulders? I will tell you. I killed a man in Venice, when I was a girl, and all alone. He beat me and fucked me in an alley, and when he had had his way he fell asleep from all the drink in him, and I stove his head in with a brick.' I heard her swallow hard, as if her mouth had gone dry.

  Will you hear my confession, Master I-was-never-a-priest? Here it is anyway: I have stood by while men were killed. I have brought a man to his death, once. In Smooth Field life was not accounted very high, and in Venice they will kill a man over the cut of his clothes. But Dardi was the second one I have slain, and he fucking deserved it,' she said through clenched teeth. Tuck! Fuck it! Ach…' she sniffed, and I suddenly realised she was weeping. Reluctantly I raised my hand to comfort her, and she flinched. My anger flooded back.