by Tim Severin
Arno took advantage of his moment of surprise. ‘Forgive the intrusion, Your Holiness,’ he announced loudly enough for everyone to hear. ‘I felt I should come to make sure of your well-being.’
With a visible effort, Leo recovered from his initial shock. He drew himself up straight and assumed an air of mild outrage, though I noticed that his eyes had darted nervously around the room. ‘I thank you for your concern, Archbishop Arno, though you should be aware that these are my private apartments.’
‘I thought that after last night . . .’ said Arno, deliberately not completing his sentence and allowing his voice to trail away so that only those standing close to us could hear him.
If Leo was planning to deliver a rebuke, it died on his lips. He went pale and, after a pause of several heartbeats, he addressed the vestararius. ‘Leave us. The disrobing can be completed later. I’ll send for you.’
The vestararius responded with a slight nod that did little to hide his look of disapproval mingled with curiosity. He set aside the hem of the papal cloak he had been examining, then began to usher his staff from the room, fussing around while making sure that they did not carry with them any items of value. Albinus the chamberlain, I noticed, remained where he was, and without consulting Leo. Finally, when all the other staff had left the chamber and the doors had been closed behind them, Leo turned to Arno and demanded, ‘Pray, tell me what is this all about?’
‘I think you know, Your Holiness,’ Arno told him bluntly. ‘Your personal safety is of great concern to King Carolus.’
‘Do you serve the King or the Church?’ The slight quaver in his voice marred Leo’s attempt to remind the archbishop that he was in the presence of his superior.
‘I serve both. Their interests are the same,’ answered Arno bluntly.
Standing off to one side, Albinus was staring at me. I knew that he had recognized me.
‘Paul, what are you doing here?’ Leo enquired, treating the former Nomenculator to a sour glance.
‘I am here in a private capacity, merely to assist,’ Paul answered. ‘I have known Sigwulf for some years.’
Leo looked in my direction and was about to ask me a question when Albinus stepped in closer to him and whispered in his ear. Leo listened intently, then shot me a mistrustful glance. Albinus must have told him enough to make me out as some sort of threat. No doubt the chamberlain had made the association between all three of our meetings, first in the Alpine monastery, then at the banquet in Paderborn and most recently in the Forum of Nerva.
Archbishop Arno broke the awkward silence. ‘Your Holiness, please accept my apologies for this unannounced interruption. I shall report to King Carolus that you are unharmed.’
And with that he bowed, turned on his heel, and led us out of the robing chamber and back into the corridor where a cluster of curious cubicularii were gathered, wondering what had been going on inside, and probably trying to listen at the door.
The encounter with Leo had taken less than three or four minutes and as we walked back the way we had come, I realized that the archbishop had failed to mentioned any details about the attempt to kill Leo outside the house of his mistress.
‘What was all that about?’ I asked Paul after Arno had dismissed us at the door to his office, leaving us to find our way back to Paul’s villa.
‘Giving Leo a warning,’ Paul replied. ‘I thought it went rather well.’
‘But shouldn’t Leo be told who his enemies are, so that he can take precautions for his own safety?’
Paul laid a finger against his bulbous nose and gave me a conspiratorial wink. ‘As far as Arno is concerned, it is enough to let Leo know that he’s well aware of the Pope’s visit to his mistress.’
Nor would he speak any further on the subject. As we strolled quietly across the city and back towards his villa, I wondered just how much the former Nomenculator knew but was not prepared to reveal. The presence of Albinus the chamberlain in the robing chamber had left me confused. I was in no doubt that sixteen months earlier Albinus had been involved in, or at least warned about, the first attack on Leo, yet I had a distinct impression that the chamberlain had not anticipated last night’s attempt to murder the Pope in the Forum of Nerva. I was now even more puzzled as to whether there could be any connection between the recent turn of events and our discovery of the warrior flagon hidden in the chamberlain’s house.
I was still attempting, and failing, to make sense of these new developments when we arrived back at Paul’s villa to be told that Beorthric was awake and in great pain. Paul’s gardener confirmed that the dagger blade had been poisoned. He had packed the wound with wadding soaked in a concoction of herbal remedies, but he did not know what type of poison had been used and could do no more than hope that he had applied an effective antidote. The big Saxon was sweating and groaning on his mattress and mumbling incoherently.
‘You realize that both Beorthric and I are now targets,’ I warned Paul as we went to his study. ‘Whoever is behind the plan to murder the Pope will want to silence us as witnesses to what happened. The plotters will be looking for Beorthric, in particular, and they won’t take the risk that he has shared his information with me.’
‘Then you must both stay here with me until Beorthric recovers,’ Paul replied without a moment’s hesitation. ‘My staff are discreet and I will give instructions that they don’t speak about your presence. I’ll also send word to Archbishop Arno so that he knows where to find you when he needs you.’
‘What about the chamberlain, Albinus? He saw you with us this morning. If he’s involved in this latest plot against Leo, he’ll guess where we are staying.’
‘That’s a risk I’m prepared to take,’ said Paul. ‘As I once told you, I have my own reasons for stirring up trouble in the Lateran and muddying the waters for the bureaucrats up there. I confess that today it was a real pleasure to watch Archbishop Arno making Leo squirm.’
*
It was six weeks later that events took an unexpected direction. By then Beorthric’s convalescence had progressed to the point that he could shuffle very slowly around the garden, using a walking stick to steady himself, and I was less worried that the men who had tried to murder the Pope would trace us to Paul’s villa. Paul had been keeping us up to date with all the latest gossip from his visits to friends and contacts in the city: Leo was now being accused of land speculation and blasphemy as well as the theft of Church property and simony. Someone had even started a wild rumour that Leo was in negotiations with the Byzantine Greeks to form a united front against the Roman nobility. As a result, the beleaguered pope was losing popularity with every passing week. In this whispering campaign against Leo I detected the hand of the Beneventans and their Roman allies. It seemed that they were further undermining Leo’s reputation before they made their move to replace him.
Then, one evening at the end of August, Paul brought momentous news.
‘Carolus is coming to Rome,’ he announced as he joined Beorthric and me on the porch overlooking the garden. Beorthric had over-exerted himself that afternoon and was lying down on a day bed to rest, wrapped in a light blanket.
‘When’s the king due to arrive?’ I asked.
‘Sometime in late November or early December. He wishes to celebrate Christ’s Mass in St Peter’s Basilica, with his family. He made the announcement at the great assembly of the Franks earlier this month. The news came this morning by official courier.’
Then it had to be true. Each summer Carolus summoned all his vassals to an enormous field camp at which he hosted a succession of banquets, watched army exercises and announced his plans for the coming year.
‘There is more,’ said Paul, giving me a sharp look. ‘Carolus has made it known that he’s distressed to hear that the Church is in such turmoil. He wishes to heal its wounds.’
‘And that’s going to involve Archbishop Arno?’ I guessed.
Paul nodded. ‘Arno is chairing a tribunal to examine the allegations being made again
st Leo and will report to Carolus when he gets here.’
‘Will his investigation include the circumstances of the attack made on Leo in April last year?’
‘My contacts in the Lateran tell me that our suspects, Campulus and Paschal, are on the point of admitting that they were involved.’
His face was so carefully blank that I could not resist saying, ‘Were they confronted with evidence gathered by your very persuasive investigator Theodore?’
Paul ignored my question. ‘I expect that both men will be sent into exile.’
‘What about Albinus the chamberlain?’
‘Albinus is a rather special case.’ Paul was choosing his words with great care. ‘There is no evidence against Albinus except—’
‘. . . The warrior flagon that Beorthric and I took such trouble to obtain,’ I interrupted, finishing for him.
He spread his hands wide to indicate that the matter was beyond his control. ‘So I expect you may be called to appear before the archbishop and his tribunal. They meet in the triclinium, that splendid new banqueting hall that Leo has added at the side of the Lateran Palace.’
*
Sure enough, a messenger arrived within the week bringing a summons from Archbishop Arno: Beorthric and I were to present ourselves at the entrance to the east wing of the Lateran, one hour after dawn the following morning. Beorthric was still too sick to attend, so while it was still dark I set off without him, though accompanied by Theodore; Paul had arranged for him to act as my bodyguard in case I ran into trouble on the way. An usher was waiting for me in front of the triclinium’s double doors and, while Theodore was left outside, he escorted me through the grandiose interior resplendent with painted ceiling, triple apse, marble and porphyry, mosaics and bright new frescoes. At the furthest end, he turned through a low archway and let me into a much smaller and unfinished side chamber, a functional room with recently whitewashed walls, windows not yet glazed and a floor of raw new terracotta tiles. A faint smell of fresh plaster hung in the air, and the dawn chill lingered. I wondered if the summer warmth ever penetrated this far.
Paul had told me that the leading members of the investigating tribunal were two archbishops, one of them being Arno, plus the Duke of Spoleto, who was regarded as a reliable vassal of Carolus. So I was surprised to find Arno alone, without even a secretary to take notes. He was seated behind a long table on which lay writing implements and a thin pile of documents. As his paperweight he was using the only exotic item in the room – the polished and gleaming warrior flagon.
The usher withdrew, closing the door behind him. An empty chair with heavily carved arms was placed directly across from Arno but he merely pointed a thick finger towards the corner of the room behind me and immediately to my left. ‘Stand over there, Sigwulf,’ he ordered, ‘and stay silent.’ He did not enquire after Beorthric.
Nearly half an hour must have passed while Arno ignored me as he read through various documents and occasionally drafted a note. I might as well have not existed and I found my attention wandering from the archbishop’s scratching stylus, to the top of his grizzled head as he bent over his work, to a patch of sunlight slowly moving across the squares of the tiled floor, to a small, brown insect crawling along the edge of one of the windows.
Always my gaze returned to the warrior flagon.
Eventually, there was a soft knock on the door and Arno called out ‘Enter!’ It opened inwards towards me so that I could not see who was coming into the room. When it was pulled shut, presumably by an usher from outside, the newcomer was already well into the room, his back to me. It was Albinus the chamberlain. Arno had got to his feet and indicated that his visitor was to take the empty chair facing him. Albinus was completely unaware of my presence no more than two or three yards behind him. I realized that this was exactly what Archbishop Arno had intended. I found myself taking shallow breaths and keeping very still.
I regretted that I was not standing where I would have seen the chamberlain’s expression as he laid eyes on the warrior flagon on the table directly in front of him. What I did observe was a very slight hesitation in his gliding step, a momentary flicker of uncertainty before he moved forward again. It was his only reaction. His hands had been tucked into the sleeves of his gown when he entered, his arms folded across his chest. As he took his place on the chair, I watched the hand closest to me as he placed it on the arm of the chair. It was absolutely steady.
‘This interview is strictly informal and should not take long,’ began Arno briskly. He discarded any attempt at politeness. ‘His Majesty King Carolus has asked me to look into allegations of improper behaviour made against Pope Leo. Doubtless they have also come to your notice.’
‘My duties keep me too busy to be listening to such calumnies,’ murmured the chamberlain. His voice was as I remembered: flat, toneless and unemotional. He might as well have been a low-ranking clerk in some office reading off a page.
Arno wasted no time in getting to the heart of the matter, ‘I’m interested in learning if there is any truth in the accusations levelled against His Holiness and contained in certain letters sent to His Majesty’s councillors.’ At this point the archbishop lifted the gold flagon and set it to one side so that he could take the top page from the sheaf of documents in front of him. ‘Those letters were written in Rome prior to the unfortunate incident when Pope Leo was attacked in the street.’
Albinus sat still, utterly composed. ‘Those complaints were discussed at the time of His Holiness’s visit to King Carolus soon after the attack. They were set aside.’
‘Since then you have no fresh thoughts on these complaints?’
The chamberlain gave an obsequious bob of his head that somehow also managed to be subtly disrespectful. ‘All I have to add is my gratitude for the generous hospitality shown to us during our stay in Paderborn.’
If Arno was frustrated by the chamberlain’s glib evasion, he did not let it show. He shifted his position and leaned back as if to make himself more comfortable. ‘I must advise you, in confidence, that some of those letters of complaint were written by two of your very senior colleagues, Sacellarius Paschal and Arcarius Campulus. They are now prepared to admit that they were aware that His Holiness would be assaulted on that day.’
‘How truly regrettable –’ Albinus admitted, then he paused – ‘if it is true.’
‘Certainly it is true.’ Arno allowed a harsher tone to creep into his voice now. ‘What I now ask you is whether, from your personal knowledge, there was any justification whatsoever for those allegations of misconduct.’
The chamberlain sounded very sure of himself. ‘They have no basis in fact. Nor, as you will note, does my name appear amongst those who wrote letters of complaint.’
‘So you recognize the authority vested in Pope Leo?’
‘I have always served His Holiness faithfully, and believe him to be blameless.’
‘And you are prepared to sign an affidavit to that effect?’
‘I am.’ Albinus’s voice was firm and clear.
‘I have a document ready,’ said Arno. He selected a paper that he had drafted earlier, and slid it across the table towards the chamberlain, together with a stylus and ink.
Albinus leaned forward in his chair and was about to pick up the stylus when he caught sight of me out of the corner of his eye. His head jerked round, his eyes narrowed and, for one instant, I saw a look of pure venom as he realized that I had been standing there throughout his conversation.
‘Sigwulf is here as a witness to your declaration. He is a trusted and loyal servant of His Majesty,’ Arno told him.
For the first time Albinus’s hand trembled, but only very slightly, as he reached for the stylus. I wondered if it was from anger or shock or, possibly, relief that the archbishop had not questioned him about the flagon. He signed his name and placed the stylus down on the table. ‘If that is all, my Lord Bishop?’ he said, his voice icy. ‘I’m already overdue for my next meeting. The cellerarius wish
es to discuss the ongoing refurbishment of the papal residence.’
‘Yes, that is all,’ said Arno flatly.
The chamberlain rose to his feet and headed towards the door and I was again raked with a hostile stare. This time it was of cold, menacing calculation.
‘Sigwulf, you are to stay in Rome, pending His Majesty’s arrival, when I want you to be on hand in case there are last-minute complications,’ the archbishop told me as the door closed behind the chamberlain. He picked up the flagon. ‘I’ll see that this is returned to where it rightly belongs, to Carolus’s treasury.’
I was dumbfounded. The brief meeting between Arno and Albinus had turned out exactly the opposite of what I had anticipated. I had expected Arno to confront Albinus, accuse him of stealing Church property, and then to follow up by cross-examining the chamberlain about the extent of Pope Leo’s corruption. But not a word had been said about Albinus’s theft of valuables from the papal coffers. Instead, Archbishop Arno had only obtained Albinus’s assurance that Leo was innocent of any charges of misbehaviour. That, as Arno and I both knew, was an outright lie.
*
‘The chamberlain’s sworn statement is worthless,’ I grumbled to Paul as I told him what had taken place. Theodore had escorted me back to the Viminal Hill by a route different to the one we had used earlier in the day, saying it was for my safety. With the hostile look from the papal chamberlain fresh in my mind, I did not object.
‘There you’re wrong,’ said the former Nomenculator. ‘It keeps Albinus under control for the next few months.’
I must have looked baffled because Paul laid a hand on my arm and said in a serious tone, ‘Think about it, Sigwulf: Campulus and Paschal hold two of the most senior posts in the Lateran, heads of their departments. When they confess in public that they knew Leo was about to be attacked while on his way to celebrate the Litany, they will be disgraced. That leaves the chamberlain as the obvious Lateran candidate to succeed Leo if he is deposed.’
‘You think Albinus has ambitions to become Pope himself?’
