The evening flowed happily on from there. It emerged that our host had once served in the Captain's company, although long before the time of any of us present - before, if such a time were imaginable, the Cormaran herself had first set sail. But the man, who delighted in the name of Marcho Antonio Marso, was plainly still a confidant of his old captain, for after we had been shown our table the two of them vanished into a back room together, and emerged a little while later with the intent look that comes after a deep conversation. Business, I imagined, and why not? Marcho Antonio kept a fine house. The wine was good, if somewhat sweet, and the food was abundant and tasty. I was beginning to gather that the Romans liked to eat every last bit of their beasts, from snout to ballocks, and indeed I had eaten both snout and ballock, I believe, by the time I was sated. I leaned on my elbows, picking at a dish of rice balls stuffed with cheese, watching the crowd ebb and flow and listening absently to my friends.
Zianni was explaining the finer points of Venetian etiquette to the Captain, and to Horst, who seemed to have fallen in love with a tart called Clementia he had met the day before. He had described her every charm to me at least six times already since we had left the palazzo. I thought of Anna, of course, but trying to banish such thoughts I pushed my chair back on its hind legs and stretched noisily. And in another instant I was scrabbling at the table as a jolt of shocked surprise sent me off balance.
For two men, soldiers by their weathered faces and cropped heads, had appeared behind Zianni and were looming over him, hands to the hilts of their swords. Between them appeared, as if by a mountebank's trick, another face. It was young, very young: a boy's face, smooth and slack, as if the puppet-strings that life weaves behind our visages had not yet taken hold there. I will call him a boy for that is how he always seemed, although when I first saw him he was in his twentieth year, married and already provided with a son and heir. He met my eyes, and smiled. His hands squeezed Zianni's shoulders and he looked down at the Venetian's coiffed head.
Well met indeed, Jean de Sol,' he said. Zianni sat, a marble idol of himself.
'Have a care, my lord huntsman, before you blow your horn,' said the Captain evenly. 'Do not sound the kill, for you do not have your prey, nor even know him.' Then he turned to me. 'Do you know what manner of man stands before us?' he asked. It was not a question I could answer at that moment, for I swung, unbalanced, between the safety of the table and the unknown void behind me, my right hand - even while my left hand reached for the table's edge - grasping the cool stone of Thorn's hilt. The Captain took my flailing hand and pulled me upright. In answer to his question I shook my head, never taking my eyes from the stranger's face.
'Not a man at all, in fact,' said the Captain. With a touch of his finger on my hand he pushed Thorn back into her sheath. The whole place had suddenly fallen silent, and with an almost painful surge of relief I heard her neat little click.
'No, not a man. And not merely a boy. This is an emperor’
The emperor blinked. He had large blue eyes that looked neither innocent nor malign; rather, they were the guileful eyes of a spoiled child forever trying to get his own way. I was staring full into them. He blinked again. I did not.
'Emperor of where?’ Horst asked the Captain, taking no pains to keep the rudeness from his voice.
Now the boys hand was on his sword - he was wearing a short sword, I now noticed, and so were his two men, and their hands were ready too. Horst had pushed his chair against the wall. Zianni's knuckles were white as he gripped the table's edge. The Captain looked past me and raised a casual finger, as if calling for another jug of wine.
'To your left, my lord Emperor’ he said. We all looked. The proprietor was leaning calmly on the marble counter, aiming a small crossbow steadily at the boy in green. The three pot-boys had cleared the floor and faced our table, legs apart, one holding an iron mace, one weighing a cudgel and one slowly swinging a gigantic falchion. The Captain turned back to me. I felt him release my knife hand.
'You were saying, Horst?' he said.
‘I merely asked, emperor of where?' he replied thinly.
I was staring at the boy again. He had released Zianni and I saw pride, anger and fear ripple over his face, which settled at last into a mask of resignation. It was not the look of a man who has been thwarted on the point of success, rather of one who, in his heart of hearts, never expected to succeed. Suddenly he looked very young indeed, and rather desperate. He turned to his companions.
Wait for me outside, my good lads’ he muttered in French. They backed away like two big, angry dogs before turning and shouldering their way out through the crowd, who were watching the scene as if waiting for a cock fight to begin. Then the boy turned back to me.
'I am not about to trade words with anyone’ he declared. He spoke a very noble French, tinged with something that sounded much warmer.
'There is no trade, and no purchase’ replied the Captain politely. 'My colleague would like to know who you are. Please understand that if you part with this information you will receive nothing in return, except perhaps your life. Tell me: apart from those two strapping fellows you brought with you, will you be missed? Think carefully.'
The boy took a deep breath and blinked again. I was beginning to feel almost sorry for him.
'Perhaps you are accustomed to a herald’ said the Captain. The boy looked up with something like a flash of anger.
'It seems I must needs be my own herald, then, now as always’ he said, and drew himself up to his full height, which was not considerable.
Well then, know that I am Baldwin de Courtenay Porphyrogenitus, Emperor of Romania and Constantinople, Margrave of Namur’ the boy declaimed.
I sensed more than saw that Horst had slipped his knife from his boot and was holding it flat against the underside of the table. He glanced at the Captain.
'An emperor, this one?' he asked in his German-slanted Occitan. We had all been speaking French, and to hear the familiar tongue of the Cormaran was startling. 'He is telling us shite, yes?'
'Not at all’ answered the Captain. 'Has he answered your question, my Horst?' He nodded. 'Then I thank you, but you can put that away.'
Horst let go of his knife, still scowling. I felt surprising anger, although whether it was aimed at this strutting boy’s presumption, the menace of his companions or the result of my own confusion I could not tell. Meanwhile the Captain nodded seriously. He turned back to the boy.
'Against my better judgement and the good advice of my colleagues, I will trade with you after all, Baldwin de Courtenay. A seat at our table in return for your name’ He waved again to the proprietor, and the pot-boy laid his falchion with a clank upon the counter and brought over a chair. As quickly as they had appeared, all weapons vanished, and the proprietor began yelling at his customers as if nothing at all had happened. In another moment I began to wonder if it had all been a dream as the inn settled down to business once again. Meanwhile the boy seemed to weigh his options and chose, with evident relief, to sit down at the end of the table. A cup appeared before him, and another jug of wine.
'Drink with us’ said the Captain. You are in no danger here. Not any more, that is. I must admit that I am delighted to meet you at last, but I am a little surprised to find you are in Rome. I thought you were in Venice, and the world believes you to be in France, yes?'
You will forgive me, but I still do not know to whom I am speaking’ said Baldwin de Courtenay. He hesitated for a moment, then shrugged and took a long gulp of wine. His shoulders relaxed a little, and he risked a glance around the table. 'I believed myself to be in disguise, but even here I am recognised, and by the owner of a ... a tavern. This is your house, sir, is it not?'
'In a manner of speaking, yes’ said the Captain.
'But you said you were delighted to meet me at last, and I do not know what you can mean by that’
'It is simple’ said the Captain, and he looked enquiringly at the boy. It is most simple’ Baldwin shook hi
s head in confusion. You seek a man, do you not?' asked the Captain, slowly.
'I do’ said Baldwin. 'I believed I had tracked him to this place. But.. ‘
'And whom do you seek?' the Captain ploughed on.
'He goes by many names, so far as I can tell. In France they call him Jean de Sol, and it is in France that I heard of him from ... from a dear friend’
'And who is he, this Monsieur de Sol? What does he do?'
'He is a trader. No, hardly a trader, for that would be an insult to his stock-in-trade. Rather, he is a purveyor, a middleman. He expedites the sale of delicate ..’ Baldwin was almost wringing his hands. I could tell that he was either trying to find a particular word, or frantic to avoid saying it. 'Delicate, wondrous things’ he managed.
'And you, as ruler of Constantinople, are well known for having a large - a very large - number of such things in your possession’
'Good sir, you mock me!' said Baldwin stiffly. 'If I were not at your mercy here, I assure you—'
'Peace, peace. I do not doubt you. Far from it. I am simply amazed that you have sought me out’
'Sought you out, sir? Your pardon, but I have simply made a mortifying error. I thought I had found this de Sol here, and seeing this gentleman' - he nodded politely at Zianni - 'who is the most magnificently attired person in the room, I assumed, most foolishly and carelessly, that he was the man I had been hunting for. Now I beg your pardon once again, and by your leave ...' He rose, but the Captain reached out and patted his hand.
'My dear sir, be at your ease. Your hunt was a success. You have found Jean de Sol.'
Baldwin jumped to his feet. 'He is here?' he cried, looking around wildly.
A hand came down on the table and made the cups dance. ‘For fuck's sake, my lord Emperor, or whoever you are, just listen.' It was Horst, and his appalling French chopped through the air like a blunt hatchet. 'This is Jean de Sol, this one here. Sit down, drink your wine, and listen.'
Baldwin de Courtenay sat down with a bump. He had blushed crimson to the roots of his thick blond hair. Now, finally, I did feel sorry for him. And evidently the Captain did too, for he turned back to the boy, folded his hands in front of him, and treated us all to a great, sunny smile.
'Now then, gentlemen all, let us drink a toast of peace and friendship. Even ill meetings can have happy outcomes. So, to new understandings!'
We clinked our cups together, a little sullenly to be sure. Zianni alone seemed to find the whole thing amusing. He was also, I knew, of all of us the one most likely to have put a sudden end to the young emperor's reign. He carried a stiletto, a peculiarly Venetian dagger as long and thin as a blade of grass, and it was that knife, or one like it, that had got him banished from Venice six years ago. He was a merry soul, a happy rake; but he had the quickest hands I ever saw, and a temper like fire and quicksilver thrown together. The boy was luckier than he would ever understand.
'So it was the blaze of sakarlat that drew you to me?' he asked Baldwin. 'Like a moth to a candle, eh? That is a little worrisome. Come, though: you are no leper yourself, in that greenery. Where did you get it? I should like some.'
If nothing else, Baldwin de Courtenay was scrupulously polite, and to his credit he swallowed his imperial pride and allowed this banter. As I have said, I was beginning to feel sorry for the lad, so I joined in.
'Peace, Master Zianni: I saw it first. Indeed, I have been wondering how I might have a bolt for myself.' I threw him what I hoped was a conciliatory smile. To my relief, he chose to take the bait.
It is from Constantinople, where we have the finest silk in this world,' he said. 'I would be glad to make you a gift of some. A gift to both of you, if that would not cause a falling-out between friends.' He cocked his head a little slyly. And now, Monsieur de Sol, I am at a horrifying disadvantage. I beg you to introduce me to your ... colleagues.'
'Gladly. The gentleman you mistook for me - and I am most flattered that you would suppose me to be so elegant - is Signor Giovanni Canal. This is der Junker Horst von Tantow. And this other young dandy here is Petrus Zennorius.'
Well met indeed,' said Baldwin graciously. 'Allow me to beg your forgiveness for my earlier rudeness. My eagerness to make your acquaintance overcame my manners. And I am most eager, Monsieur de Sol, to be acquainted with you.'
'So I have gathered,' said the Captain. 'If you would care to speak a little of your reasons for this eagerness, I assure you that these men are my trusted confidants, and I could not keep my private matters from them even if I so wanted.'
Baldwin took a thoughtful sip of wine. Horst, as a peace offering, pushed a dish of rice balls in his direction and the boy took one, bit into it and made a face.
'Rather dry, are they not?' I asked sympathetically.
'Somewhat,' he agreed, finishing the thing and reaching for another. I saw that he was very hungry.
'Monsieur, you said that the world believes me to be in France, and indeed it has been my misfortune - my life's misfortune - to have the world taking an interest in my affairs. I was, until lately, indeed in France, a guest of my cousin Louis. I believe that most think I am still there. I pleaded urgent business and left Paris for my fief of Namur, from whence I slipped away.'
You had a hard ride, then’ said the Captain. 'How did you get through Lombardy? The Holy Roman Emperor holds everything from the mountains to the shores of the Venetian lagoon, and Emperor Frederick is no friend of Louis’
'Frederick von Hohenstaufen is also a cousin of mine’ said Baldwin, a little pompously. 'But I felt it prudent to go in disguise, nonetheless. His captain in those parts is a monster, so one hears’
'Ah, yes - Ezzolino da Romano. But it is his job to be monstrous: he is merely very good at what he does’
You jest with me again, monsieur. If you had ridden through the burning towns and seen the butchered corpses he leaves behind him
Yes, yes. You can see the smoke from the campanile on a fine day, so I hear’ said the Captain dismissively. 'Given all that, finding your way past the monster's army was no mean feat.'
'Well, I decided it was too dangerous to pass myself off as a simple Ghibelline, as allegiances change every furlong or so between the mountains and the sea. Besides, I am, as you know, rather well known as a Guelf, and my personal affairs are all over fleurs de lys. No, that is a dangerous game to play, so I posed as a knight journeying to the East to save Constantinople from the Turks. As that is the truth, I was not putting my immortal soul at risk.'
I poured myself some more wine. This evening had taken a strange turn indeed. A simple fight would have been quite a normal end to the night's proceedings; fights, although I did not enjoy them, had ceased to surprise me, and I knew how to look after myself. But this: this was something so far outside my ken that I might as well have been supping with the man in the moon. Here, seated at my right hand, was a real emperor, and a hungry one at that, gossiping about his royal cousins and about the great war that had burned up half of Italy as if it were nothing of greater moment than a day at the fair. What I knew about the Empire of Romania was slight: Anna had fizzed with rage at the very thought of Frankish Constantinople, but let me know that the thieves who had captured the greatest of all cities were no better than beggars, paupers who held her uncle - who was, of course, the true emperor of the Romans, although at present he ruled from Nicea - at bay only through luck and by prostituting themselves to any barbarian or infidel who rattled their purses.
It confused me that, while he was cousin to both Louis of France and Frederick von Hohenstaufen, he put himself in the Guelf camp, that is, a supporter of the pope's cause against the claims of the emperor, rather than an ally of Frederick, or Ghibelline, as they have begun to call themselves. Fleur de lys and eagle: this war between flowers and birds had already spilled blood enough to redden every whitewashed wall in Italy. Indeed I could not quite see why an emperor would have to take sides at all. It did not seem prudent to ask, however. Baldwin had finished the rice balls
and was delving deep into a stack of ham, and although he was trying to seem courtly it was plain that hunger had mastered rank, at least for the moment. The Captain was letting him eat and watching carefully. He was wearing the look that had reminded my friend Will of a great owl watching mice scurry below him on the floor of his barn, and not for the first time that evening I felt a - very small - tug of pity for Baldwin de Courtenay.
'Good sir, I can perhaps guess what you are hoping to talk to me about’ said the Captain after Baldwin had polished off the ham and sat back, looking rather stunned and wiping greasy hands on the wondrous tunic. ‘Your cousin Louis is a collector, of course.'
'Monsieur, by your leave! You speak of the King of France, the heir of Charlemagne, not some ... some ploughboy!'
'Peace, dear friend,' said the Captain calmly. 'That most pious king and I have a long acquaintanceship: I daresay I know him better than you do yourself.' He held up a hand to silence more protest. 'Louis Capet is not a proud man, nor overbearing, nor is he a zealot for pomp and ceremony. I have conducted most of my dealings with him seated at his side beneath an oak tree, and he would not wish me to dissemble otherwise.'
Baldwin sighed. You are right. The King of France has ways and habits that are beyond the understanding of ...' he glanced nervously around the table. 'Beyond my understanding, certainly. But as to piety, there, sir, do we have the matter itself.' He sighed again, and placing his right hand on the table, seemed to fall into sad contemplation of it.
The Vault of Bones Page 5
