I also knew that for the privilege I had been accorded the armies of pilgrims who came to Rome every year would have paid almost any price. But those pilgrims would be bringing home tales to tell to their families and friends, and I had no home, no family. Another pair of halberds clanged in front of us, and I winced. Then the final door swung open, and we walked on into the light of a thousand candles.
Pope Gregory the Ninth was truly ancient. The wizened man who hardly filled his robes - let alone the great throne, raised on a red-draped dais, in which he slumped, looking unnervingly like a child's doll - did not, on first inspection, seem to be living at all. Less like a doll, I thought, imitating the Captain's reverent shuffle along the carpet that led to the throne, than a well-preserved relic. But as we grew closer I saw that I was very much mistaken if I thought that life had deserted this creature. For, although his eyes drooped and wept thin trickles of rheum down his leathery cheeks, they burned like pale embers. I noticed that the Captain was being deferential only to a point. He performed the bare minimum of obeisances, drawing - or so I perhaps fancied - disapproving glares from the clerics who surrounded us. But I did not have the Captain's strength of will, and scraped and simpered my way along behind him until all of a sudden the Captain came to a halt and I all but slammed into his back. The pope was holding up a ring-festooned hand - a claw, really: no more than a simulacrum of a living hand - and was glaring at us with what seemed to be unrestrained fury. I glanced nervously at the Captain, but he was smiling broadly, and now I saw that what I had mistaken for rage on the face of the Holy Father was in fact a fond smile, or as much of one as those moribund features could form. There was another wave of the claw, and two priests came forward with chairs and planted them on the carpet behind us. The claw bade us sit.
Welcome, Signor de Montalhac. And welcome, Petrus Zennorius.' The pope's voice belied his necrotic form. It was deep and rich. If I had not seen the body from which it issued, I would have said it came from a man at the height of his powers.
‘I am overjoyed that you have ceased your endless peregrinations long enough to pay our city a visit, but I understand my simple invitation to luncheon somehow translated into your good selves being frogmarched here by a squadron of my troops! So sorry, so sorry.' Try as I might, I could not discern a speck of sincerity in the pope's apology. You will forgive me, of course,' he went on. It was not a suggestion. 'I have always enjoyed our meetings.'
As have I, Your Holiness,' replied the Captain, with complete sincerity. I was astonished. Here was Captain Jean de Montalhac, whom I respected and admired above all other living men, but who made his living from - I shall not be reticent, as the Captain never was - from thievery, deception, usury and sacrilege, talking to God's representative on earth as if to a favourite uncle.
We are old friends, are we not?' said Gregory, as if to confirm what I had been thinking.
‘I hope so,' said the Captain, simply.
'I was sure of it. And because of our long friendship, and my appreciation - nay, I will say admiration - for your knowledge and experience in certain areas close to both our hearts, I would talk with you about a matter that has come to my attention. It is a matter that concerns me very deeply in one area, and it should, I hope, concern you just as deeply in another. And now, while it was a pleasure to meet your young colleague, I think perhaps
Your Holiness, Master Petrus should stay, if you will permit him to do so. He has my fullest confidence, both as to his integrity and his discretion, and besides, I intend to tell him word for word of our conversation in any case.'
The pope tipped his head back on its skinny neck and laughed, somewhat raggedly. ‘Your candour, Montalhac: so shocking’ He stopped laughing abruptly, and leaned forward, fixing me with his eyes. I flinched.
'Master Zennorius. I hold a million or more souls in the palm of this hand’ He held it out to me, and suddenly balled it into a knobbed, bony fist. 'If Signor de Montalhac has given you his confidence, then so shall I. Do you know what that means?' I nodded my head.
'The emperor himself does not have my confidence, my child. Almost all of those present in this room do not. And you know of what I am speaking?' Gregory's eyes burned into me.
‘Your Holiness, I only meant that I understood the stupendous honour you bestow upon me,' I stammered. So much for keeping my mouth shut. I had the sensation that my bowels were about to let go.
'Ah. There is more than that. Tell me what you are thinking, boy.' I believe I could actually feel his gaze scalding me. Having no idea how to reply, and suddenly in immediate fear for my life, I closed my eyes. My thoughts whirled, but suddenly, in broad Devon tones, my mind provided the answer. It is the pope, you numbskull, I told myself. Tell him the fucking truth. I opened my eyes. Something like a smirk was playing upon Gregory's desiccated lips.
'This morning I stood on the Pons San Petri, Your Holiness, from where I could see your prison, your fortress and your church. Your trust is to be found somewhere between those three points.' I bowed my head, and waited for the gaudy men-at-arms to drag me away.
There was a noise like dry twigs being snapped, and I looked up. The pope had slapped his hands together, and now pointed a skeletal finger at the Captain.
'How do you teach your pupils, de Montalhac? What power do you hold over them, that they will put their head into the lion's mouth? Your young man is truthful, and bold, and he sees the way of things. And in that I see you. Well done, my child,' he said to me. 'But do you fear me?'
'Very much, Your Holiness,' I said emphatically.
'That is good. I have had word of you, boy. Of your bereavement.' I blinked at him, and he smiled, thinly. You may stay,' he said, and sat back with a sound like old brambles dragged across a windowpane.
At a signal from the pope, an official-looking man came up to receive his whispered orders. There was a slight commotion as the room was cleared. A band of serving-men brought us wine and sweet cakes, and the Captain gestured that I should take a little of each, although I was almost too nervous to move my hands. Meanwhile the pope and the Captain chatted easily, of which discourse I can recall only that their words were utterly inconsequential.
'Now, to business,' said the pope, after he too had taken a few sips of wine. 'How fared you with the boy de Courtenay? Did he entertain you well?'
The Captain set down his goblet very carefully, and examined his thumbnail for a long moment.
'Tolerably well, Your Holiness,' he replied. 'His table is somewhat meagre in comparison to your own, but he served something rather appetising nonetheless.'
'Of course he did. That is the matter in hand. It is of great import to me, and it can be made of equal import to you, de Montalhac. I will be brief, as I grow a little weary. You would be well advised not to grow old, young man,' he told me, drolly - or at least, I hoped he was being droll, as he had just made it very plain that he could prevent any further ageing on my part with a twitch of his eyebrow. I attempted an obsequious laugh, but instead made a sound like a costive raven.
'Now’ said the pope, appearing not to have noticed. ‘You have met the new Emperor of Romania, so-called. Having met him, you will perhaps understand why he is something of a worry to me. My uncle - Pope Innocent, boy - caused nothing but trouble when he allowed the Venetians to take Constantinople. Each sovereign has been a disaster, each worse than the last. And the present one, this Baldwin, shows no sign of being any better. His own family regard him as a simpleton. However, I have met him, and now so have you. He is no simpleton, but he is in a great deal of trouble, and he knows it. His empire’ he curled his lips derisively, 'is bankrupt and under siege from Greeks, Slavs, Turks. It cannot stand without outside help.'
'He was abroad when he inherited the throne, was he not?' asked the Captain.
'He was - in fact he was here in Rome, begging me for money’ The pope sighed. 'He has many relations here in the West, and he has begged from all of them. And of course, because my uncle made the install
ation of those Frankish buffoons - those Latins - on the throne of Constantine a sort of holy enterprise, I have been under some pressure to contribute something myself’
'Fascinating’ said the Captain. His face was a bland mask.
'No, it is not. It is exceedingly tiresome’ snapped Gregory. 'I have had to make appeals, much against my better judgement. I preached a crusade against the Bulgars. I have called upon the Catholic monarchs to send men and money, but they have not. Of course not! Why on earth should they? The enterprise is doomed, and all those with sense know it. I have opened the strongbox of Saint Peter and given him some small tokens, but Baldwin's hunger is born of desperation, and it is boundless.'
‘I, for one, would not be in his shoes,' said the Captain.
The pope sighed again. 'I am lecturing. There is a reason for this, however. I ...' He straightened up and looked around him, and in that instant the years seemed to fall away and he seemed, for a brief moment, young, vital and even more dangerous. Then he slumped once more. 'The execrable Baldwin stooped low - very low indeed. He sought to bribe me - me, Christ's Vicar on earth!'
What with?' asked the Captain, as if on cue, leaning forward intently.
'The contents of the Pharos Chapel in Constantine's palace!' hissed Gregory.
'My word,' said the Captain, both eyebrows up now, but no more than that hint of emotion on his face. 'What did Your Holiness do?'
I refused, naturally!' said Gregory, slapping his knees angrily. 'I could not but refuse.'
'Of course not. But even so ...' the Captain began.
'Do you think I turned down de Courtenay s offer happily?' asked the pope. We have, you and I, talked of the Pharos Chapel many times. There is no doubt in my mind that its riches belong here, in Rome. But for Baldwin to buy me with ...' he shook his head. 'If I had accepted, I would have been a greater sinner than Simon Magus. Good God,' he went on, ‘I have accumulated a great store of regrets in my long life, but this may be one of the greatest.'
You could take no other course, and it is a mark of your strength and wisdom, Your Holiness.' The Captain paused, as if a little surprised at his own words. 'And what do you believe Baldwin will do now?' he went on.
'He will tout his treasures around Christendom like a common peddler’ spat Gregory. 'That is what you discussed, is it not?'
I prayed for the ground to swallow me up, but the Captain merely chuckled. 'Naturally’ he said.
'It is most vexing. I was tempted to excommunicate Baldwin on the spot for his temerity, but I need him. There is some indication that the thorn who presently festers most painfully in my flesh - I mean Frederick von Hohenstaufen, boy, who carries the title of Holy Roman Emperor as if he were biting his thumb at Our Lord Jesu himself - some hint that Frederick may be thinking of an alliance with Baldwin's enemy John Vatatzes, who is a true monarch, by all accounts, and would dearly like his throne in Constantinople back. That I cannot allow. I have to prop up the Latins like so many stuffed corpses, if only to stop Frederick's canker from spreading eastwards.'
'But meanwhile, Your Holiness, you will be all too aware that I can do nothing for Baldwin, much as it would profit me so to do’ said the Captain, coolly. 'Unless ...' I held my breath.
'Pardon, your pardon, de Montalhac’ said the Pope, chuckling. 'There is, of course, something I require, as always.' Apparently distracted, he stuck a finger into one white-tufted earhole and searched intently. Then he signalled for more wine.
'I have been thinking of what fate I would prefer for Baldwin's treasure if I cannot possess it myself’ he said at last. 'The worst possible thing would be for it to be divided up, scattered like so much plunder. The worth of each individual piece is incalculable, of course - spiritual worth as well as monetary. But how much greater is that spiritual worth when the treasure is intact!'
'Are you asking me to act as broker?' said the Captain. 'Perhaps. Yes. Yes, I am.'
You honour me. I accept. And does Your Holiness wish to discuss the details now? We can
'No, no’ snapped Gregory. He pressed his knuckles to his forehead for a moment, and took a deep breath. 'Baldwin has a benefactor in mind. If I might risk a guess as to whom ... But no, dear Michel, perhaps you would save me the bother. Tell me.'
'Louis Capet.'
The pope let out a gasp. He slapped the arm of his throne. 'God be praised!' he croaked.
'Might I ask why?' asked the Captain delicately.
'Because Louis is a good and holy man. Because he is a great friend to the Church. And I will soon need him against that horse-fly Frederick Hohenstaufen. I want you to arrange it. Make no mistake, though: this has been my wish all along. It is merely convenient that Baldwin has reached the same conclusion. So! It will be simple. Louis is a great collector, of course, and conveniently, he desires the things of which we speak.'
'I am aware of that’ said the Captain.
'But of course, how simple I am being. You are a close acquaintance of the king, are you not?'
The Captain shrugged modestly. 'I have had the pleasure of his conversation - and his patronage - more than once’ he murmured. 'Indeed, we have touched upon this very subject - the Pharos Chapel, that is.'
'So much the better, dear de Montalhac! It will be an easy matter for you. You must discover a way for Baldwin's treasure to be translated to France, and for Baldwin to receive, ah, gratitude from Louis, commensurate to his needs. To that end, I desire that you set out no later than tomorrow for Paris.' He gripped the sides of his throne and struggled to his feet. It was clear that our audience was at an end. I surreptitiously brushed cake crumbs from my tunic and stood up alongside the Captain.
It has been a great pleasure, as it ever is,' said the pope. ‘I pray that the Almighty will grant us more such meetings before I am taken.'
The Captain bowed deeply, and I followed suit. Gregory held out his wizened hand, and first the Captain, then I, bent to kiss the great ring that glimmered against the deathly pale flesh. I made ready to leave, but the Captain paused.
‘Your Holiness, if I am to be broker, who, then, is my client?' he asked. The pope drew himself up to his full height on the dais: he was far taller than I had expected, and he towered over us.
'Our Lord Jesus Christ!' he thundered, pointing up towards the shadowed ceiling.
The Captain gave a French shrug, a flick of his chin.
Who, then, will be paying my commission?' he asked, levelly.
Gregory the ninth blinked owlishly for a moment, and then began to cackle. Reaching into his robes, he brought out two slim rolls of parchment sealed with great gobs of red wax and handed them to the Captain.
'I am certain that Our Lord will provide,' he said, and at that point his cackle was overtaken by a fit of coughing. He sat down again heavily and waved us away. The Captain took me gently by the arm and together we walked carefully back down the carpet. Halberds were drawn aside, the door groaned on its hinges, and we were out, into the cold grey halls of Viterbo stone.
Chapter Six
A
s soon as we had left the audience hall I had to trot along behind the Captain, whose strides seemed to lengthen until we had reached our chamber. Once the door was latched behind us, he went over to the window and beckoned to me. We leaned on the broad windowsill, gazing out at the flickering curtain of rain turned the colour of pewter in the failing light.
You have a keen mind, Patch’ he told me. 'I could have come up with no better answer to old Gregory's bullying.' Would he have ...' I let my words trail off. 'No. At least, probably not. He and I are, as we have both told you, old friends. He was probably expecting you to faint, but instead you came up with something intelligent.'
'Damn me!' I said. 'I should have thanked him for the loan of his physician. What a thoughtless wretch I am!'
'Do not worry. It is probably better that you did not. Gregory is old and difficult. You might have given him some obscure offence if you had. And now, let us look at these things, eh?' And he pul
led out the documents that Gregory had given him. One was adorned with a great, heavy disc of lead - the bulla of Saint Peter. The Captain squinted at it.
'This is for Baldwin’ he said. 'It is a bull: my guess is that it commands him to submit to the pope's authority in the matter of the relics, and most probably further commands him to give me the power to act for him and the Latin empire.
You will have to deliver it to him, I am afraid, for it seems I must away to France. But now, what is this? It is addressed to me’
The second document was thicker than the first, but sealed only with red wax. Very patiently he worked the seal free of the vellum and opened what proved to be a single sheet, folded many times. He frowned for a moment, then a slow, stunned smile crept over his face.
'As I did not dare to hope’ he said softly. And then he passed me the vellum. I plucked it from his grasp and, holding it carefully in somewhat tremulous fingers, I peered at it. It was a plain, unadorned list, written in a clerk's austere hand. The ink was black, save for a scattering of viridian periods. I squinted at the title.
INVENTARIUM of the Holy Chapel of the Virgin of the Pharos in the Palace of Bucoleon, Constantinople
'The Pharos Chapel’ I murmured. I let my eyes run lightly over the script. And then stared. In simple Church Latin, itemised like any marketing list, I saw:
The Crown of Thorns
The Vault of Bones Page 9
