Who is this Gervais?' I asked.
'He is the son of Guillaume du Perchoi, one of the emperor's barons,' said Aimery. You will have seen him with the Regent. An old man, with a crippled hand.'
'But Gervais is your friend.'
'Not particularly. He is a little high and mighty. I am a mere knight, raised on the field. He will be a baron one day soon, and the Regent already looks kindly upon him.' I wondered if I detected a note of jealousy. If I did, it was but a hint. I pressed on.
'The false Athingani must have been told to attack the main party, to show themselves, but to only kill one man. And that man, I am certain, was to have been me.'
Aimery pressed the heel of his hand into one eye. Then he sighed resignedly. He looked tired.
Why would that be, do you think?' he asked.
'First tell me this. Are there any Venetians at court now?
‘Are there any Venetians who have the confidence, the close ear, of the Regent and the barons?'
'No ... only lately, anyway,' he said. 'I mean to say, there are always Venetians, and Pisans, and Genoese coming and going, begging for favours, asking for this in return for that.' He looked disgusted.
‘You do not have much love for Venetians.'
‘Ach, there are so many useless mouths eating at the Regent's table!' he burst out. And so many useless tongues giving advice. We need men and arms, nothing more.'
‘And money,' I put in.
'That too. But, forgive me, with the Venetians and their demands, and the Pisans squabbling with the Genoese and all of them seeking to take from us; and then strange emissaries like yourself who flatter us and make promises which are never kept - with all this going on, the Greeks and the fucking Bulgars are still creeping over our empire like a canker, and what are we supposed to do? Crush them with bolts of Venetian silk? Choke them with pepper, or shoot them with catechisms? It is nonsense, nonsense!'
'I...'
‘Your pardon,' he said, briskly. 'I meant no offence. At first I took you for one of those bloodless clerics who delight in telling us how holy is our cause, and how certainly we will prevail. But plainly you are not. What you are, I intend to find out...'
‘Well then, I will tell you. But first, who are you?' I filled his cup to show I meant no insult. You are French, I take it?'
'I am Burgundian,' said Aimery, with a proud curl of the lip.
'And how did you come here?' I asked.
'Is it not obvious, good Englishman?' he gave a mirthless chuckle. 'I am a second son, and had to seek my fortune. I have an uncle who holds fiefs for the Duke of Athens, and my father sent me to serve him when I was a lad. When the last king, I mean the Regent John, called for aid, for the Emperor of Bulgaria and the Greek king, Lascaris, had attacked him, I led a company here in time for the siege. That was two years ago. It was the old man himself who knighted me, just a week before he died. A pox on these weak fools who govern us now, Petrus. Old John of Brienne was more of a man than any of them’
He slumped and fixed his eyes upon the dwindling contents of his goblet. For the first time since arriving in this place I found myself feeling sympathy for a Frank.
'Listen to me’ I said. ‘I have a question which I think you will find impertinent coming from my mouth, and perhaps worse. And yet if you will tell me yes or no, I can tell you what lies behind all this, so far as I can’
He narrowed his eyes and pushed back from the table. There was a long pause. Ask away, then’ he said at last.
'My question is this’ I said, lowering my voice and leaning forward over the table. 'Do you love your Emperor Baldwin?'
For a moment I thought I had made a terrible mistake, for Aimery drew himself up and his lips went white. He seemed about to strike me, but then his shoulders slumped again and he shook his head.
‘I love him, but I have never seen him’ he said at last. 'He had already gone abroad when I came to this place, and he has not returned. We expect him daily, but then we get word that he is in London, or Paris, or Rome - everywhere in Christendom save in his own domain. So if love means that I will lay down my life to keep this city in his name for one more worthless day, then I do love him; for on my honour, I will do my duty unto death’
'I have seen him’ I said quietly. He looked at me, startled.
‘You? Where?' He burst out.
'In Rome. I am here at his behest, or rather at that of my master.'
'The pope’ Aimery said.
'No, actually. My master, Jean de Sol - he was here until a week ago - has been commissioned by His Holiness to raise money for your emperor. Real money, mind, and a lot of it. I am here to effect a certain transaction ...'
'Transaction?' said Aimery sharply.
So I gave him the bitter tangle of what had befallen since that first meeting with Baldwin in Marcho Antonio Marso's tavern. When I came to Horst's death I fell silent. Aimery filled my cup.
'Then you have lost a friend to this as well.' I nodded. I was about to utter some maudlin sentiment on the subject of dead friends, for enough wine had been drunk for that, when Aimery snapped his fingers.
'Lately, there has been a nobleman - do they have noblemen in Venice? But he looks like one - who has been in and out. Ridiculous clothes on the man: all flaming silks, and he thinks we want to look at his knees, forsooth! They treat him like Prester John himself: quite the little monarch.' His voice dropped again. 'I do not care for the Regent and those who surround him, as perhaps you've gathered’ he whispered. 'There is something weak - no, not exactly that. They scheme when they should fight. I feel the foundations of our empire tremble these days, like a rotten old ship's hull shakes when the waves strike it.'
'My friend, I will not insult your empire, but, if you will permit me, I will not disagree with you. But this Venetian: how long has he been here, do you know?'
'I would say he arrived a little before your colleague left - a day, no more. Wait, wait -I have his name. It is Nicholas. Nicholas Querchetti... Quirinale. No, of course it is Querini. How could I forget such a name: the house of Querini is one of the richest in Venice. Only the Dandolos and Morosinis - youve heard of them, of course - are more powerful. If you are talking about money, I would say that the Querini purse is pretty well bottomless.'
'Querini?' I stammered. 'A short man, thickset? A swaggerer with a broken nose?' Aimery nodded, curious. 'Dear God, Aimery. Your ...' I shut my mouth hurriedly.
You know this man?' Aimery's brows furrowed in surprise.
'Of him. His reputation ... his influence, I mean, is far-flung.'
'Saints' blood, but I thank God I am but a soldier. I could not find my way for one minute in the mazes of your world,' said Aimery. I thanked the Fates that he did not press me further on the matter of Nicholas Querini, for he would have wished for answers that I had just begun to quest for myself. The wine was gone, and he stood up.
‘I must leave - I have duties at the palace. I am glad I found you, Master Petrus. I no longer wish to kill you.'
'Praise the Lord!' I uttered.
'But there will be an end to that nonsense, fellow,' he snapped. ‘I am no fool, and you are no priest, nor churchman either. What you are I have not yet divined, but you avenged my friend Rollo, and you have scented out something rotten in my lord's court. For that you have my gratitude. You are very far from your home, as am I - but if I have no ken of your world of intrigues and companies, I understand this place, and you do not. Be very careful. I do not believe that you have any friends here.'
I could say nothing to that, so I stood and shook his hand.
‘You should leave Constantinople’ he said, as we left the tavern.
'I cannot. I must wait for the French envoys’ I reminded him.
'Then I think you will die here’ said Aimery, bluntly. He shook my hand again, gave me a nod that was more of a soldiers salute, and strode off into the lengthening shadows.
Chapter Twenty
I went back to the Bucoleon, for where else
could I go? Aimery was right: I was utterly friendless in this city. No one remarked upon my arrival, though, which I took as a good sign. Querini had plainly not been lodged in the palace, the lucky man. Soaking wet and feeling shot through with cold, I made my way to the dining hall, for a fire often burned there all day even though the place was empty. Sure enough, a big olive-wood log was smouldering on its bed of embers. I sat down on the hot stone of the hearth and shivered with gratitude as the heat soaked into me. I spread my cloak out beside me and sat like that for a while, gazing up at the ceiling of coffered plaster, trying to make sense of things. When that failed I fell to wondering, as I often did in this sad palace, what the room had been in its days of glory, and so engaged in this pleasant and useless reverie did I become that I was roused only when a company of serving boys came in and started banging things about on the tables. Cursing, for I could see that it was dusk outside, I grabbed my cloak - still damp - and crept away, for I was not in the mood for company, and I did not wish to pass the time of day with any more Frankish ruffians.
I was navigating the maze of hallways that lay between the dining hall and the state-rooms, beyond which lay the way up to my lodgings, when I heard voices up ahead. I had no wish to be seen, so without thinking I ducked into the nearest doorway. I found myself in the ruined throne room with its fallen beams and heaps of rubble, a place I had been meaning to poke around in, but which, at this hour, was almost pitch dark. I leaned against a pillar to wait for the Franks to pass in the corridor. They clattered by, and I heard the voice of the Regent. He was speaking urgently, and sounded excited. Then Narjot de Toucy answered, sounding worried. Suddenly curious, I peeped around the column, just in time to catch a glimpse of the Regent's back as he swept by. And next to him, strolling along as if he were the emperor himself, a figure in a Venetian tunic of saffron silk. It was Nicholas Querini.
My dampness and desire for solitude all forgotten, I peered out into the corridor. It was empty save for the Regent and his companions, and so I crept out and began to follow them, hugging the walls where the shadows were thick, and where I knew the thick carpet of dust and crumbled plaster would muffle my footsteps. The three men turned a corner, then another, but to my surprise I discovered I still knew where I was. I had been this way before, weeks ago. Then I passed a ruined piece of mosaic, a faceless emperor raising his hand to bless the cobwebs, and I realised where I was being led: this was the way to the Pharos Chapel.
The lamps were few and far between down in this far outpost of the Bucoleon. Most were guttering and some were out, and so I was picking my way through pools of darkness. I was not worried that I would be found out, for I had learned this craft from Gilles himself, and besides, there were plenty of places to hide. So when the final corner was turned I was able to hunker down in the shadows behind an archway and watch as the guards, who clearly had not expected visitors to their remote outpost and were busy playing knucklebones, leaped to their feet with a crash of rusty chain mail. The Regent barked at them impatiently and pulled out a key. I heard it snick inside the lock, and then the door opened. The Regent indicated, with a somewhat cursory show of deference, that the Venetian should go first, and so he stepped into the blackness, followed by de Toucy, who had taken a lighted torch from the guards. The Regent came last, and pulled the door shut behind him.
I squatted there in the near-dark, breathing in the cold smell of damp limestone and dead flies. But my mind was ablaze. What business could these men have in the chapel at this late hour? I chewed it over. The Regent had a right to be anywhere he wished, I supposed, for it was his palace as far as that went. De Toucy clearly had not wished to accompany him. And Querini? He looked happy enough. My calves were being chewed by cramp and I had all but resolved to creep back to my chambers when the lock of the chapel door scratched and clicked and the hinges gave a dry moan.
Narjot de Toucy stepped out. He beckoned to a guardsman, who bent to hear a muttered command. Then the guard barked at his company and they jumped to their feet, looking at one another in puzzlement. Then they shuffled together until they stood shoulder to shoulder, and on another bark from the man I took for their sergeant they turned and faced the wall. When every guard had his back to the chapel door, de Toucy went back through it, only to emerge a moment later closely followed by the Regent. They were carrying a large black chest between them, and from the Regent's strained look it was plainly quite heavy. Then the Venetian emerged, and it was he who took out the key and locked the chapel door. To my growing amazement, the Regent and de Toucy, red in the face and breathing hard, started towards me down the passage, the Venetian following them with his self-satisfied, considered walk, an amused look upon his visage. I just had time to slide along the wall and into a side-vault before they passed me. I had a clear look at the chest. It seemed as though the two Franks carried the night itself between them, for their burden was hooped about with iron and nails, and long ago it had been coated with pitch. It was the reliquary of the Crown itself.
Surely this was some official business? Were they taking the Crown to Louis already, even before Louis' friars had arrived? That must be it. These men were taking the Crown to the friars in Venice. These thoughts flew across my mind like swallows through a barn, but I could grasp none of them, and none of them rang true, save the the one that told me I was in terrible trouble.
I recalled the looks on the faces of the men as they had entered the chapel. It had been no state business. There was no doubt but that this was a robbery, if a man can steal his own possession: but was the Regent the man committing the theft? From the look I had seen upon the Venetian's face I thought I knew the answer to that. He was a thief, pure and simple. I had seen that look a hundred times, and felt it upon my own face.
Back through the dead palace I followed them, my heart knocking against my ribs now, for here was the end of all my hopes, and the hopes of every man who served the Cormaran. But what to do? This affair had been left in my care - mine! Feeling not at all like a man who had conversed with pope and emperor, but very much like a frightened Dartmoor shepherd boy I trailed the men back through the realms of spider and bat, past the smashed glory of a lost age, wondering how, in this world, I could make amends, and how I could, somehow, avenge my master.
Meanwhile, thievery had evidently loosened the tongues of the three men, for now the Regent had started to chatter nervously to the other two. I could not hear very much, for the walls either muffled sound or splintered it into a thousand twittering echoes. But as I crept along behind, at last I made out the words 'de Montalhac' and 'decree’. It was the Regent who had spoken, and in reply, Querini threw back his head and laughed. I skipped and shuffled as close as I dared, throwing myself behind an unravelling tapestry in time to hear Querini say:'... be dead by now, I should think ... paid the ship's master enough ...'
A chill descended upon me and I shrank against the wall, into its crust of rotten fresco and dead insects. The Captain was dead. No! Impossible: dear Jesus, it could not be possible. But he had left on a Venetian ship a day after Aimery had said Querini had landed. I closed my eyes, and there he was, hand raised to me against the muddy sky, the ship sliding out into the black water. 'I bribed the master.' I heard him speak the words, and saw, as I had done in Foligno, how clear had been the trap. Now ... now I was truly alone.
The footsteps in the passage were growing fainter. My quarry had not stopped at the state-rooms, but kept on towards the servants' quarters. Whimpering like an abandoned hound I forced myself to follow. They marched - more shuffled, in truth, for the two Frankish lords were plainly not in the flower of their manhood, and stopped more than once to set down their burden while they wrung their hands and panted. When they heard footsteps approaching they, like me, would duck into the first empty room, but as it was dinner time most of the Frankish folk were occupied, and I noticed that the Regent and his friends cared not that the Greek servants observed them. Finally they halted before a door I had not seen before,
but which I judged must lead to one of the outer buildings of the palace. The Venetian knocked, and at once the door swung open to reveal a small company of soldiers. They were far better dressed and equipped than the imperial troops, for they wore new leather hauberks on which were sewn patches and bosses of shining metal, they were clean shaven and looked well-fed. I had seen such men on the deck of Querini's galley. The two lords had set down the chest gratefully, and at a signal from the Venetian it was at once scooped up by four soldiers and carried from my sight. The Venetian - even from my vantage point some way away I could see he was fairly quivering with pride - gave a jaunty bow to the Regent and offered his hand. The Regent offered his hand and winced when it was squeezed. Then, leaving nothing but a ghost of saffron light in his wake, the Venetian leaped after his men and was gone.
I did not wait to see what the Frankish lords did next, but rushed through a welter of grief and panic towards my chambers. I needed to make some sort of plan, I knew, but what, dear God, was the point? No! I must not fail my master and my company. As I forced myself up the long staircase, I thought I would write a letter to Gilles, which perhaps could be sent by fast ship tomorrow. But, no - a letter? What a feeble thought, what nonsense! It was far, far too late for that, I knew, for like words resolving themselves as the reading-stone is lowered on to them, the events of the last few days came into sharp and terrible focus. The Venetian, Querini or whoever he was, had killed Captain de Montalhac and bought the Crown. He had purchased it outright, I guessed, and the sight of real money had turned the heads of the Regent and his barons. The Captain had been too inconvenient; doubtless - how clear it all became now! - Querini planned to treat with Louis himself. And he had turned the court into a nest of simoniacs. Because ... because he thought the Captain still had the decree of absolution. How many were involved? Was it the whole court? But the three men had been furtive indeed, like thieves in their own house, so perchance this was a plot. So much the worse for me, then: Querini, or the Regent himself, had tried to have me put out of the way along with the Captain. I could not stay here an hour longer: Aimery was right. I was a dead man if I did not leave at once.
The Vault of Bones Page 28
