The Vault of Bones (26 page)

Chapter Nineteen

O

ur sad party rode through the gates of the Bucoleon Palace a little before sunset. One of the guards who met us, gaping at the corpse we brought with us, was sent ahead, and so we were greeted, in the inner yard, by a party of men-at-arms and two noblemen. I found I was so stiff that I could not dismount on my own, and so I was helped down like an old man. A surgeon arrived, a Moorish gentleman, who gave me a draught of bitter herbs in strong wine and led me to a stone bench, the better to examine my wounds. I was grateful to him, for the group of hunters was telling their tale, and voices were being raised in excitement, disbelief, and now anger. I thought the nobles were glaring in my direction, but the surgeon was dabbing my lacerations with something that stung like Satan's pitchfork, and I could not tell if it was just my fancy. Aimery was shaking his head, and then he pointed at me. That I had not imagined. One of the nobles planted his fists on his hips and regarded Aimery belligerently, head cocked to one side. The huntsmen shuffled their feet, but Aimery uttered something I did not hear and pushed, with rude unconcern, past the angry nobleman. With that, the party dissolved. Rollo's corpse was led away, and that was the end of that. The hunters drifted off. The surgeon fussed about me with his diabolical unguents, and in the midst of his torture I looked up to find the other nobleman looking down at me, a concerned smile pinned to his florid face.

I do not remember the pleasantries and expressions of concern that were exchanged, for I was in too much pain, and too sick in my very soul to pay much attention. I nodded and smiled and told a rude outline of what had befallen Rollo and myself. I had enough sense to omit my discovery of the false tattoos, and I saw no need to voice my suspicions, for I felt far too weak and unsure of anything at all. The worthy Moor gave me another of his draughts and called for a litter, on which I was borne up to my chambers and put to bed - or at least I assume I was, for I remember almost nothing until I awoke late the next morning, feeling like something I had once seen a seabird vomit up on the deck of the
Cormaran.

I lay there, feeling like meat on a butcher's slab and vaguely expecting to be sent for by my hosts, for the more I chewed over the horrible events of yesterday, the more strange they became. I did not suspect the Regent, for he was all but desperate that the business I had come to oversee go ahead, and indeed the future of his shoddy empire would seem to depend upon it. Perhaps, though, a plot had come to light and would be explained to me. I had some details that I was quite anxious to add, and surely there would be an inquest into Rollo's murder. But no one came, and at last I staggered up, found I was feeling far better than I expected, and so decided to take myself off for a walk, if only to get away from the palace, which I was beginning to find unbearably oppressive.

It was quite late when I made my way out into the rain: some time past noon, I guessed. I set off through the puddles and the freezing curtains of water, and had sloshed my way to one of the streets between the palace and the waterfront where I knew food was to be found, when I thought I heard someone call my name. Then it came again:

‘Petrus!'

I whipped around, for my name had been called by a

Frankish voice, and it did not sound friendly. Indeed it was Aimery de Lille Charpigny, who was striding towards me across the square. He was scowling. I drew myself up, limbs aching, and prepared for unpleasantness.

'Petrus Zennorius! Where are you going?' Not a hint of a smile, and no warmth in the voice.

'Nowhere in particular,' I told him.

'Then we will walk awhile,' he said, falling in beside me. I noticed he was wearing a huntsman's short sword. We strolled along in deep silence. Finally I could stand it no longer.

'Good Aimery, I owe you a debt of thanks,' I said. He grinned coldly.

‘I doubt that,' he said. Why, though, do you say it?'

Yesterday, when we returned from ... from the hunt, you took my part against one of the barons. If you will permit me, I will return your "why".'

He stopped and regarded me closely. His face, I noticed, was very white.

‘I was tempted, sorely, to kill you yesterday when we found you and Rollo. I thought, and it seemed clear at first, that you had let my friend be slaughtered by those ... necromantic beasts. But I am a soldier, and have seen many battlefields; and even to my unwilling eyes it was plain that you had fought bravely and tried to save Rollo, and more, that you had made an end of his murderers. And so, when we returned and that fellow seemed more keen to prosecute you than to tend to the body of my friend, seemed, indeed, merely annoyed that Rollo was dead and that you lived, I took your side as a point of honour. And then I decided to find out exactly who you were, my friend.'

I studied his face as carefully as I could, and saw anger very plain there, and sorrow, but nothing else, I thought.

'Good Aimery, can I tell you the truth, as I perceive it?'

'As you see it? Ha! You churchmen and your words ... Very well, I will make do with that, for the time being’ 'And could we, perhaps, sit down somewhere?' 'The palace ...' 'Not the palace, I think.'

To my surprise he gave a half-smile, a real one.

'No, not the palace. There is a place near here - a merchant's tavern.'

'Venetian?' I asked quickly.

'Pisan, I think. Why do you ask?'

'I am not sure. But Pisans will do at a pinch. Lead on.'

Aimery led me down towards the Golden Horn, where the deserted streets had been colonised, ivy-like, by the life and bustle of the Italian wharves. A ruined building had been shored up and re-roofed and now bore a sign emblazoned with a golden bunch of grapes being pecked at by a blackbird. And sure enough, in the corners, the white cross of Pisa. It was empty, and the proprietor had to be summoned. He brought wine and bread, and left us alone.

'Now then,' I said, after we had both drunk. You do not trust me, do you? Of course you do not. But listen to me: we both have suspicions. Shall I tell you mine?' Without waiting for his assent I took the plunge. 'Those men were not Athingani, nor Aigupti, nor any of the rest of it.'

That got his attention. He leaned forward like a falcon who spies a vole in the weeds far below his perch.

‘What do you mean?' he said, slowly.

'Did you examine the corpses?' He shook his head. 'I did. One man drifted away down the river, but the other one ... you saw the snake device upon his chest?' A nod. 'Lampblack. And their skin. It was dark brown, yet it had been dyed - walnut shells, I would guess. They were no more Athingani than you.'

You are getting at something. What is it?' Aimery spat impatiently.

'I think, nay I believe, but I do not
know,
that they were Catalan mercenaries. They fought like mercenaries, anyway, and not like snake-charmers. In my opinion.'

‘I do not believe you,' said Aimery. And yet, from his voice, I could tell that he did not believe himself.

'And when I had discovered that, I thought, why kill Rollo? Why bother to put on such an elaborate disguise, if they planned to leave no witnesses? So I will ask you: was it your plan - I mean the intent of the company - to split into twos and hunt far apart from each other?'

'No, it was not. Actually, that is how I prefer to hunt, and Rollo too. But Gervais - that is Gervais du Perchoi, the tall fellow - he insisted that we make two parties. Now I come to think of it, he mentioned the Athingani in the first place.'

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.'