The Vault of Bones (36 page)

'Much you have suffered’ I sneered.

'Oh, I have suffered all right’ she said, suddenly angry. We've all fucking
suffered,
haven't we? Do not come the high-handed one with me, Master Gurt Dog of Balecester, Master Priest-killer! You would not blanch at the killing of a lady, from what I've heard! The priest you once were is showing, you moralising popinjay!'

'I was never a fucking priest!' I hissed. 'I was a novice monk, no matter what the ... the stories, the songs about me - and they are not about
me,
no matter what the London street believes - are all of them lies, and ...'

'And you are innocent. You never done it, eh?' said the girl, with an angry smile. Well, you must have done something.'

‘I am no priest, no priest-killer, and no—'

'No what? You have done your share, my lad. You've killed more men than I.'

'Is that so?' I asked, bitterly. You seem to know how to use a knife. Who taught
you
to kill, since we are speaking of such things?' She gave a grim little chuckle and and peered at me sidelong.

'Taught me?' she said. 'I worked it out for myself. Not very hard, is it? Who taught you, then?'

I was silent, remembering Sir Hugh de Kervezey, and the first words he had ever spoken to me: This is how you kill someone quickly and efficiently. Knife forward, your thumb on the blade. Strike upwards under the ribs, and keep pushing upwards.' And I remembered how the light had gone out of his eyes after I had killed him. He had proved a good teacher after all, and I a fine student. I found that I had clenched my fists so tightly that they had gone numb, and that the terrible agonising rage I had felt was quenched, although I could not have said why, or what was taking its place.

'Not hard?' I said at last. 'I suppose it isn't. But it makes everything else impossible.'

She gave me that sidelong look again. 'Depends on who it is, doesn't it?'

'Those who believe in the immortal soul would disagree.'

'Fuck. Of course, you used to be a priest. You aren't squeamish, though, Gurt Dog ...'

'Do you not listen? I was never a priest,' I growled. 'As for my soul, it is destroyed, beyond a doubt, but I have ceased to believe in salvation or a loving Saviour. I will not give myself that luxury, to be a murderer and a thief and still under His protection. I leave that to the soldier-priests and the crusaders.'

'I didn't kill your friend,' she said, suddenly. 'The German, in Foligno. That was Facio. You want to know if my arms are bloody to the shoulders? I will tell you. I killed a man in Venice, when I was a girl, and all alone. He beat me and fucked me in an alley, and when he had had his way he fell asleep from all the drink in him, and I stove his head in with a brick.' I heard her swallow hard, as if her mouth had gone dry.

Will you hear my confession, Master I-was-never-a-priest? Here it is anyway: I have stood by while men were killed. I have brought a man to his death, once. In Smooth Field life was not accounted very high, and in Venice they will kill a man over the cut of his clothes. But Dardi was the second one I have slain, and he fucking deserved it,' she said through clenched teeth. Tuck! Fuck it! Ach ...' she sniffed, and I suddenly realised she was weeping. Reluctantly I raised my hand to comfort her, and she flinched. My anger flooded back.

'He deserved it, did he? Anna did not deserve it, but he did: you are as just as Solomon, aren't you? You kill your friend, and betray your master, as easy as ...' I shook my fist, as if to beat the words out of the air.

'The betrayal was not mine,' said Letice fiercely. 'Nicholas had thrown me aside.'

'He gave you to Dardi,' I said, all of a sudden remembering her hurried words in the chapel. I had not really listened then, for I had been awash with terror, confusion and relief, but now I began to recall that she had given me some explanation that had been enough for me then. 'But, really, what of it? You are a whore: you said so yourself'

Yes, I should not care, should I?' she was saying. 'Nor be surprised, for Nicholas bought me like a sword or a horse. Something to ride. But give me to Dardi? To Dardi! He knew it would mean my death. He had just made Dardi the warden of his island, and I was to sweeten the pot. Stampalia

- it is a hideous, dry place, and the castle is—'

'This is nonsense! You would have had your own little kingdom,' I interrupted.

'Not with Dardi. He would have killed me sooner or later - no doubt sooner. Torture was what he really liked. Nicholas, Facio even - they are not cruel, not in that way. They do not hurt for pleasure, except when that might bring gain. They want what they want, and they will do the necessary. They have enough in their heads to keep them occupied: Dardi's head was empty: he must needs keep it filled with a store of horrors inflicted upon others’

Despite the scorn I was trying to keep hold of, I shuddered, remembering all too well the smell of his breath that night by the Tiber. 'He looked too stupid for that’ I said.

'No, no. You men: so arrogant about your cruelty. You do not need to be clever to be cruel, you just do what your flesh tells you. Dardi - suffice to say he once fucked a girl to death, and she was a friend, and I had to clean her up. He
wanted
me to see’

'But did Querini know what he was about, when he .. ‘ 'Oh, he knew all right. He'd had enough of me. I think Facio was grown clever and bold enough that Nicholas could lean upon him - he didn't need me any more. And there's many a foreign whore in Venice, cleverer ones than me.'

'But ... but didn't he care about you? After all those years?'

'He put me clear out of his mind the moment he left me’ she said. Tm sure he doesn't remember me at all.'

We had fair weather and a fair wind out of the north, and so we quickly threaded our way down through the islands of Greece, past Scio and Scopello, between Icaria and Micono and down into the Duchy of the Archipelago, Venetian castles nailing Venetian rule on to barren hillsides and whitewashed villages cowering in their shadow. Late on the third day we raised Stampalia, and not wanting to arrive at night, the captain took the
Seynt Victor
into the lee of Amorgo. I passed a restless night, for, whatever the Dominicans intended to do should we find Querini at home, I — for all my eagerness to come here - had but one thought in my head. If Messer Nicholas were there, then to avenge my master, and Horst, I must try and take his life from him. This thought had been seeded on that last day in the Bucoleon Palace, and had grown slowly, in darkness, ever since. Out here in the pure light of the Greek seas, however, it had begun to uncurl and to darken, like a shoot pushing its way up from underground, and since the lady Letice and I had reached some strange, uneasy truce its full strength had been turned upon her erstwhile master. I had no idea how my need to avenge Captain de Montalhac could be squared with the extraordinary - nay, stupendous - opportunity offered by Andrew of Longjumeau's revelation. I had never before planned to hurt anyone and I did not wish to now, but there did not seem to be a choice if I were ever to return to the fellowship of the
Cormaran.
As the boat bobbed gently beneath a dazzling net of stars, I bitterly regretted that I had ever come eastward in the first place.

Letice, on the other hand, was seething with excitement. She had been acting her part with aplomb, so much so that she kept herself sharply to herself and had allowed the captain of the
Seynt Victor
to appoint himself her chaperon, which office he fulfilled in an absurdly grave manner, no doubt because he felt the eyes of the friars upon him. I had not passed more than the time of day with her since our disagreement, and I found myself urgently wishing that I could divine whatever it was she had going on in her head. I knew little more about her now than I had when I first beheld her in Rome. She fascinated and repelled me, and I did not trust her one hairs breadth. So I was startled to find her at my side as I leaned upon the rail, gazing out at the black silhouette of the island.

'Hello, Master Dog’ she murmured. I looked around, and saw her sharp yet sensual profile outlined against the faint star-sheen on the water.

'Good evening’ I said. Dear God, could I do no better than that? I wished she would leave me be, to my dark and bloody thoughts.

You're a well-mannered dog, aren't you?' she answered. 'I mean, for a blaspheming priest-killer and all.'

'Mistress Letice, you should not be here’I said vehemently. 'The captain, the brothers .. ‘

'Bugger the brothers’ she said. 'Or, mayhap, they are buggering each other as we speak. That is what you get up to, isn't it, you priests?'

'I told you, I was never a priest!' I burst out, then saw she was chuckling.

'Like I said before, you must have done something’ she said.

There was nothing for it but to tell her. I thought perhaps then she might leave me alone. So I hurried through my sad tale, from the night I had met Sir Hugh de Kervezey in the Crozier tavern to that bloody morning on the Koskino beach.

‘I have told you these things because I wish you to leave me be’ I told her sullenly, when I was done. We are not friends, make no mistake.'

Well, we are thrown together, friends or not. And thank you for your tale, though it was less interesting than the songs. Now listen: you know nothing of me, although you assume much. So be silent, and I will tell you of my life, and then you may judge me - but only then. I was born in Smooth Field perhaps two-and-twenty years ago’ she went on in a rush, as if afraid that I would prevent her.

'Mam was a troubadour - nay, she
called
herself such’ she added with a grave smile, seeing me cock my head sceptically.

'She could sing like a blackbird, trip a neat step and play enough upon the lute. And she had a lovely body - "bumps in all the right places", as she would say - such that gentlemen like to stare at until their wives break jars over their heads. She, for there was no father around to do it, and I never knew who he might have been, earned us pennies by singing at parties, fine and not so fine. When I was starting to grow hair upon my quim she began to bring me too, for folk like to give coins to a pretty little girl, and when I passed the oblation cup around they would fall over themselves to fill it for me’

'I saw Smooth Field - it is a grim place,' I said grudgingly.

You would say that, wouldn't you?' she shot back. 'If all you knew was Balecester, I am sure that all of London seemed
a bit grim!

'Balecester? I am not from that poxy kennel,' I told her, laughing. 'I am a Devon boy - to me, Balecester might have been Babylon itself when I first came there. God rest you, girl, but since then I have seen some of the world, and Smooth Field is grim by any comparison.'

Worldly-wise,' she said, shrugging. Well then, you are right: there are prettier and kindlier places to live. Yes, I grew up in a dung-heap, with people who would pay to watch two dogs fucking. And yes, I fingered purses, and watched my mam do things the quality don't. What of it? Do you want to hear my tale, or what?'

'Go to, go to,' I said, feigning unconcern, although in truth her company had become more welcome, for I had been alone save for my anger, and anger is a poor companion.

When I was in my sixteenth year - I suppose I was sixteen, but... well, the year that the king locked up the Earl of Kent...'

'So five years ago’ I put in. That would make you one-and-twenty.'

'All right then, Ptolemy’ she said. Well, well: younger than I thought. Anyway, in that year my mam took up with a merchant from the Aldgate. A rich man, very rich indeed. She was dancing and singing for his company one night, he took a shine to her, and next thing I knew we were living in his house. My God, it was lovely! I mean, we were up in the attic and all, but still ... And that went on for all of three months, the nice clothes, having enough to eat, not being bothered by smelly old men with grey whiskers and dead-bird breath. I used to prance up and down Cheapside like royalty, I can tell you, and did I go over to Smooth Field and play the queen? Too right I did. So, all very lovely, until the bloody old fool of a merchant decides he has to crown his virtuous life with a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. He set about gathering a merry band of like-minded fellows, all as rich as himself, and servants, mules and muleteers - and of course such a party must needs have entertainment. My mam was bought for a fine purse of gold and the promise of saving her soul.

'She brought me along, of course, for I begged her, and I was useful, and the old codger had taken a shine to me as well. We set off in the spring, crossed the sea with everyone puking over the side even though it was flat as a millpond, and had a lovely time all the way through France: I even got my own donkey. Now it was easy living, for the old codger put us up in the best inns. Mam danced and drank at night and I kept to myself in the daytime, but there wasn't much pawing, for the whole crew of them had their minds on higher matters. So it was sweet, even crossing the mountains, which they'd all been dreading. Down into Italy we went, and very pretty it was. We were headed for Venice, there to take ship for Jaffa. It was before Frederick had returned, so there was peace all the way from Milan to the sea, and hot sun, ripe fruit ... and Mam getting closer and closer to the old codger, and hinting that I might be getting a new dad .. She paused, and shook her head, a tiny, wry smile hovering on her lips.

We came into Venice, and the very next day Mam wakes up with a fever. And the day after that, she didn't wake up at all. Just like that: a fever, a bloody flux, and she was dead in a shit-filled bed. Well, the purse of gold was gone, grabbed up by the old codger, who did not want to be my daddy any more. I tried dancing for the gentlemen, but they laughed at me. In their haste to save their souls they made sure to leave me behind when the ship sailed.

'There I was, in the clothes I stood up in and without a groat, wandering about in Venice, not being able to speak a word of their language. And if I thought I'd been pawed in London - Christ almighty! Venetian men are like lice: they get everywhere. I was ... you are looking at me with that expression men get, you know: how shocking! Tell me more!
^’