The Vault of Bones (39 page)

'The image of a tortured man’ he said, when we were both sitting on some handy bales of silk. I was shocked to find that he was wide-eyed and smiling. It was an expression I knew, but had never thought to find upon that face: the ecstasy of faith. What a symbol of love that is, eh? I hate it too’ he burst out. 'My people revile the cross and the Crucifixion, for—'

'But to you, Christ was a spirit’ I put in. 'He had no form, so how could He be crucified?'

'Indeed! He could not be, but it has long been our belief that the Crucifixion was a dreadful mummery concocted by the Dark One to shame Christ, to humiliate him, by spreading the lie that He had suffered death. No matter that He was resurrected, for what has never had life, not as we imperfect ones know it, cannot be reborn, can it?'

I suppose not’ I muttered. Then I understood. 'And because this seems to be real ...'I could not believe I was saying this, but I pressed on. 'Because this is, somehow, the burial cloth of an actual man, you think that your belief is proven? But - forgive me, but I was once a Church scholar, if a dreadfully indolent one - it also seems to prove the presence of the miraculous’

'There are no miracles’ said the Captain. 'No - there may be, but they are illusion, tricks of the Devil made to snare us and lure us from the pure way. If this is proof of a miracle, then ...' To my horror, he buried his face in his hands and gave an awful, sobbing laugh. I hugged him around the shoulders.

You are tired’ I soothed. 'I should not have shown you these things yet’

He took a deep breath, and when he turned to me he was himself again.

'Forgive me, Patch’ he said. ‘I have lived for so long with my people's agony. The reason I was overcome is not hard to explain. The Good Christians have brother sects in the East, even in Constantinople, where they are called other things - Manichees, Bogomils - and when I was a child, the
perfecti
in my country heard, from merchants coming from Greece and the land of the Serbs, of an image of Christ crucified with three nails, thus proving that the cross venerated by the Church was false. The Good Christians used this image to taunt their enemies, and even made images of their own, with which they mocked the priests of Rome. I wondered if the stories had their origin in something they had seen in Constantinople, and when I read Robert de Clari ... Now you see. Here it is, in the flesh, as it were. And that is the point. This thing, miracle or not, is the imprint of flesh. We cannot deny it, can we?' He took a deep breath and swallowed as if his own Adam's apple were choking him. 'And if this is the image of the crucified Christ...' He sat back and reached his unsteady hand towards the wavering light of the lantern.

'So this is your proof’ I said after a long silence. What will you do?'

What can I do? Doctor Scot will carry out his friend's wishes, and give it to Frederick Hohenstaufen, who in turn will give it to the pope - is that not the plan? I cannot let that happen, but what is my choice? We cannot - I cannot do away with the doctor, for that would be a foul sin indeed, to pay such a friend out for his good deeds. I do not know. I will think’ He rose, and clapped me upon the back. 'And now I will go to bed. Master Petroc, you have done well. You are the equal of any man I know, and the better of most. Thank you for saving my life, and ..he looked towards my pack where it lay upon the chest, fat with secrets, gleaming black and smug.

I fear I have brought a deal more trouble into the world’ I muttered, but locked away our dreadful treasures and helped the Captain to his bed. But I did not sleep well that night, nor for many nights to come.

PART SIX

Venice

Chapter Twenty-Nine

W

e sighted the long coast of Italy on a clear morning in early spring, after a short, squall-fretted night crossing from Corfu. The
Seynt Victor
made landfall near Otranto and turned her prow north. The weather improved, and the sea settled down, and one by one the recluses emerged from their places of torment, and turned their white faces towards the sun. Only Doctor Scot stayed in the cabin, writing endlessly in a great black ledger. He had become a quite different man since Mesarites had died, and I, who had always been in awe, and indeed a little terrified of him, left him well alone. He was looking and acting more like a necromancer every day, and I did not wish to tempt the Fates.

It was time to make plans. The Captain wished to travel straight to Venice and face Querini, but much as I hated to admit this even to myself, he was still far from recovered. He was dreadfully thin, for the victuals aboard a ship are barely enough to keep starvation at bay at the best of times. If he had been active for too long he would begin to tremble in his hands, and his eyelids would droop and twitch. He looked older, too: his beard had gone almost white, and the streaks of grey in his hair had widened. So I argued against that, saying we should wait, perhaps in Rome, and take the good Dominicans with us to see the pope. Andrew and James, though, to my surprise, were all for haste. They had been sent on a mission by their beloved king, and felt it was within their means to fulfil it without more time being wasted. To this end they argued good-naturedly and then not so happily with the Captain for a day or so, until I could bear it no longer. I called them to the prow, and, as we sailed past the cloud-capped peak of Monte Gargano, told them that I would go to Venice alone.

'Listen to me’ I told their sceptical faces. 'Querini thinks me dead, and no one else in Venice knows me. I will find Baldwin, for he must be a guest of the ... the .. ‘

'Doge’ said Letice. Uninvited, she had appeared at the Captain's shoulder. We all turned to stare at her.

'The Doge. I will come with you, Petroc. I know Venice - you, plainly, do not. And I am afraid to say that Baldwin is more likely a guest of Nicholas Querini, who is not the Doge, at least not yet.'

'But you are Querini's companion’ said the Captain. I admired his tact. ‘I am not certain that we should take your advice, if you will forgive me.'

'I will forgive you: you are right to look at me askance. I will not spare your blushes. I am a woman cast aside, plotted against and almost deprived of her life. You should know that I want my revenge of him. I will hazard that your plans involve redeeming the Crown from Nicholas. I think that might be difficult, unless he has done the honourable thing and turned it over to the Republic. If he is a good son of Venice, he will have. But as he is a scheming, plotting creature whose only loyalty is to Nicholas Querini, I believe he will not. Now, he is how many days ahead of us?'

'Not many’ said Andrew. A week, perhaps?'

'Then we must act fast. Petroc will seek an audience with Doge Tiepolo, and show him his papal credentials. Good brothers, can you provide him with letters of your own, to make him a representative of King Louis?'

The brothers grudgingly said they would consider it. Andrew shook his head angrily. 'If only we could steal the Crown back from the thief!' he cried. The Captain and I exchanged weighty glances.

'And then what?' asked the Captain. 'I mean, should such a thing be possible.' Now it was the turn of Letice to raise her eyebrows, but Andrew spoke first.

'Querini is a proven thief. I am sure that the legal position is clear: the Constantinopolitan Regent's debt is transferred to the Republic, and our king shall redeem the Crown by making his gift to Venice. Indeed, payment of the debt shall be a perfect solution, for it sidesteps the issue of simony.'

'But someone still has to steal the Crown,' James pointed out.

'Hmm. I wonder if I could have a word, in private, with these two young people,' said the Captain.

Much later that night, huddled in the master's hold once again, Letice, the Captain and I went over the plans we had made. The girl and I were to make our way to Venice in secret, and go straight to the Ca' Kanzir, which was the palazzo where the Captain and the company of the
Cormaran
lived when he was in the city, and was the closest thing to a home that he possessed in the whole world.

'I do not have the keys,' said the Captain, crossly. 'I managed to throw them overboard, with my purse, before I was overpowered. With any luck, Querini will not have ransacked the place. You will have to make a set of picks, my lad. Do you know how?' I shook my head. 'I will show you,' he said, and drew an admiring look from Letice.

Andrew of Longjumeau, hoping against the odds that matters could be handled in an official manner, and giving me the strictest instructions not to implicate Louis Capet in any skulduggery, had written me an official letter, and sealed it with the royal seal. That should be enough to get me an audience with the Venetian Council. The Captain advised me against using the pope's letter except in the direst need.

I really do not want you even to take it, Patch,' he said. Tt is worth more to us than you can even imagine - no, I am sure you can imagine, in fact. I beg you, guard it with your life. But - ' and he held up a hand and placed it gently upon my head - your life is worth more. Probably. Now, Mistress Londeneyse.' He turned to Letice. What are your intentions towards Nicholas Querini?'

‘I wish him dead, of course,' she said bluntly. 'But I'm not a fool. I would rather that he were humiliated, in truth, that his spirit were staved in. He would die inside,. that way. It would eat him like a canker.'

'And how would that be achieved?' asked the Captain.

'If he were made to look foolish, if he lost face. If he were ruined - but that will not happen. He is almost the richest man in Venice.'

‘I like Venice,' said the Captain. Tt is a useful place for us. I would not have it made dangerous for my company.'

‘I understand,' said Letice.

'Do you?' She nodded, gravely. What do you want, young woman?' asked the Captain, softly.

‘I want respect. I want to be the equal of men,' she said, vehemently. 'I do not want to end my days in the purgatory of whoredom, and I do not wish to pull the strings for idiot puppet-men, just because the world regards a quim as ... as disqualifying its owner from receiving all that her brains and courage can earn her!'

Well said,' the Captain said, and although Letice was shaking with fury, she gave him a curt nod. 'Brains and courage are all that I and my company require. Patch has vouched for you: that is almost enough for me. Almost. You know much about my affairs. You have, in fact, some power over me. Do not abuse it. Do not: for I would welcome you when this affair is settled. Do you understand?'

Letice stiffened, and nodded. 'Thank you,' she said.

We put into Ravenna on the fifteenth of March, 1239, for it was decided that it was a safe port and far enough from Venice, but not too far. An inn was found, and the two Dominicans, Michael Scot and the Captain bid farewell to the master of the
Seynt Victor.
I went with them. The friars were in raptures to be on dry land again, although I had noticed that Andrew of Longjumeau was far from the pious milksop that at times he pretended to be. Even Michael Scot was almost happy, and glided greyly along, looking something like his own self.

The four men found beds, and while baggage was being carried up and prices agreed upon, we adjourned to the dining room and called for wine. We all, friars included, took a cup, and while we were drinking and reminiscing, although the voyage had only just ended, there was a thunder of hooves outside and much shouting, then a growing clamour of voices, as if a crowd were gathering. The innkeeper went outside to see what had happened, and came back a few minutes later, looking worried. We all asked him what could be the matter.

'His Holiness has excommunicated the Emperor Frederick,' he told us, and poured out more wine. 'It happened three days ago, so it seems. That fellow outside just arrived from Rome. The war will not stop, then.'

War?' said the Captain, curiously. 'There has been fighting in the north for a year now. Is it still going on?'

'Frederick declared that he would take the papal states for the empire,' said Michael Scot, hollowly. 'I found out at Cerigo. Now this. I expected it, I suppose, for what else could Gregory do? Surrender the Patrimony of Saint Peter? But... so it begins.' He rubbed his temples, and stood up.

'Leave my things’ he told the innkeeper. 'I must depart right away.' And he bade farewell to us, although we could do no more than nod and murmur in return, so surprised were we. But when he went to the door he beckoned to me, and as the innkeeper found him a horse, he looked up at the sky, which was lowering.

'I will be riding into snow’ he said.

Where are you going?' I asked him.

'My good Petroc’ he replied, 'my plans are at an end. The two great giants of the world are lumbering towards one another, and nothing will stop them. They will tear Christendom apart with their greed and their pride. I am glad, now, that Nicholas did not live to see this.'

'Shall I bring you the
Mandylion?'
I whispered, dreading his reply, but he only shook his head.

What good would it do?' he said. 'The world is slipping into chaos. The Beast's jaws are widening. Keep it for me. Your friends are, after all, the experts in such things. If I think I can use it to do some good, I will find it in good hands.'

The horse was being led out, and Michael picked up his bag.

'Doctor Scotus’ I said, as he slung it over the saddle and set his foot in the stirrup, 'thank you.'

'For what?' he asked, looking down at me. I felt again that strange sensation, as if the air were shimmering before his face.

'For Anna - for healing Anna.' 'Gladly done’ he whispered.

Where will you go?' I asked again. He settled himself in the saddle and threw his hood over his head.

‘I shall ride towards the mountains’ he said. 'Sooner or later I shall come to a crossroads. Frederick is in the north, Gregory the south. I will choose, somehow, as I have always chosen. Or maybe I shall not. Goodbye, Patch. Perhaps we will see each other again.'

I hope so, good Doctor’ I said.

The next day the
Seynt Victor
sailed north again. We put into Chioggia late in the afternoon, and I was glad of it, for the wind was blowing cold off the Po marshes and there was a wearisome smell of rotting weeds in the air, lowering to the spirits. Chioggia itself was a small city, squatting cheerfully upon the great sandbank that lay between the sea and the lagoon on which Venice lay, further to the north-east. There was a brisde of belltowers and a stubble of masts, and into this we nosed. The Captain had given us a name, of a silk merchant, whose cousin had a brother, a trustworthy fellow, a discreet man, who owned a fishing boat. And so it was arranged.

We passed through the Lagoon lying on the cold, brackish deck, hidden beneath a mound of old sacking that stank of fermenting fish. The cousin and his mate had made us hide as soon as the lights of Chioggia had faded. I squeezed myself tight against the side of the boat and stretched out, trying to see stars between the tight mesh of the sack-cloth. There was no sound except the rush and knock of the water beneath us, and the creaking of the sail. Letice wriggled herself tight against me, and her fingers wrapped themselves around mine. I did not say anything, for I was too cold and too nervous - about Venice, and now, truth be told, about her warm hand. Sometimes one of the fishermen muttered something or hissed a curse, and now and then, from very far away came the hollow plea of a night-bird. It was not an unpleasant way to pass the time, despite the nose-searing fish stench, and indeed I fell asleep, only realising I had done so when Letice prodded me awake. I opened my eyes to see the blaze of the Milky Way above me. The snow-clouds had blown away. I took a chestful of sharp, rush-scented air and sat up.

I was blinking the sleep from my eyes when I felt her hand, cold and strong, slide up my spine until it lay, fingers trembling slightly, against the back of my neck. My hair rose to meet it, and as I leaned, eyes closed, to meet her lips with mine, I knew that I was stepping from the known world into the blank lands at the edge of a map: here be monsters. Her lips had been cool against mine, and I had almost drawn back, sensing that she was about to do the same, when her mouth opened slightly and I brushed against her teeth. We both shuddered, and for a long moment it was all heat and bruising, crushing, growling. I tasted blood and sweet spit, smelled her powdery-sharp sweat. Then, as if we were puppets and our mountebank had snapped his fingers, we jerked apart. But her eyes held mine for another desperate moment, and then she raised her pale hand and pointed. At first I could see nothing save the velvet shimmer of stars upon smooth water, and deepest shadow all around. Then, following her outstretched arm, I saw that the first inkling of dawn was lightening the east, turning the night from black to the blue of a magpie's wing. And there, faint, no more than the play of blue upon blue, the domes and spires of a city rose out of the starry brocade of the water.