“Very impressive. And where did you hide the Donation?”
Abu Nuwas smiled.
“I suppose it was worth a try, but while I may be vain, I am not stupid. The location of the document is not something I am willing to discuss with you, until we have agreed a price. Now, shall we go, before anyone arrives and starts asking awkward questions?”
Weary, bruised and poisoned, they had to help each other walk, and must have made a strange pair stumbling through the amphitheatre: the tall Arab, his long, matted hair falling around his face, and the young woman with golden hair, leaning against each other like a pair of drunkards. So dazed were they, that they almost walked into Angilbert as they crossed the square of the Colossus.
“Hervor, how good to see you looking so well. And my fellow scribbler Abu Nuwas, a pleasure to meet you again, after so many years. Felix, Clemens, would you assist my friends please?”
The Abbot’s burly attendants took them politely but firmly by the elbow, both supporting and detaining them. Standing in front of them, Angilbert held out his hand.
“And now, if I could examine the Donation of Constantinus?”
“We don’t have it.”
Angilbert raised his eyebrows.
“Indeed? You do surprise me. I would have thought that, with your intelligence and Hervor’s skill at fighting — forgive me, my dear, but it really is that way round — your success would be assured.”
He looked pointedly at Hervor, who shrugged.
“He claims he took it from the catacomb, but I have not seen it, and the Emperor’s spy could not find it despite stripping him to his skin. I think he must have slipped it into one of the alcoves where the bones are kept. There are hundreds of them down there, but you could send soldiers to search…”
Angilbert nodded, but his eyes were now fixed on Abu Nuwas.
“I could. I could send soldiers to search the catacomb. Or I could just lock up our friend here, and wait. After all, you have to defecate some time, don’t you?”
Hervor stared in bafflement, but Abu Nuwas grinned guiltily.
“Now how did a man of the church like you work it out, when that depraved old devil al-Sifr could not? No, don’t answer that, I don’t want to know. There is no need to lock me up; I will hand over the Donation. May I then go home?”
“Of course. You have done a great service for the King, and besides, I would not deprive the world of so brilliant a poet. Please tell me, though, that the document was in some kind of container?”
“Yes, have no fear, it was in an ivory case. You will not have to get your hands dirty. As, indeed, you have managed to avoid doing throughout this whole adventure.”
Comprehension was dawning on Hervor’s face, along with disgust.
“You mean you hid the document up your —”
“I am afraid so. There is no need to look so appalled. It was a very small object really, and far from the worst thing that has been up there.”
***
The basilica was packed for mass on the morning of the Feast of the Nativity. Hervor suspected that many of those attending were motivated less by piety than by curiosity to see how the King behaved toward the Pope. That was certainly why Hervor was there. Leo had sworn to his innocence in front of an assembly of bishops, and was thus held to be exonerated of all charges; but there were those who still hoped that he could be persuaded to step down and retire to a monastery somewhere. Every move, every expression on the face of the King would be analysed and discussed.
She was surprised to see Abu Nuwas standing at the rear of the church, clad in the long coat and loose trousers of his people. She walked over and greeted him.
“I did not expect to find you here.”
“And why not? In my own country I often frequent monasteries and churches, and not just for the wine and pretty boys. I think sometimes that Christianity is more to my taste than Islam. I would consider converting, were it not a capital crime to desert the true faith.”
“I meant that I did not expect to see you in public. Should you not be staying out of sight?”
“Not at all. The good Abbot was kind enough to smooth over any small difficulties relating to our escapades. I am once again an honoured member of the delegation from the King of the Persians.”
“You seem in very cheerful mood, considering you had to hand over the Donation for nothing.”
“My most hated enemy is dead. That alone has made the journey worthwhile.”
At that moment those members of the congregation who had crowded onto the pews rose to their feet as one. The choir began to chant the Introit, and Frankish soldiers marched through the doors of the basilica. Abu Nuwas leaned across to Hervor.
“Here comes the King.”
In fact the King and the Pope entered simultaneously. This had clearly been planned, to spare them the embarrassment of deciding who took precedence. Hervor knew Pope Leo all too well, but despite her years in his service, she had never before stood in the presence of King Karlo. She therefore ignored the sleazy little man processing toward the altar in a cloud of incense and hypocrisy, and examined instead the warrior striding down the nave.
Karlo, King of the Franks and Lombards, would have stood out in any company. He was nearly five cubits tall, and his thick neck and barrel chest made him an imposing figure even without the regal assurance of his mien. To honour the occasion he wore a toga in the old Roman style, although it looked incongruous with his drooping moustache and long hair. Despite the unfamiliar clothing, however, he maintained his dignity as he made his way to the throne which had been placed for him in front of the altar.
Hervor found Mass profoundly dull, and as usual her mind wandered during the long ritual. She found herself drifting into a daydream in which she was being ravished by King Karlo. The King was nearly sixty years old, and far fleshier than the stringy youths that were her general preference. However the idea of being squeezed against that enormous chest was oddly appealing, and there was something reassuring, almost paternal, about his calm authority.
She was distracted from speculating about the King’s royal member, which she had decided would be stubby but satisfyingly fat, by the rustle at the head of the church as communion was about to be administered. Karlo rose from his throne and walked forward to receive the sacrament first. Pope Leo, however, did not offer him the bread and wine. Instead, he gestured to an attendant, who ran forward with a glittering object on a cushion.
The Pope took the object in both hands and raised it in the air. It was a golden crown, encrusted with gemstones and surmounted by a cross. He lowered it slowly and set it on Karlo’s head, then addressed the congregation.
“To Carolus, most pious Augustus, crowned by God, great and peacemaking Emperor, long life and victory! Salus et victoria!”
Uncertainly at first, then more clamorously, the congregation echoed him.
“Salus et victoria! Salus et victoria!”
Abu Nuwas whispered in Hervor’s ear.
“Did what I think just happened really happen? Did the Pope just proclaim him Emperor and Augustus? That will stir up some interest in New Rome, when they hear of it.”
As if to preclude any ambiguity, the Pope fell to the ground and kissed Karlo on the knees, in the traditional gesture of deference to the Emperor of the Romans. Leo then got back to his feet, stuck his thumb in a small silver pot and daubed something on Karlo’s forehead. It was Hervor’s turn to mutter to Abu Nuwas.
“What is he doing?”
“Anointing him with oil, I think. It was the practice of the Jews to have their kings and prophets anointed in that way, usually by the high priest of the Temple in Jerusalem. A cunning move, to legitimise the Pope’s role in the accession. I wonder whether it was his idea, or the King’s?”
Just then Karlo, having finally been given the bread and wine, returned to his chair. Instead of the pride or serenity that Hervor was expecting, though, his expression was one of pure fury. He stamped away from the al
tar, and the thud as he hurled his heavy body into his chair resounded around the basilica. Abu Nuwas gasped.
“In the name of God! He did not know… the King did not know about the plan to crown him Emperor! And by the look of things, he is not best pleased about it either. He could not refuse the honour in public though, not without humiliating a man whom he has gone to much trouble to support. It will make diplomacy with Irene and New Rome very difficult, I would imagine.”
“Then why —”
Hervor was interrupted by a young priest, who shushed her furiously. They fell silent, and watched the congregation file up for the sacrament. It was not until the end of Mass, when Leo had dismissed them and the King had marched out of the basilica, that they were able to resume their conversation.
“Why would Leo do such a thing? Why would he trick the King into accepting a title he did not seek? With different Emperors in the two Romes, is there not a risk that Christendom will split apart?”
“Why? Because Leo is the real victor here. As King of the Franks and Lombards, Karlo ruled by right of inheritance and conquest; as Emperor, he draws his authority from the Pope. The King may no longer be subject to Irene, but Leo has raised himself higher still by climbing onto Karlo’s shoulders.”
“Yes, who gave the Bishop of Rome the right to appoint the Emperor anyway?”
“We did. When we found the Donation.”
“Ah. True. Convenient for Leo, wasn’t it, that an original copy should show up, just when his position was so shaky?”
Abu Nuwas did not seem to be amused.
“I have been wondering about that. And about a few other things too. I suppose though we shall never know the truth.”
His expression changed from chagrin to glee as he stared at a passing face in the departing congregation.
“Or maybe we will after all. Brother Catwulf! Brother Catwulf!”
With a wave and a cheery grin he greeted a saturnine man of around his own age, who was dressed in the robes of a clergyman. A momentary twinge of fear crossed the man’s face as he saw Abu Nuwas bearing down on him, but he rapidly composed himself and answered with urbane ease.
“Ah yes, you must be the emissary from the court of the Persian King. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“I am hurt, Brother Catwulf. Surely you have not forgotten me, and the jolly times we spent together in Baghdad?”
Catwulf’s smile was implacable.
“You must pardon me. That was many years ago, and I met such a great number of fascinating people. And I am no longer a mere Brother. You should address me as Bishop Catwulf.”
“Apologies, your excellency. Your advancement has been rapid indeed. What is your diocese?”
“I do not have a diocese. I am a titular bishop, engaged in special work for the Holy Father.”
“Of course you are. I am familiar with the kind of work in which you are a specialist.”
Catwulf paled slightly, and tried to change the subject.
“How fortunate you are, ambassador, to have been present at the coronation of an Emperor. What has happened today has changed the world forever. After half a millennium of dominance by the east, the west is rising again. You can tell your masters that you have witnessed history in the making.”
“Indeed, it is a privilege to see history in the making. It is a greater privilege, though, to observe the hands of the craftsman as he makes it.”
“What do you mean, ambassador?”
“I have been thinking about Fortunatus.”
“I do not know the man of whom you speak.”
“Really? He also serves the Pope, engaged in special work. Or rather I should say ‘served’, since poor Fortunatus is dead now.”
“May God have mercy on his soul.”
“Quite. I came upon his body in the catacombs where we found the Donation.”
“Then he, too, was seeking the document.”
“So it seemed, at the time. However something was not right. His body was cold.”
“Corpses usually are.”
“Not straightaway. It must have lain there for at least half a day, to have cooled to that extent.”
“I fail to see the problem. Obviously he had entered the catacomb that morning.”
“However his body was also limp. It takes around three days for the stiffness of death to pass. So he must have been there some time. Yet we only discovered the location of the document the previous day. What was the Pope’s man doing in the catacomb earlier in the week?”
Catwulf’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Abu Nuwas pressed on.
“Then I thought about the document’s hiding place. The paint on the dragon’s mouth was not faded like the rest of the mural, but appeared fresh, almost new. And the cloth that covered it: what fabric could have survived for five hundred years?”
“I do not understand what you are asking me, ambassador.”
“Does Angilbert know? That is what I am asking you. Does Angilbert know that the Donation is a fake, planted a few days ago for me to find? Did you cook it up between you, or is he just another piece in your game? Does Karlo know? Does the Pope know? I imagine they do not, for otherwise, what would be the point of this elaborate charade? A good story, to give the document credibility…”
Catwulf hissed at him.
“It is fortunate for you that you are under the Emperor’s protection. However if you continue to ask impertinent questions, or impute dishonesty to the Holy Mother Church, then I cannot guarantee that you will leave Rome alive. Go home, poet. Keep your mouth shut and go back to Baghdad.”
He stalked away. Hervor’s mouth hung open, but Abu Nuwas seemed pleased.
“He called me ‘poet’! So he did remember me after all.”
They walked together out of the church. Hervor turned to her companion.
“Then the Donation was —”
“Do you know, I believe the good bishop’s advice was sensible. There is nothing to be gained by poking this nest of vipers, and much to be lost. I just wanted to know the truth, that is all. Now that my suspicions have been confirmed, I am leaving Rome, and I suggest you do the same. This place reeks of corruption and death, and it is not a dragon that exudes the poison, but men greedy for power. Get out of here, Hervor Gorm’s daughter, while you can still breathe.”
Hervor felt a pang of loneliness at the prospect of his departure.
“But where can I go?”
“Well, there is one, who might take you away from here…”
Hervor sighed, and wondered how to explain that, however desperate she was, running away to a land where she would have to hide her face, with a libertine who drank too much and would drop her for the first pretty boy to flutter his eyelashes, was not the solution. Then she realised that he was indicating a figure standing in the crowds outside the church; a man in sailor’s garb, with a lean frame and mocking eyes.
“Rurik! You stupid bastard, what are you doing here? They will behead you for piracy if anyone recognises you.”
“I came to find you —”
“No, what am I saying? Beheading is all you deserve. I should denounce you myself. I should whip your arse with a knotted rope until your cheeks are in shreds. I should ram your foremast up your fundament. I should —”
“Yes, my angel, you should do all those things. Then, when your fury is sated, will you come to my ship?”
“And why would I want to do that?”
“Because I love you. Because now that I have realised what a fool I was to let you go, I will never make that mistake again. Because even the crew are missing you, illegitimate pox-ridden scum that they are. I cannot promise you comfort, or security, but I can offer a life of adventure, and freedom, and passion. So I will ask you once more, and then never again: Hervor, will you sail away with me?”
XIII
“And did she? Did she go with him?”
“I cannot say, Commander of the Faithful. The tale ends there.”
“You
cannot say? What does that mean? You are the storyteller, you can say anything you choose to say.”
“Very well. She sailed with Rurik the pirate, but they were captured a few months later off the coast of al-Andalus and both were executed.”
“No! That is not what happened!”
“Then what would the Commander of the Faithful like to have happened?”
Harun’s forehead creased.
“Obviously she sailed with him, but they are alive and well to this day.”
Ismail bowed deeply.
“Indeed, my prince, I find myself recalling now, that they discovered a great treasure buried on the shores of Ifriqiyah, and were able to give up their criminal ways. They dwell in comfort and security in Benevento, and have an infant child on whom they dote. A boy, I believe.”
The Khalifah sat back.
“There now, that is better. If I decide to let you live, then mind that, in future, you finish your stories properly.”
“And how is that, Commander of the Faithful? Please instruct your lowly servant as to how a tale should end.”
“Why, every question must be answered, of course! Even a child knows that.”
Ismail bowed once more.
“Your merest whim is as a sacred obligation to me, Commander of the Faithful. Every question will be answered.”
“I am pleased to hear it. Really, it comes to something when a prince must teach his subjects their own trades. As for you, Father of Locks, your story is over. Your enemy is dead, and we have come to the end.”
“So it would seem, my prince.”
“Are you ready to die?”
“Our lives are yours, Commander of the Faithful, to give or take as you see fit. However, there is one final turn to the tale, if you wish to hear it. Then, my prince, all your questions will be answered, and my story will be complete.”
“Father, how much longer will you allow these charlatans to spin their lies? It is not seemly —”
“Be silent, Abdallah al-Ma’mun. I said I would hear them out, and I will not break my word. Storyteller, speak swiftly and to the point. The shadows are lengthening, and your death draws ever nearer.”
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