'Against my better judgement and the good advice of my colleagues, I will trade with you after all, Baldwin de Courtenay. A seat at our table in return for your name’ He waved again to the proprietor, and the pot-boy laid his falchion with a clank upon the counter and brought over a chair. As quickly as they had appeared, all weapons vanished, and the proprietor began yelling at his customers as if nothing at all had happened. In another moment I began to wonder if it had all been a dream as the inn settled down to business once again. Meanwhile the boy seemed to weigh his options and chose, with evident relief, to sit down at the end of the table. A cup appeared before him, and another jug of wine.
'Drink with us’ said the Captain. You are in no danger here. Not any more, that is. I must admit that I am delighted to meet you at last, but I am a little surprised to find you are in Rome. I thought you were in Venice, and the world believes you to be in France, yes?'
You will forgive me, but I still do not know to whom I am speaking’ said Baldwin de Courtenay. He hesitated for a moment, then shrugged and took a long gulp of wine. His shoulders relaxed a little, and he risked a glance around the table. 'I believed myself to be in disguise, but even here I am recognised, and by the owner of a… a tavern. This is your house, sir, is it not?' 'In a manner of speaking, yes’ said the Captain.
'But you said you were delighted to meet me at last, and I do not know what you can mean by that’ 'It is simple’ said the Captain, and he looked enquiringly at the boy. It is most simple’ Baldwin shook his head in confusion. You seek a man, do you not?' asked the Captain, slowly.
'I do’ said Baldwin. 'I believed I had tracked him to this place. But.. ‘ 'And whom do you seek?' the Captain ploughed on.
'He goes by many names, so far as I can tell. In France they call him Jean de Sol, and it is in France that I heard of him from… from a dear friend’ 'And who is he, this Monsieur de Sol? What does he do?'
'He is a trader. No, hardly a trader, for that would be an insult to his stock-in-trade. Rather, he is a purveyor, a middleman. He expedites the sale of delicate..’ Baldwin was almost wringing his hands. I could tell that he was either trying to find a particular word, or frantic to avoid saying it. 'Delicate, wondrous things’ he managed.
'And you, as ruler of Constantinople, are well known for having a large – a very large – number of such things in your possession’
'Good sir, you mock me!' said Baldwin stiffly. 'If I were not at your mercy here, I assure you-'
'Peace, peace. I do not doubt you. Far from it. I am simply amazed that you have sought me out’
'Sought you out, sir? Your pardon, but I have simply made a mortifying error. I thought I had found this de Sol here, and seeing this gentleman' – he nodded politely at Zianni – 'who is the most magnificently attired person in the room, I assumed, most foolishly and carelessly, that he was the man I had been hunting for. Now I beg your pardon once again, and by your leave…' He rose, but the Captain reached out and patted his hand.
'My dear sir, be at your ease. Your hunt was a success. You have found Jean de Sol.'
Baldwin jumped to his feet. 'He is here?' he cried, looking around wildly.
A hand came down on the table and made the cups dance. ‘For fuck's sake, my lord Emperor, or whoever you are, just listen.' It was Horst, and his appalling French chopped through the air like a blunt hatchet. 'This is Jean de Sol, this one here. Sit down, drink your wine, and listen.'
Baldwin de Courtenay sat down with a bump. He had blushed crimson to the roots of his thick blond hair. Now, finally, I did feel sorry for him. And evidently the Captain did too, for he turned back to the boy, folded his hands in front of him, and treated us all to a great, sunny smile.
'Now then, gentlemen all, let us drink a toast of peace and friendship. Even ill meetings can have happy outcomes. So, to new understandings!'
We clinked our cups together, a little sullenly to be sure. Zianni alone seemed to find the whole thing amusing. He was also, I knew, of all of us the one most likely to have put a sudden end to the young emperor's reign. He carried a stiletto, a peculiarly Venetian dagger as long and thin as a blade of grass, and it was that knife, or one like it, that had got him banished from Venice six years ago. He was a merry soul, a happy rake; but he had the quickest hands I ever saw, and a temper like fire and quicksilver thrown together. The boy was luckier than he would ever understand.
'So it was the blaze of sakarlat that drew you to me?' he asked Baldwin. 'Like a moth to a candle, eh? That is a little worrisome. Come, though: you are no leper yourself, in that greenery. Where did you get it? I should like some.'
If nothing else, Baldwin de Courtenay was scrupulously polite, and to his credit he swallowed his imperial pride and allowed this banter. As I have said, I was beginning to feel sorry for the lad, so I joined in.
'Peace, Master Zianni: I saw it first. Indeed, I have been wondering how I might have a bolt for myself.' I threw him what I hoped was a conciliatory smile. To my relief, he chose to take the bait.
It is from Constantinople, where we have the finest silk in this world,' he said. 'I would be glad to make you a gift of some. A gift to both of you, if that would not cause a falling-out between friends.' He cocked his head a little slyly. And now, Monsieur de Sol, I am at a horrifying disadvantage. I beg you to introduce me to your… colleagues.'
'Gladly. The gentleman you mistook for me – and I am most flattered that you would suppose me to be so elegant – is Signor Giovanni Canal. This is der Junker Horst von Tantow. And this other young dandy here is Petrus Zennorius.'
Well met indeed,' said Baldwin graciously. 'Allow me to beg your forgiveness for my earlier rudeness. My eagerness to make your acquaintance overcame my manners. And I am most eager, Monsieur de Sol, to be acquainted with you.'
'So I have gathered,' said the Captain. 'If you would care to speak a little of your reasons for this eagerness, I assure you that these men are my trusted confidants, and I could not keep my private matters from them even if I so wanted.'
Baldwin took a thoughtful sip of wine. Horst, as a peace offering, pushed a dish of rice balls in his direction and the boy took one, bit into it and made a face. 'Rather dry, are they not?' I asked sympathetically.
'Somewhat,' he agreed, finishing the thing and reaching for another. I saw that he was very hungry.
'Monsieur, you said that the world believes me to be in France, and indeed it has been my misfortune – my life's misfortune – to have the world taking an interest in my affairs. I was, until lately, indeed in France, a guest of my cousin Louis. I believe that most think I am still there. I pleaded urgent business and left Paris for my fief of Namur, from whence I slipped away.'
You had a hard ride, then’ said the Captain. 'How did you get through Lombardy? The Holy Roman Emperor holds everything from the mountains to the shores of the Venetian lagoon, and Emperor Frederick is no friend of Louis’
'Frederick von Hohenstaufen is also a cousin of mine’ said Baldwin, a little pompously. 'But I felt it prudent to go in disguise, nonetheless. His captain in those parts is a monster, so one hears’
'Ah, yes – Ezzolino da Romano. But it is his job to be monstrous: he is merely very good at what he does’
You jest with me again, monsieur. If you had ridden through the burning towns and seen the butchered corpses he leaves behind him
Yes, yes. You can see the smoke from the campanile on a fine day, so I hear’ said the Captain dismissively. 'Given all that, finding your way past the monster's army was no mean feat.'
'Well, I decided it was too dangerous to pass myself off as a simple Ghibelline, as allegiances change every furlong or so between the mountains and the sea. Besides, I am, as you know, rather well known as a Guelf, and my personal affairs are all over fleurs de lys. No, that is a dangerous game to play, so I posed as a knight journeying to the East to save Constantinople from the Turks. As that is the truth, I was not putting my immortal soul at risk.'
I poured myself
some more wine. This evening had taken a strange turn indeed. A simple fight would have been quite a normal end to the night's proceedings; fights, although I did not enjoy them, had ceased to surprise me, and I knew how to look after myself. But this: this was something so far outside my ken that I might as well have been supping with the man in the moon. Here, seated at my right hand, was a real emperor, and a hungry one at that, gossiping about his royal cousins and about the great war that had burned up half of Italy as if it were nothing of greater moment than a day at the fair. What I knew about the Empire of Romania was slight: Anna had fizzed with rage at the very thought of Frankish Constantinople, but let me know that the thieves who had captured the greatest of all cities were no better than beggars, paupers who held her uncle – who was, of course, the true emperor of the Romans, although at present he ruled from Nicea – at bay only through luck and by prostituting themselves to any barbarian or infidel who rattled their purses.
It confused me that, while he was cousin to both Louis of France and Frederick von Hohenstaufen, he put himself in the Guelf camp, that is, a supporter of the pope's cause against the claims of the emperor, rather than an ally of Frederick, or Ghibelline, as they have begun to call themselves. Fleur de lys and eagle: this war between flowers and birds had already spilled blood enough to redden every whitewashed wall in Italy. Indeed I could not quite see why an emperor would have to take sides at all. It did not seem prudent to ask, however. Baldwin had finished the rice balls and was delving deep into a stack of ham, and although he was trying to seem courtly it was plain that hunger had mastered rank, at least for the moment. The Captain was letting him eat and watching carefully. He was wearing the look that had reminded my friend Will of a great owl watching mice scurry below him on the floor of his barn, and not for the first time that evening I felt a – very small – tug of pity for Baldwin de Courtenay.
'Good sir, I can perhaps guess what you are hoping to talk to me about’ said the Captain after Baldwin had polished off the ham and sat back, looking rather stunned and wiping greasy hands on the wondrous tunic. ‘Your cousin Louis is a collector, of course.'
'Monsieur, by your leave! You speak of the King of France, the heir of Charlemagne, not some… some ploughboy!'
'Peace, dear friend,' said the Captain calmly. 'That most pious king and I have a long acquaintanceship: I daresay I know him better than you do yourself.' He held up a hand to silence more protest. 'Louis Capet is not a proud man, nor overbearing, nor is he a zealot for pomp and ceremony. I have conducted most of my dealings with him seated at his side beneath an oak tree, and he would not wish me to dissemble otherwise.'
Baldwin sighed. You are right. The King of France has ways and habits that are beyond the understanding of…' he glanced nervously around the table. 'Beyond my understanding, certainly. But as to piety, there, sir, do we have the matter itself.' He sighed again, and placing his right hand on the table, seemed to fall into sad contemplation of it.
'Baldwin de Courtenay, I believe I can find the heart of this matter that plainly weighs heavily upon you.' The Captain was leaning forward, looking past me into Baldwin's eyes. It was like watching a baby rabbit mesmerised by a stoat. The boy swallowed painfully. His eyes were very wide.
'In your palace of Bucoleon in Constantinople, there is a chapel. That chapel's name is Pharos. I know every single thing, great and small, that resides within the Pharos Chapel.'
Baldwin looked for an instant as if he had been run through the heart with Zianni's stiletto. Then, as the shadow of a cloud moves across and leaves a summer hillside, his face crumpled into a grimace of the most intense relief. His shoulders slumped and he put his two hands together as if in prayer and kissed his fingertips.
'I knew it, gracious Lord’ he whispered, finally. 'I knew You would bring me to this man. Thank You for guiding me this night’ I was puzzled for a moment, then I realised that the boy really was praying. I had not seen a man pray in earnest in many, many days and it struck me that prayer, a habit I had learned at my mothers breast and had performed as naturally as breathing every day, every hour of my life until I had joined the Cormaran, was now as strange to me as the habits of some grotesque from the pages of Herodotus. I looked around at my fellows. Zianni was smiling indulgently and a little wolfishly at Baldwin; Horst was scowling. The Captain's face was unreadable. Baldwin de Courtenay finished his prayer and crossed himself extravagantly. I believe the Captain was the only one of us who did not flinch.
'I am most flattered to be taken for an answered prayer’ he said. 'However, I am usually thought by most to be a businessman. I would be delighted to talk business with you tomorrow – I will come to your lodgings, if you would care to name a time’
Baldwin blinked in surprise. He was forever being taken by surprise, this one, I thought. 'As you wish, monsieur’ he said. 'But I.. ‘
'Please stay a while and order some more food – in fact I shall see to it. We must be elsewhere, unfortunately. And tomorrow?'
Yes, yes. I am lodging at the Locanda della… di…' he snapped his fingers in frustration. '… in any event, the Sign of the White Hound, in the Borgo. I will await you…' 'At terce, if that suits.'
'It does, it does’ Baldwin rose, and we followed his example. I thought he was about to push past me and embrace the Captain, but he stood fast. He was younger than I had thought, or perhaps relief had softened him, but I saw that, had I acted on my base, angry instinct I would have killed a child. As I left the table I bowed my head politely. He gave me a bland look in return that I could not read. With Zianni and Horst I pushed through the crowd and stepped out into the street. It was raining, a warm mizzle, and Baldwin's two men were standing across the way, sheltering in the mouth of a covered passageway. At the sight of us they squared their shoulders and stepped into the rain. Horst held up a hand.
'Be of good cheer, lads – your emperor is within, filling his belly. I should join him before he scoffs the lot.'
If he had intended to sweeten matters with the honey of peace, it was obvious that his words had achieved the opposite effect. Both men stopped short, threw back the cloaks they were wearing and clapped hands to hilts. In another instant they would have drawn, had not the Captain stepped in front of us.
'I am the man your master sought’ he said, and his voice rang against the stone walls around us. Well, he has found me, and we are to meet again tomorrow morning. He bid me summon you to his table, where you will find food and wine. You are my guests, good fellows: I ask you to eat no less than your fill. We will see you on the morrow, and there will be no more thoughts of war. Good night to you.'
And he opened his arms as if to sweep them into the taverna. Horst, Zianni and I stepped back to let them through. One, taller than his mate and with the close-cropped hair of a soldier, whispered to his partner and stalked to the doorway. He peered inside. Looking over his shoulder I could just see the boy-emperor mopping a plate with a hunk of bread. The soldier turned and gave us a look that was more puzzled than angry. Then he beckoned to the other man, who walked past us, biting his lip and with his narrowed eyes on the ground. They stepped through the doorway and did not turn back..
'Gentlemen, I am sorry our evening has been cut short, but the circumstances are…' the Captain paused and rubbed his nose. 'I need to think things over. Thank you, dear friends, for not skewering that half-grown kinglet. I dare say we may never have a more fortunate meeting again, though we live as long as Adam. If you would care to take a cup of wine at the palazzo, you are welcome.'
Zianni shook his head. He was grinning. 'Captain, you are a prodigy of this age. Merely by sitting quietly in the midst of the city you draw the greatest fish of all into your net. Ill bid you good night and hide my fair locks, I think. I don't want to feel any more hands upon my shoulders.' And with a wave, he set off up the street towards his lodgings.
'By your leave, friends, I will see if my little Clementia is still awake,' said Horst.
'It is late to be cal
ling on a lady,' I scolded him in my monk's voice.
'She'll not mind if I wake her,' he said seriously, and hurried off after Zianni. 'Hold up, boy,' we heard him call. 'Come meet my little pigeon.'
We watched them turn the corner. I was about to make my excuses as well, but the Captain took my arm and we began to stroll. He was silent for a few long minutes, then as we were crossing a little square he paused. The square was small, a black pool in a ravine of towering stone walls. In its centre stood a piece of ancient marble carved like a fish, from the mouth of which flowed a thin stream of water. It had stopped raining. An archway led out of the place, and beyond it people streamed to and fro along a busy thoroughfare, but where we stood we were surrounded by looming slabs of shadow. Voices and laughter reached us with no more form or substance than the piping of bats. I listened to the water trickle behind us.
'The world passes by’ murmured the Captain. I looked at him. He was staring at the shadows. I could not think of a reply, and perhaps none was needed, so I kept silent.
You are a country lad, Patch’ he said finally. You must have remarked, a thousand times, how of a summers evening great clouds of midges hang in the air, and that when you walk through them it is like passing through a curtain: the creatures part for you, and form themselves again behind your back. And save for one or two, perhaps, who have become entangled in your hair, it is as if you had never disturbed them at all. I have always thought of the world in that way’ I looked at him. 'Like gnats’ I said, cautiously.
'Look over there – and everywhere in this city and over the whole face of the earth – at how they swarm. I pass through them, and they part, and re-form as if I had never been’ 'I have had that very sensation’ I said quietly.
'Perhaps every man does. They seek to find a pattern in the swarm, to descry meaning. Perhaps they call it fate or destiny. Usually they choose to see God in the meaningless whirl. But there is no form. My faith teaches me that all life – all matter itself – is the creation of the Dark One, and to contemplate it is worthless and corrupting’ He shook his head. 'And I know that to be the truth. But then from out of the vast cloud, the whirling chaos, steps Baldwin de Courtenay, who holds the key to the Pharos Chapel. Patch, tonight I am like a disenchanted alchemist who, out of sheer habit, peers into his alembic and finds the Philosophers Stone. The great event, the goal of goals, that one gives one's life to prepare for while never really believing it will come to pass… The Pharos Chapel is that to me, and its key is my magical Stone. The world is not behaving itself, Patch. This smacks of fate, and I do not believe in fate’ 'Surely there is no deep mystery here, Captain’ I said, trying to sound light-hearted, although my mood was indeed guttering. 'Baldwin has been looking for you. He was fortunate, or skilful – though that seems doubtful – and found you. After all, you do not hide yourself, at least not here’
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