I did not wait to see what the Frankish lords did next, but rushed through a welter of grief and panic towards my chambers. I needed to make some sort of plan, I knew, but what, dear God, was the point? No! I must not fail my master and my company. As I forced myself up the long staircase, I thought I would write a letter to Gilles, which perhaps could be sent by fast ship tomorrow. But, no – a letter? What a feeble thought, what nonsense! It was far, far too late for that, I knew, for like words resolving themselves as the reading-stone is lowered on to them, the events of the last few days came into sharp and terrible focus. The Venetian, Querini or whoever he was, had killed Captain de Montalhac and bought the Crown. He had purchased it outright, I guessed, and the sight of real money had turned the heads of the Regent and his barons. The Captain had been too inconvenient; doubtless – how clear it all became now! – Querini planned to treat with Louis himself. And he had turned the court into a nest of simoniacs. Because… because he thought the Captain still had the decree of absolution. How many were involved? Was it the whole court? But the three men had been furtive indeed, like thieves in their own house, so perchance this was a plot. So much the worse for me, then: Querini, or the Regent himself, had tried to have me put out of the way along with the Captain. I could not stay here an hour longer: Aimery was right. I was a dead man if I did not leave at once.
And then I understood, or rather surrendered myself to understanding, for it was not a path I wished to take. The discrepancies in the Inventaria: the sandals of Christ, the Robe of the Virgin Mary, and what had set Gilles and the Captain chattering: the Mandylion of Edessa. The spices, the Captain had called them: an added commission for us, priceless goods on top of the untold riches already guaranteed. They were to have disappeared into my luggage sometime during the leisurely negotiations and no one would have been the wiser. It was a plan almost banal in its simplicity. But now, suddenly, I had the means to offset disaster and the ruin of every one of our schemes. I still had the pope's decree, which perhaps was more valuable than everything else combined. But I would have to act fast. It should be easy to talk my way into the chapel, for the guards would not question the seal of Saint Peter. Nor would they question me, I hoped, if I removed certain things. For items were leaving already, and under the clear auspices of the Regent himself. It would be easy, if nerve-racking. I would do the thing now, at once, before I could change my mind. Then I would smuggle my loot out of the palace, make my way to a Genoese ska’a and buy my way on to the next ship back to Italy and the Cormaran.
I had reached my corridor, and all but ran the last steps to my chambers. I wanted nothing more than to lock the door behind me and curl up in a corner. But as I stepped inside I was grabbed from either side, pulled off my feet and dragged, at a run, over to the bed. I did not have time to. cry out before someone grasped a handful of my hair, and then my face was being pressed into the sheets. I felt my knife being snatched from my belt, then my arms were tugged back much farther than nature had ever intended them to go. I shouted something – a protest, an oath – but a fierce blow to the ear silenced me. Then I was hauled up again by my arms, all but out of their sockets and flaying me with molten pain, and forced down on to my knees on the stone floor. I had time to see that the little iron-bound chest where the pope's decree had lain was open, the lock gouged and splintered. So Querini had it after all. Here is the end of everything, I thought. Then my hair was seized again – did I have any left? I felt tonsured anew – and my head jerked back so that I was looking up into the face of a man who had stepped in front of me. It was Hughues, the chamberlain.
'So: the murderer continues to enjoy our emperor's hospitality. How practical of him. Now then. Boy.' He snapped his fingers under my nose. Seeing how I flinched, he did it again, and when the others sniggered he slapped me across the face, hard. His fingers were loaded with heavy rings and I felt as if I had been punched by a mailed fist. Blood started to run down the back of my throat, and I coughed.
'All right, get him up, get him up. Take him to the scriptorium.' I tried to drink the blood that was pouring from my nose: I had a foggy idea that I could stop it staining my tunic.
'For God's sake, Hughues, can't we just slit his throat and drop him in the harbour? We know he killed young Rolant – don't we, Aimery?'
I tried to turn, but whoever had a hold of my hair gave it a twist and I bit my lip to keep from crying out.
'I know. He as much as told me. These churchmen, d'you see, they are so fond of their words. Condemned himself out of his own mouth. Shocking – absolutely shocking.'
The voice of Aimery was as cold and dull as the fog that drifted on the Golden Horn. Rage flared in my chest, but not surprise, for no betrayal, I thought bitterly, would surprise me again. But all I could do was writhe uselessly as my arms and scalp blazed with agony. But now I was pulled to my feet and my arms were released for a moment. The sudden absence of pain almost made me faint, but then my wrists were being tied in front of me and I was being pushed from the room.
My eyes had been watering so much from the pain in my scalp that I had not been able to look about me. Now I did, and saw that the chamber was full of men: Hughues the chamberlain, the baron who had argued with Aimery yesterday and another I had seen in the Regent's company; Gervais was there, and another huntsman, and a crowd of others whom I did not recognise but who all had the sneering cast of Frankish brutality about them. And, leaning on the door jamb, eyes narrowed, was Aimery himself.
When you are preparing for a fight – if you are lucky enough to be able to prepare – you can at least force yourself to believe that you will survive. And when you are fighting you do not think at all. But now, bound as I was and surrounded by hating strangers, I was visited by the certainty that I was about to die. Perhaps not instantly, no, but I knew, as sure as I knew my own name, that what was happening to me now was not part of my life: it was the very beginning of my death.
I had seen men die. It is horrible, always. They whine, they piss and shit themselves like helpless babies. They call on their god and they beg for their mothers. This was going to happen to me very soon. Strangely, I was not frightened. I was in pain, for my sinews were ripped across my shoulders and my cheek felt as if it were shattered; and perhaps that allayed the fear somewhat. But I also loathed these people with all my heart – with mine, and with Anna's, maybe – and I was furious beyond measure that my death was to come at their hands. I thought of Captain de Montalhac, and how relieved he had seemed to once more be aboard a ship, and of what had happened after that. So I drew myself up, stuck my chin in the air and paced as steadily as I could out into the passage. The huntsman and another courtier took me by the elbows and the others formed up in a mocking escort around us. They marched along quickly so that I kept stumbling, and as we went down the stairs I almost fell three or four times. Indeed, if they had not held me so tight I might have thrown myself down in search of a cleanly broken neck. But I reached the hall below and they dragged me along, making me trip and dance between them for the amusement of the company. What a merry gallows-crowd we must have made! But alas, only the Greek servants, were there to see us, and they cast down their eyes.
The scriptorium turned out to be a room that gave on to the chamber where the Regent had received the Captain and me on that first day. It was small and lined with benches and tables, and felt a little like a study room in my abbey, far away in Devon. There were no monks here, however; just the Regent himself sitting in a high-backed chair. My escort took the other seats. I was left standing in the centre of the room. It took me a long instant to understand that my trial had begun. And at that moment my anger vanished and cold despair curled itself about me like smoke.
Young man’ said the Regent. I wondered how he was feeling after his ordeal with the reliquary: he seemed to have recovered rather well, and with the aid of the silver jug and goblet at his elbow, no doubt. Young man, you have abused, most horribly, the friendship extended to you by His Majesty the Emp
eror Baldwin through his Regent’ He paused and scratched his throat, and I saw that he had succeeded in getting quite drunk in the few minutes since I had last seen him.
I drew myself up, damaged ribs shrieking within my breast. 'I am no murderer’ I said loudly. Where is Captain… Captain de Sol? I call Nicholas Qu-' A fist landed in my guts and I doubled over, retching iron-sour bile. Then I was jerked upright, and as I gasped for breath a wad of greasy cloth was forced into my mouth. I yelled into it, uselessly. Through watering eyes I saw that my wish had been obeyed, for there, against the far wall, leaned a heavyset man in Venetian silk. The Regent turned to him, and Nicholas Querini gave a curt nod.
A young man – a beloved young man lies dead in this very palace, victim of a most cowardly and inhuman slaughter’ the Regent went on, as if I had not spoken. 'Rolant de la Rouche was the nephew of our gracious vassal the Duke of Athens. His death casts a pall over the empire itself, and dishonour to our court. Justice, we trust, will wash away that dishonour. Does anyone speak for the accused?'
There was silence, of course, except for some faint giggling. That unnerved me more than anything, and I felt my bowels turn to water.
'The court will note that the accused chose no representation, and has not spoken in his defence’ said the Regent. I was about to try to say something, but the echo of that giggle told me it was a waste of my breath. Witnesses! We have witnesses, do we, Hughues?'
'Certainly. I call Gervais de Perchoi’ said Hughues, lazily. The tall figure of Gervais stepped forward.
'Gervais de Perchoi, you were with the company that rode to the Philopation park yesterday.' Gervais nodded. What was your intent?' 'To hunt for boar’ said Gervais. 'And your further purpose?' 'To entertain an honoured guest of the emperor, sire’ 'Who was this guest?' The accused, sire.'
There was nothing more to it than that. Gervais was asked another four or so questions, the other huntsman stood up to confirm his answers. Then it was the turn of Aimery. He stood there fairly quivering with rage as he described what he had found at the scene of the fight: to whit, myself attempting to prop up an Athingani body so it might appear that Rollo and the Athingani had killed each other; my guilty countenance; and the plain impossibility that a young churchman such as myself could have done the deeds he boasted of. Plainly Rollo had killed both attackers and had then been murdered by the accused.
'And why?' The Regent was not curious. He knew the answer, apparently.
"The accused – a wretch without moral scruples – confessed rather proudly that he had murdered Rolant at the bidding of a Genoese interest.'
'That is so.' The voice of Nicholas Querini, fat with silken menace. He pushed himself lazily away from the wall where he leaned and ambled over to the Regent's table. We – that is, the forces of the Serene Republic of Venice, greatest friend to Constantinople and her Latins – intercepted this creature's master, one Michel de Montalhac, who styled himself Jean de Sol to ingratiate himself with Your Highness. He was en route to Genoa, swift – so he thought! – as a venomous serpent, gorged with vital intelligence of your empire's defences, treasury… all that was necessary for Genoa to usurp the throne of Baldwin de Courtenay.' There was consternation in the chamber, a clamour of enraged voices, many of them buzzy with drink, singing like hounds for blood. I moaned into my gag. It was taking every ounce of my strength to stay on my feet.
‘Fear not, brave souls!' Querini had to shout above the din. He held his arms aloft like a market preacher. 'The serpent is dead, and the worm will soon follow!' He scanned the room, a little smile curling his too-fine lips, and his eyes came to rest upon me. Unblinking, hard as iron nail-heads, his stare seemed to press itself into my eye sockets, until I flinched and looked away for an instant. And when I looked back, he had tilted his head a little to the side, and his smile was wider and more cruel. I was the worm, and he had crushed me.
'Extraordinary!' the Regent was blustering meanwhile. 'Hughues, order a sweep of the Genoese skalai immediately. Seigneur de Lille Charpigny, the court thanks you for your answers, and for your diligence in bringing your friend's assassin to justice. That,' he clapped his hands, and poured himself a little more wine, 'is that. The court finds the accused, Petrus Zennorius, to be guilty of the murder of Rolant de la Rouche, of conspiring with the Republic of Genoa against the Empire of Romania, and of passing himself off as the agent of His Holiness Pope Gregory. The punishment for any one of those acts is death.'
Querini laid his pugilist's hand, heavy and beringed, upon the Regent's shoulder. He bent and spoke into the older man's ear. Then he was gone, leaving nothing but the memory of his power, and the faint glow of golden silk. The rest of them let me stand there for a few minutes while they stared at me, muttering to each other and tittering. The Regent stood up and left in his turn, taking his wine with him. I tried to catch his eye as he passed me, but his face was sunk into a mask of something that resembled guilty delight. For my part I dared not move a muscle, lest it hasten my end. For now my thoughts had begun to turn, not to the fact of death itself, but the form it was to take. I feared that my audience was presently deciding that very thing. Finally Gervais rose to his feet and stretched. 'Come, fellows: we have a duty to perform.’ At once they swarmed about me. 'Come along, then’ said one of them, almost kindly. I felt a nudge in my back and followed Gervais from the room. I felt their eyes upon me. They were studying me closely, for to them I was no longer alive, but a mere curiosity: a ghost already. 'Take out the gag’ ordered Gervais. 'Perhaps he will beg us for his life.' The gag was yanked out, and I coughed and spat redly.
Where are we going?' It was Aimery, and he alone sounded as full of rage as the others had earlier.
'To the courtyards, of course’ said Gervais. 'The gallows where they hang the commoners. I will send for the tanner: we shall flay him while he lives, and nail his skin to the gate of the Genoese quarter. Does that not seem fitting?'
We were walking through a plain, whitewashed passageway. It smelled of boiling food and boiled clothes. Doors led off’ here and there, and I glimpsed people bent over their work: mending, cooking, brewing, the things of life, the things I took for granted. And now they were going to flay me. I had seized my bottom lip between my teeth to keep from whimpering, and now my jaw so trembled that I bit clean through the skin. My mouth, though, was dry, and my throat was so parched that it felt like being choked. Yet everything about me had taken on a sort of luminous calm. The white walls shone like moonlight. I was feeling lighter: my feet no longer seemed to be touching the floor. So when Aimery halted in mid-stride and turned, I almost did not notice. 'No, Gervais! I cannot let you… it is for me to do! Rollo was my dear friend, and now I must suffer the memory of this louse defiling his poor corpse for the rest of my days. Let me finish him.'
Gervais laughed sympathetically. 'I know, good Aimery. But consider, we are not exercising vengeance, but justice! We are mere instruments of His Majesty in this. Fear not: he'll linger.' And he turned and gave me a nod, as if to reassure me that I was in capable hands.
'No, by Jacob's… No.' I wondered how I had not noticed before: Aimery de Lille Charpigny was plainly mad. He was shaking his head and twitching with fury. Finally, clenching his fists until I thought the bones would pop from his knuckles, he leaned towards Gervais with a forced smile on his lips. Well then, could you allow me a few moments? I'll…' and the rest was whispered. Apparently Gervais found nothing objectionable, for he clapped Aimery on the back. Well then, go to, sirrah. We will await your call.'
Aimery strode up to me. He laid his hand on my shoulder and looked into my eyes. Then he brought his knee up smartly into my ballocks. The luminous calm of the world vanished into a whirlpool of nauseating pain. I bent forward and the Frank caught me by the neck and pulled me sideways. I heard the sound of a foot kicking wood, but dimly, because the blood was roaring in my ears and I had quite possibly just pissed in my britches. Then I was floating through the air, and just had time to wonder if the lovely
pale calmness had returned when my chin struck a cobblestone floor. A hand grabbed my hair again and lifted my head. I found I was staring into the heart of a fire.
'Get up. Get up!' Aimery was almost shrieking now. He sounded almost like a woman. Was he a woman? I was not really sure what was happening. But I hauled myself up until I was kneeling, body propped on my bound hands.
'Now then, you Cornish maggot, I'm going to cut off your balls and make you eat them’ There was the neat little hiss of a well-oiled blade being drawn. Then the hand let go of my hair.
‘For God's sake!' Aimery screeched again. 'Cannot a man be alone in this fucking place for one moment? Let me have my due!' And a door crashed shut behind me. I blinked, but all I could see was fire. Then through the fire I saw a dark blur. Flames and tentacles of black hair whirled and melded, and there, at the centre of that halo, a white face, a skull: only the eternal insignia of eye sockets, nose and mouth. The calm had returned. So this was what Michael Scotus had meant me to see: my death. I gave a little sob of relief, and felt tears begin to sting the gash on my cheek. Then Aimery seized me under the arms and pulled me upright. 'I am sorry, Petrus,' he hissed. 'No, it is all right now. I am ready,' I said.
'I am not,' he said, and I felt a brush of cold against my wrists. Suddenly my hands were free, and the blood began to rush back into them, agonisingly.
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