'But what did this have to do with Deacon Jean? You said Kervezey meant to kill him.'
'The Deacon was recently returned from Cologne, where he had been studying under the great Albert, whom I believe I've mentioned. Yes. And . . .'
'. . . He was the scholar who found Cordula. Oh, God.'
'Exactly. Sought out for special advancement by his lordship the Bishop to keep him close. But Balecester found that the Deacon had promised the relic to Cologne, and decided to get rid of him. Now, I think I'm allowed to tell you - this is going to sound rather alarming - that a little while before you became involved, the Captain was approached, through his system of intermediaries, by the Bishop. Only a very few of his most powerful clients, and by that I mean emperors and even popes, ever meet him in person. The intermediaries ensure that his identity remains a secret from all lesser mortals, and the Bishop of Balecester certainly counts as one of those. Anyway . . .'
Wait, wait! The Captain is working for the Bishop? How can that possibly be?'
'Dear boy, the Bishop is exactly the kind of person who requires the Captain's services: someone whose dignity and importance are in inverse proportion to their wealth and self-regard. In any case, he is hardly working for him. He has agreed to provide him with something.' 'Cordula.'
'In fact he had quite a shopping list. Cordula was at the top, of course, together with a certain Saint Exuperius, one of the Theban Legion,' and he gave me his teacher's look.
'Saint Maurice and the martyred Roman soldiers. Victor, etcetera. They didn't exist either, did they?'
'Well, probably not. But a rumour is going around that Exuperius is - I was going to say alive and well! No, that he is available, or at least somewhere for the finding. Balecester is almost as excited about Exuperius as he is about Cordula.'
'But if there is already a business arrangement, why . . .' and I waved my arm helplessly.
'Greed, pure and simple greed. Balecester hatched a plan with his lieutenant, Sir Hugh de Kervezey, to cheat the Captain. They want him to find Cordula, and then they will . . . kill him and take Cordula gratis, and everything else in the Captain's very considerable horde. They would then be in a position to control the greater part of the entire trade in holy relics, and I don't need to tell you what that means.'
'And so Kervezey - well, I know the rest of it. So I was merely to be set up as the Deacon's killer, but instead I became the bait to catch de Montalhac, just because I took the hand? So the hand had nothing to do with it.'
'Oh, no. Sir Hugh wanted the hand - he sent you to get it. He was going to use it himself, of course, but you saved him the bother. I suppose he was going to offer it on the clandestine market and see who bit. And he was going to use you -your apostasy, really - as a way to gain power over me -threaten me, as your teacher, with an enquiry or some such - if I refused to betray the Captain. Quite a tangle, eh? Anyway, it half-worked: in fact it worked so much better than he could ever have dreamed. You actually joined the Captain's company, and I had to leave the abbey in a hurry. You were there to see how he lorded it over us. Well, he finally roused the Abbot - it was the day you left. He mustered the brothers with bow and arrow and we greeted the bugger with drawn strings. I don't think he believed that monks could be so angry. So he left, calling down fire and brimstone and the wrath of mother Church on our heads. Alas, he had made the abbey a little too hot for me. The Abbot regretfully suggested I take an indefinite sabbatical abroad - he was kind enough to write me some nice references - and here I am.'
And this isn't serendipity either, is it, Adric?'
'Not quite. I've been doing a little sniffing around for the Captain while tramping around Christendom like a poor friar — what a wonderful time I'm having, Patch! - hence my time with Albertus, who is wandering like me. We met in Utrecht, and I was able to find out a few more crumbs, little clues to Cordula's resting place.'
'Has it all been wonderful, though? You had to leave Bordeaux in a hurry.'
'They found me, yes. When Kervezey lost you he decided to follow me - old and slow, you know. But I have learned a few tricks, especially in this last year. I got away just in time, but that too was lucky as it hurried me to Rome, where I found the last piece of our mystery.'
Silently I poured us more wine, then hurried him along. He had me again.
'Rome, Petroc, Rome! I intend to spend the rest of my days there, God willing, rooting like an old hog in the Vatican libraries. It was fortunate that I had a particular task, or I would be there yet. You would not believe it, Patch. Everything is there! The answer to every question, and a million more questions and the answers to those as well . . .'
'And our particular answer?'
'A letter!' he said, banging the table. 'Very easy to find. A letter from Pope Leo the Great to a certain Eudorius, a Greek consul who had evidently written seeking clarification about something: a question of beatification. Old Leo was a master of linguistic economy, you might say, but this particular letter - remember, we have only the answer, not the question -mentions the words Cologne, martyr and a place, Koskino, an island in the Ionian Sea. By the way, Leo is most discouraging to poor old Eudorius, urging caution and suggesting further investigation. The Captain has been doing a little digging of his own, and his own researches have discovered that on Koskino there is a local cult of fertility centred on the shrine of a Saint Tula.' He looked at me expectantly. 'Cordula, Tula. Perhaps.'
'More than that. You are bound for Koskino, boy.' 'And you, Adric?'
'I think Brother Adric deserves a rest. I am sending him back down to Rome in the morning.' It was the Captain. I wondered how long he had been standing in the open doorway.
'Will you sell Cordula to the Bishop?' I asked him.
'Great God, no. I ceased to do anything on that man's behalf the day you came aboard in Dartmouth. But I would like to have Cordula, and now, unfortunately, I have to find her before the secret gets out: for it will, it will.'
'He is a monster,' I said.
'The Bishop? No, Balecester himself is no great monster. He has a monstrous ambition, though. He would like to be Archbishop of Canterbury, a kingmaker, probably even Pope. It is common enough. But the true monster is his son.' He stopped, and rubbed his beard.
The Bishop has a son?' I looked blankly from one to the other.
'Kervezey is the bishop's bastard, Petroc,' the Captain said. 'Oh,' I said. I examined the pitcher of wine in front of me: empty. Four eyes - two hawk-like, two owlish, studied me intently.
'So what will happen now?' I asked finally.
We will find our relic and convey her to her new resting place in the cathedral at Cologne,' the Captain told me. 'The Bishop was almost apoplectic with joy when I offered her for sale. She will add some lustre to his Ursula collection.'
'And Balecester?'
'Bugger Balecester,' said the Captain.
Will had seen no more suspicious shadows in the alley, but we kept our hands on our swords as we walked Adric the short way to the little monastery where he had his lodgings. Before leaving the inn he had passed a small scroll to the Captain, who tucked it away carefully among his clothing. It was the letter, I assumed: the key to everything that Adric had told me. I was still dizzy with all I had heard. I was just a poor lad from Dartmoor, and yet a woman who had died when an emperor still sat in Rome had reached out and plucked me from my cosy little life. And just as strange, I had learned that I was part of a game and had been one of its pieces long before I had stumbled upon Sir Hugh in the Crozier. So I was not paying attention when Gilles grabbed my arm and pointed up the street to where a crowd had gathered. The Captain had already pulled Adric against the nearest wall.
'Look there, Patch. That is the monastery, I think! Quick, go and see what has happened, but keep in the shadows. Will, hand on hilts, if you please.'
I nodded and slipped into the stream of people hurrying to get a look at whatever excitement was up ahead. The crowd had blocked the whole street and I had to jostle
my way to the front. There was an angry murmur around me. I craned my neck over a feather-crowned hat.
The monastery door was open, and in the doorway a body lay sprawled among the folds of a brown Benedictine robe, a rivulet of blood welling from the cloth and into the gutter. Another body lay just inside the courtyard, lit by flames that, as I watched, burst from an open casement and began to lick the low eaves of the building. More monks were dashing about, and one of them limped into the street and spread bloodied hands to the crowd in dumb entreaty. That was enough. I squeezed back through the press and into the shadows to where my three companions waited. The Captain pulled me close.
'Fire and murder,' I panted, and saw Adric's face turn white as ash.
'Fire? Where?' he demanded, and I told him.
'My cell!' he stammered. They have killed my hosts and burned my cell - oh, good Christ, my papers!'
'Calm yourself, brother: we have the letter,' hissed the Captain, looking about us anxiously. 'Now we must all get back to the ship.'
'There was another copy! A copy, damn my foolishness -and now I have killed those good brothers of mine! I must go to them . . .'
And with a force that took us unawares he threw himself between us and began to run on faltering legs back towards the crowd. Will and I stared at each other slack-mouthed, then took off after him. We were two or three strides from the edge of the crowd when we caught up. I almost had hold of his flapping cloak when a man broke free from the mob and met Adric as he careened heedlessly on. The two seemed to bump shoulders by accident, but Adric gave a high yelp of surprise and pain and stood swaying, bony hands raised before him as if in benediction.
'Knife!' Will shouted as Adric collapsed against him. My hand was on my sword but the man was drawing back his hand for another blow - now I saw the long, slender blade - and so I slammed my right shoulder into him, drawing my sword as I brought my elbow up under his ribs. He stumbled back — perhaps he would have attacked, or maybe he was about to hide himself in the crowd - as I swung backhanded. The sword jarred as it struck him full in the neck. His head bounced forward onto his chest and bobbed there, held by the windpipe as he tottered, gouts of blood pumping from the void between his shoulders. Full of rage and disgust, I kicked him over. Then I looked down and saw the man I had killed. A pale eye goggled fishily at an impossible angle. I felt my gorge rise.
Adric is hurt - quick, Patch,' said Will, from a great distance. At that moment Gilles and the Captain came running up. Will was on his feet, sword out, and the two of us faced the crowd which, torn between two entertainments, was beginning to edge towards us. Adric sat hunched over, rocking in pain and clutching his left side.
'Help me lift him,' Gilles said to no one in particular.
'No, let me up - I can stand,' wheezed the librarian, unfolding himself like a rusty clasp-knife. Gilles grabbed him under one arm, and I made to take the other, but Adric winced and waved me off.
'It is not bad: the fool hit my pectoral and scraped my ribs. I can make my own way, boy,' he said, his voice weak but determined. 'Let me away to my brothers . . .'
'No! Do you want to die? I will not let you. Back to the ship with us all, now!' It was the Captain. 'Don't let him go.' He tapped Will and me on the shoulders. 'Fine work, lads. Do you know him, Will?'
He nodded curtly at the dead man. Aye,' my friend said tersely. I began to wonder what he meant, but then the corpse gave a horrible, mechanical kick and the crowd gasped as if with one breath and surged forward. We turned and ran for it, Gilles with Adric slung over his shoulder as if the old man were nothing more than a bundle of dry twigs. We had taken no more than a dozen strides when we were brought up short by a knot of latecomers to the grisly spectacle behind us. They paid us no heed, but gave no leeway either. One of them, a paunchy burgher, halted directly in front of Gilles, craning his neck impatiently, seemingly oblivious of our burden or our haste. Will and I made ready to apply rough shoulders to this obstruction, but as we approached, and the man's arms came up in remonstration and his fleshy mouth opened to protest or scold, I heard an odd sound like two wet hands clapped together and the man staggered backwards and began to pluck at the front of his tunic. Still frowning indignantly, he dropped to the ground. His companions began screaming at one another, and at us: appeals for help, for explanation. A tall woman, her face caught between horror and tears, grabbed me by the elbows and began to shake me. I brushed her aside, and as she reeled past Will her coif seemed to leap from her head and I caught a vision of rent cloth, grey hair and hot blood that spattered my cheek before she sat down hard, mouth open in a silent, perfect O. That was enough for us and we leaped forward. As we did so, Will stumbled and fell heavily against me, his arms tangling in my scissoring legs. I fell in my turn and hit the cobbles hard, but in a moment I was up again, reaching for my friend, who I assumed had tripped over the woman. But even in the dim light I could see that something was wrong. Will's face was a gargoyle's mask of agony and he was whining through bared teeth.
'Come on!' The Captain had paused, looking back.
I bent down, trying to haul Will upright, and as my hands sought a hold on his clothes they touched something hard and Will gave a choked, animal shriek. I realised I had hold of the shaft of an arrow, in up to the feathers in the centre of Will's back. Looking up, I saw that the woman, bent over now, her head between the knees, was bleeding hard from a deep, long gash in her scalp. Her companion, a younger man in foppish headgear, was in the act of drawing his dagger, his eyes fixed on me, teeth bared in fury. At that moment another arrow struck the wood of a nearby door with a hollow whack, and the man dropped to the ground and covered his ridiculous hat with quivering hands.
'Captain!' I yelled. Will's down! He's been shot!'
There was a whirring in my ear, then a clatter. Then another whirr, and Gilles cursed.
'Away, boys! The swine has the light behind him!'
'I have had my cloak shot through,' said the Captain, matter-of-factly. Will: can he walk? No? Petroc, take his legs — be quick about it!'
What happened next is not very clear. Gilles and the Captain grabbed Will by the arms and I seized his legs and between us we ran, Adric following close behind, the body of my friend face down between us, limp and leaden. There may have been more arrows, but I had no thought but for the man I carried. The tumult grew dim behind us. Then we were back inside the Taverna, laying Will down on the table where - an hour ago? More? — I had dined on roast pig.
'It was a crossbow,' said Gilles, cutting away Will's tunic. He slid his hand under Will's body and shook his head. The bolt, thick as my finger, had struck where Will's shoulder blade met his backbone. The feathers - no, not feathers: strange ribs of leather - were red with blood, which welled strongly around the shaft. 'A quadrello: a mankiller. And it is buried. If it was out the other side . . .' He tugged gingerly on the bolt and Will convulsed. 'No, no ... It is barbed.'
'For the love of God, turn me over.' Will's voice was like the wind blowing through a field of corn. Gilles looked at me. He had bitten through his lower lip. He leaned close and whispered in my ear.
Your friend is going to die, Patch, whatever we do. I cannot pull the bolt out. He is bleeding fast, and probably much faster inside. He will not last out the night. I am ... I am sorry.'
'Can we do nothing?'
We can make him comfortable.' He looked up, and saw the innkeeper watching us anxiously. He went over to the man and whispered urgently to him. The innkeeper hurried from the room and returned a minute later with something that he handed to Gilles. After consulting the Captain, who was seated in front of the fire with a pan of hot water, treating Adric's wound, he returned to the table.
'Farrier's shears,' he said, holding up a pair of enormous, crude black scissors. 'Hold your friend still.'
I went to the head of the table and grabbed Will's arms above the elbow, pinning him down. I leaned close.
'Don't worry, my brother,' I said, sounding as calm as I co
uld. Gilles had taken the shears in both hands and now, with one motion, cut through the bolt where it met Will's flesh. There was a sharp crack and Will screamed, high and lonely like a fox on a winter's night.
'It is done, it is done, my brave lad,' I soothed. We rolled him over as carefully as we could, Gilles taking care to bunch Will's cloak under his back so that his weight would not force the bolt in further. When we were finished, he lay, eyes wide and staring at the shadows on the ceiling, breathing like a spent horse. Sweat had soaked his hair, and his feet twitched and beat gently against the table and each other.
'Does it hurt very much, Will?'
He closed his eyes as if thinking, then opened them again. There's something on my feet. Get it off, would you?' I made to look, but of course there was nothing there. 'Is it gone now?'
'I think so. It must be. Is there a cat in here? Felt like a big cat pinning me down.' He winced. 'Listen to me, Patch. I have something to confess.'
'I will not hear your confession, Will!' I said. 'I am no priest, and besides, you will be fine.'
Relics Page 28