'Louis Capet.'
The pope let out a gasp. He slapped the arm of his throne. 'God be praised!' he croaked.
'Might I ask why?' asked the Captain delicately.
'Because Louis is a good and holy man. Because he is a great friend to the Church. And I will soon need him against that horse-fly Frederick Hohenstaufen. I want you to arrange it. Make no mistake, though: this has been my wish all along. It is merely convenient that Baldwin has reached the same conclusion. So! It will be simple. Louis is a great collector, of course, and conveniently, he desires the things of which we speak.'
'I am aware of that’ said the Captain.
'But of course, how simple I am being. You are a close acquaintance of the king, are you not?'
The Captain shrugged modestly. 'I have had the pleasure of his conversation - and his patronage - more than once’ he murmured. 'Indeed, we have touched upon this very subject - the Pharos Chapel, that is.'
'So much the better, dear de Montalhac! It will be an easy matter for you. You must discover a way for Baldwin's treasure to be translated to France, and for Baldwin to receive, ah,
gratitude
from Louis, commensurate to his needs. To that end, I desire that you set out no later than tomorrow for Paris.' He gripped the sides of his throne and struggled to his feet. It was clear that our audience was at an end. I surreptitiously brushed cake crumbs from my tunic and stood up alongside the Captain.
It has been a great pleasure, as it ever is,' said the pope. ‘I pray that the Almighty will grant us more such meetings before I am taken.'
The Captain bowed deeply, and I followed suit. Gregory held out his wizened hand, and first the Captain, then I, bent to kiss the great ring that glimmered against the deathly pale flesh. I made ready to leave, but the Captain paused.
‘Your Holiness, if I am to be broker, who, then, is my client?' he asked. The pope drew himself up to his full height on the dais: he was far taller than I had expected, and he towered over us.
'Our Lord Jesus Christ!' he thundered, pointing up towards the shadowed ceiling.
The Captain gave a French shrug, a flick of his chin.
Who, then, will be paying my commission?' he asked, levelly.
Gregory the ninth blinked owlishly for a moment, and then began to cackle. Reaching into his robes, he brought out two slim rolls of parchment sealed with great gobs of red wax and handed them to the Captain.
'I am certain that Our Lord will provide,' he said, and at that point his cackle was overtaken by a fit of coughing. He sat down again heavily and waved us away. The Captain took me gently by the arm and together we walked carefully back down the carpet. Halberds were drawn aside, the door groaned on its hinges, and we were out, into the cold grey halls of Viterbo stone.
Chapter Six
A
s soon as we had left the audience hall I had to trot along behind the Captain, whose strides seemed to lengthen until we had reached our chamber. Once the door was latched behind us, he went over to the window and beckoned to me. We leaned on the broad windowsill, gazing out at the flickering curtain of rain turned the colour of pewter in the failing light.
You have a keen mind, Patch’ he told me. 'I could have come up with no better answer to old Gregory's bullying.' Would he have ...' I let my words trail off. 'No. At least, probably not. He and I are, as we have both told you, old friends. He was probably expecting you to faint, but instead you came up with something intelligent.'
'Damn me!' I said. 'I should have thanked him for the loan of his physician. What a thoughtless wretch I am!'
'Do not worry. It is probably better that you did not. Gregory is old and difficult. You might have given him some obscure offence if you had. And now, let us look at these things, eh?' And he pulled out the documents that Gregory had given him. One was adorned with a great, heavy disc of lead - the
bulla
of Saint Peter. The Captain squinted at it.
'This is for Baldwin’ he said. 'It is a bull: my guess is that it commands him to submit to the pope's authority in the matter of the relics, and most probably further commands him to give me the power to act for him and the Latin empire.
You will have to deliver it to him, I am afraid, for it seems I must away to France. But now, what is this? It is addressed to me’
The second document was thicker than the first, but sealed only with red wax. Very patiently he worked the seal free of the vellum and opened what proved to be a single sheet, folded many times. He frowned for a moment, then a slow, stunned smile crept over his face.
'As I did not dare to hope’ he said softly. And then he passed me the vellum. I plucked it from his grasp and, holding it carefully in somewhat tremulous fingers, I peered at it. It was a plain, unadorned list, written in a clerk's austere hand. The ink was black, save for a scattering of viridian periods. I squinted at the title.
INVENTARIUM
of the Holy Chapel of the Virgin of the Pharos in the Palace of Bucoleon, Constantinople
'The Pharos Chapel’ I murmured. I let my eyes run lightly over the script. And then stared. In simple Church Latin, itemised like any marketing list, I saw:
The Crown of Thorns
The Swaddling Bands of Christ
Of John the Baptist his arm, and a part of his head
A piece of the True Cross, and another such
The holy Spear
The Sponge
The Chain
Milk of Our Lady
The Reed
Our Lord's Blood
The purple Tunic of Our Lord
Blood of Our Lord as expressed by a holy picture
A victorious Cross
A Stone from the Sepulchre
The Shrouds
The Sudarium
Towel that dried the feet of the Holy Apostles
Head of Saint Bias
Head of Saint Clement
Head of Saint Simeon
Rod of Moses
Perhaps I was staring for a long time, for when I looked up the Captain had turned away and was leaning on the parapet, staring down into the dun-coloured waters below. I cleared my throat and he looked around.
I thought you had turned to stone. What do you make of it?' I could only shake my head in answer.
'The
Inventarium
has a powerful effect on most who read it’ he said, reaching for the vellum, which he refolded and tucked away in his bosom. 'The credulous, the pious, the merely curious, and of course those of us who have a professional involvement’ I was glad to listen to him, for I discovered - indeed, for a superstitious moment, actually feared - that I had been struck dumb. But the Captains eyes bored into me, and at last I found my tongue.
'All those things: all those holy things’
‘You are thinking like a Benedictine,' the Captain said, not unkindly.
'Forgive me, but... but I
was
a monk once: the things on this list were the pillars of my faith, and my faith was every moment of my day. And to see them itemised thus and thus, like stuff in a tithe-barn
'... is shocking?'
'Yes. I am shocked. Truly.'
'Itemised like stock-in-trade. That is precisely what they are: to Gregory, to Baldwin de Courtenay, to me and, my dear Petroc, to you. And to a thousand others’
I sat in silence. He was right: I knew that. Had I not broken into a church to steal the body of a saint? Had I not seen a man butchered before my eyes so that another might possess the hand of Saint Euphemia, a saint with no importance outside one little English city?
'I cannot believe what I have read’ I whispered.
The Captain nodded. 'Two days ago, you heard me speak of the Philosophers Stone. Well, these things were what I meant. They have the power to convert the base metal of credulity - let us call it
faith,
if you prefer, my Benedictine - into the purest gold. Well’ he exclaimed, rising and clapping his hands together. 'This has been a fine mornings work. I feel as if I have dozed off beneath a tree and awoken to find a golden apple in my lap.'
'So you will accept this commission?'
'Accept? My dear boy, this is ...' He threw back his head and laughed at the ceiling beams. 'There is no greater prize in all the world for a man in my trade. I believe I will indeed accept.'
'Gregory seems to think that it is a difficult proposition, though, sir.'
‘I do not share his anxiety. And’ he dropped his voice to a whisper, 'it will bring us a river of gold, all of it
honest.
I... to be frank with you, Patch, this is quite beyond belief, and I am not at all sure what it will mean for you, for me - any of us.'
The Captain's distant mood vanished after that, and we fell to the kind of plotting and scheming that is the fruit of an excited mind, but that is forgotten once calm returns. And our surroundings began to seem more pleasant. We were not prisoners, that was clear enough. But we were not free, if only because we had nowhere to go. In the event, we were summoned to dinner before our gentle captivity grew too onerous, and followed a major-domo through the outskirts of the palace and into a long refectory that would not have been out of place in a monastery back home in England. It did not seem to belong to the palace itself, although some attempt had been made to make it seem grand with hangings and gleaming fittings of silver and gold. An altar stood at one end, upon which a great and ancient-looking crucifix stood. But the golden candlesticks seemed out of place on the plain, monkish tables, and for the first time in two days I began to feel a little at home. We were evidently not to dine with His Holiness, for I guessed these were not the state dining halls. And indeed we filed in with the lowlier sort of cleric - that is, given the circumstances, for I had never in my life thought of bishops and abbots as lowly, but today I had seen cardinals swarm like sparrows. Many of these worthy souls knew their place and took their seats in groups of friends or compatriots, I supposed. I was casting around for a spare couple of places when the major-domo gravely nodded towards three empty settings towards the end of the table nearest the altar. I glanced at the Captain, who shrugged and followed the man.
No sooner were we seated than another man appeared at my shoulder. He was slim of build and he would have had a rather jolly face had his eyes not been hooded and shrewd. His black hair was tonsured. He wore robes of pure white, unadorned, which lent him a certain ghostly gravity, but this was dispelled when he tapped the Captain lightly upon the shoulder and smiled down at him.
'I believe we are ordained to be companions at dinner’ he said. 'Or at least this worthy fellow tells me so.' The major-domo bowed stiffly and turned back to the throng.
The white-clad man sat down next to the Captain, reached for a nearby bread basket and offered it to us.
'I am Peter of Verona’ he said. 'Here, have some bread. It is a rarity for a mendicant to be offering food, though, is it not?'
I laughed politely, and the Captain did too, although his laughter was a little forced.
Well met, Brother Peter’ I said. 'My name is Peter too: Petrus Zennorius, late of Cornwall’
'And I am Michel Corvus Marinus’ said the Captain.
'Cormorant! A mendicant and a cormorant at the same table - the kitchens will be in turmoil to keep this table stocked’ smiled Peter. I laughed again: it was rather a good jest, for a cleric. At that moment the food began to come out, and it was excellent. We fell to, and I had spilled much gravy down my chin before any of us were ready to converse again. Indeed I was so busy chewing an exceedingly tasty but stringy piece of roast kid that I did not even notice that we were being addressed.
Well, that explains it’ Brother Peter was saying.
'Indeed it must’ agreed the Captain.
'Explains what?' I asked, no doubt rudely.
'The reason for our being thrust together at this worthy table’ said Brother Peter. 'The Lord has seen fit to provide me with a travelling companion - well, to be precise, the Lord's Vicar - for I am setting out tomorrow for the town of my birth, and your friend is turning his head towards France. His Holiness told me I would not be travelling alone, and now there will be two upon the road, for a day or two at least’
'An unlooked-for blessing’ said the Captain, with very uncharacteristic piety.
The finest blessings are always those that come unasked’ returned Peter.
'Amen’ I agreed. 'And what is the nature of your journey, if I may humbly ask, Brother?'
The friar threw up his hands. Something about the vigour of the gesture made me flinch. To preach, of course!' he said, as happy as a child. 'Three years past - we were speaking of unsought blessings, were we not? - when our beloved Gregory began his attack on the plague of heresy I was given, by His Holiness in person, the honour of being his Inquisitor General in the northerly part of the Italian lands, and alas! my official duties bring me south too often, for I love my homeland, flat and marshy though I will admit it is, and even more I love preaching the word of the Lord to my own people.'
We were dining with an inquisitor. No wonder the Captain seemed a trifle stiff. I tried to catch his eye, but his whole attention was upon the friar, who was tapping a goat bone upon the table top to make his point.
'And that is what I mean,' he was saying. 'These unhappy souls will gladly let their errors lead them to the fire if we do not save them! And if we cannot? Well, burn they must!'
To my enormous relief, the Captain soon turned the conversation aside from heretics and their ordained fate, and we fell to empty bantering before parting as bosom friends, Peter arranging to meet with Master Corvus after breakfast for a leisurely start upon the road. But as soon as we had gone our own way, the Captain's mouth froze in a grim line and we marched in stony silence back to our room. Once we had shut and latched the door, I was amazed to see my companion blow life into the embers that lay in the hearth, for the evening had grown warm and much of the dampness had left the chamber. But he fanned them into a blaze and laid on more wood, until he had made a pyre fit for a phoenix, that leaped, crackling and roaring, up the chimney. Then he leaned back in his seat. It was uncomfortably hot now, and sweat was beginning to bead on my temples.
'How pleasant it is to warm my old bones’ said the Captain loudly. Then he turned to me, and I saw that he too was red-faced and sweating. 'A little excessive, perhaps’ he said in a lower voice, and gestured. 'Come closer’ he said. I pulled my chair up next to his, and he poured me some wine, which was white and beginning to grow unpleasantly warm.
'I do not think that this is entirely necessary’ he began, waving at the fire. 'But we are in the pope's house, and the walls may be listening. Oh, yes’ he said, seeing my shock. 'It is a simple thing to build hollow pipes into the walls of a room, that carry sound down to waiting ears. And perhaps there is a black-robed brother kneeling before our keyhole. Would you care to find out?' I shook my head. 'Sensible. The crackling of our fire will mask our words, I hope, and I am sorry I could not think of a better way. Needs must’
'But I thought the pope was your friend!' I told him.
'Popes have no friends. That is how they become popes’ said the Captain. 'He is a customer, an acquaintance and someone who finds my profession a source of great fascination - that is, what he believes to be my profession. If he knew the truth, he would be fascinated in quite a different way.'
'That at least I can believe’ I said, choking back a mouthful of the hot, sour-sweet wine.
'Ah, Patch’ said my companion, with a sigh of such unguarded melancholy that I turned to him, startled. His face was grim, set, as if he were about to open a door and step out into a snowstorm. Instead he reached out his hand for mine, and grasped it tightly.
This is something of which we have spoken very briefly’ he said, sadly. 'I should have talked of it sooner, but when one is so much out in the world, as we have been, it is hard to talk about things that belong within. We both have much to forget, you and I, but now, alas, it is time to remember. There would have been a better time and place than here in the lion's den, but so be it.' He paused, and threw another twiggy branch of olive on to the blaze. The dead leaves flew up in a sizzle.
‘You know all the secrets of our ... of the company of the
Cormaran,
let us say. And the chief secret, to those who care about such things, is that some of us - Gilles, myself, Roussel, the other men of Toulouse - are Good Christians. That is, we are what the people call Cathars, worshippers of cats, for the Church considers no slander too vile for us. To the world at large, heretics. Now, I should add that most of us, most particularly myself, are not very diligent in pursuit of our faith. We are outcasts, and most of us still feel the anger and pain that attended our casting-out. We carry horrible things here’ he touched his breast, 'and here.' And he held his fingers against his brow. 'Because those we left behind us have been destroyed, by the French and by the creatures of the pope: aye, this one as much as any, and perhaps he will prove to be the worst of all’