Pip Vaughan-Hughes - Relics

'She can't possibly want me, brother,' I began. 'But thank you for saying she does. It… anyway, a noble attempt, and I am in your debt for it.'

Will sighed heavily. He leaned far out over the rail so that I was forced to meet his eyes again.

'Listen to me,' he said. 'I do not know – much less care, you understand – what has passed between you two sour creatures. But I do know women a little, and it is plain that there has been a misunderstanding. Or rather more than that, I'll grant you. The truth of it is, she does not hate you, but she is certain – deathly certain – that you loath her, and that is the canker that gnaws at her. How fitting that it should gnaw you as well.' 'Oh, Christ,' I moaned.

‘You have been cold towards her since the fight in Bordeaux.'

'No, no, she has been cold to me! Since she came to me, all bloody when I was trying to wash myself…' Suddenly everything was horribly clear. I beat the rail with both fists, and the gig sped backwards through the wake yet again. 'Ah, ha. She disgusted you.' 'No!'

'Understandable, all stinking and covered with blood like that. But that-' and he was smiling now, '-that is the only thing that I do understand. She is… she's a fucking princess, Patch, and she is arse over tit in love with you, you worthless Dartmoor sheep-shagger. That, my brother, is the greatest mystery of all.'

I fear I overwhelmed Will with the force of my embrace and the hot tears that soaked into his tunic, but he was good enough not to say anything, except to stifle my litany of contrition. I believe it was then that he truly returned to life for me, and as we finally mastered the gig and made it fast alongside the Cormaran we were both cackling and chattering like tannery sparrows.

I barely noticed as we tied up among the grey marble buildings of Pisa, and Zianni slipped ashore to disappear into the crowd. Gilles had to grab us both to break into our merriment, telling us to arm ourselves and put on our best clothes. It was time to find out what awaited us on shore. There was some great and mysterious scheme afoot, it was plainly written in the tension with which the Captain and Gilles held themselves. They paced the deck like two great coursing hounds waiting for the off, and remained distracted and close-lipped as we rowed towards the bustling quays of the Republic. I was a little surprised when the Captain clapped a filthy old travelling hat on Will's head and sent him off ahead of us.

I should have been swept away by the noise and the energy of this city and these people, who chattered away like starlings as they bought and sold, strutted and embraced. As we hurried across the Campo dei Miracoli I should have gawped at the marble cathedral and the odd, half-collapsed building shrouded in scaffolding which was either being shored up or knocked down. But I was far too happy – I who had not felt happiness for an eternity of bitter, angry days – and Gilles and the Captain strode so quickly through the midst of these wonders that we were soon into the narrow streets beyond. Night was falling and the lamps were being lit when we ducked under an arch of flowering vines and made our way up a blind alley to the house at the end. It was an inn, the Taverna dei Tre Corvi, and three carved ravens brooded over the door, which opened to reveal Zianni, who nodded in response to a whispered word from Gilles, slipped past us and made off down the alley. We paused on the threshold, Gilles staring at the alley's mouth until he was satisfied. He nodded to the Captain, who led Will inside.

‘Wait out here, Petroc. The inn is closed tonight to all but us. If anyone seeks to enter, draw your sword and call out. We will not be long.'

I was left looking at the closed door and wondering why they had chosen me of all people as their bodyguard. Perhaps it was because I had become such a killer, I thought wryly. It was getting very dark now and the torch that burned at the mouth of the alley did nothing but throw weird shadows through the leaves of the vine. It was silent too, although we were in the midst of a swarming city. I curled my hand around the hilt of my sword, leaned casually against the door post and tried to feel brave. Now and again, footsteps would clip up or down the narrow street beyond the vine and I would see a figure pass by the entrance. Despite my mood, I began to wonder who the footsteps belonged to. A workman? A lady, or a nun? Now and then there were flurries of activity and the street would be full of passers-by. Then, for long minutes, no one at all.

It was during one of these lulls that I heard another set of footfalls approaching. They were hard and confident: a soldier for certain, I thought, but now they softened. A lawyer, perhaps? I had no idea, of course, whether a lawyer walked any differently from a costermonger, but I liked the idea and was amusing myself idly thus when the footsteps stopped. I looked up, surprised, and thought I saw a figure under the torch. As I watched, it stepped across the alley and seemed to press itself into the wall. I strained my eyes and thought I could see a shadow there. Perhaps there was someone watching me, perhaps there was no one. I carefully loosened my sword in its sheath. The more I stared the less I could see, and the more convinced I became that eyes were on me. Finally, when I could see nothing at all, I took a step into the alley. Immediately there was a flickering in the shadows and someone took off up the street. The footsteps faded and I let go of the hilt of my sword. My hand came away damp with sweat. I wondered for the hundredth time what was happening behind me. Over my head the wooden ravens creaked on their iron perch.

It was some time after that when the door opened and Will stepped out. He wiped greasy lips and treated me to a spectacular belch. "You are wanted inside,' he informed me, and indeed the Captain leaned through the doorway and beckoned me inside. Will took my place in the alley. I left him picking his teeth and stepped gratefully into firelight and the smell of good roast meat. I was in a big, square room with ochre walls and a ceiling of painted rafters. There were two long tables, and at one of them sat the Captain. A plump, long-haired man was busy taking a suckling pig from a spit and he beamed at me and beckoned. In no time I had a trencher full of steaming pig-meat and a full beaker of wine and was seated opposite the Captain, who was cleaning his own plate with a hunk of bread. 'Someone was watching from the street,' I told him. 'Did you see them?'

'Not really, but I heard him.' And I told him of the lawyerish footsteps. He laughed, but looked serious.

They didn't sound like the footsteps of English mercenaries, then, I take it?' 'Not at all.' I paused and grinned. 'Genteel feet.'

'Hmm. Excuse me for a moment.' He went over and opened the door, leaned out and whispered something to Will. Then he returned.

You should be full of questions,' he said, cocking his head at me.

I was, full to brimming, and after being alone with my thoughts for so long the floodgates were opening.

'I've been talking to Will, but you have spent the most time with her of late: does Anna hate me?' I blurted.

The Captain looked genuinely surprised, then threw back his head and laughed long and hard. He took a gulp of wine that trickled into his beard and chuckled some more. Finally he lifted his chin and regarded me down the length of his eagle's nose. 'No,' he said. 'No? Are you sure?'

'No, she does not hate you. What other questions do you have?' Why is she ignoring me, then?'

The Captain seemed to be having a hard time swallowing back more laughter.

'I can assure you that the Vassileia Anna does not hate you. She… she is very fond of you, Petroc. But she is having difficulties of her own.' 'Like what?'