Pip Vaughan-Hughes - The Vault of bones

I was staring at the boy again. He had released Zianni and I saw pride, anger and fear ripple over his face, which settled at last into a mask of resignation. It was not the look of a man who has been thwarted on the point of success, rather of one who, in his heart of hearts, never expected to succeed. Suddenly he looked very young indeed, and rather desperate. He turned to his companions. Wait for me outside, my good lads’ he muttered in French. They backed away like two big, angry dogs before turning and shouldering their way out through the crowd, who were watching the scene as if waiting for a cock fight to begin. Then the boy turned back to me.

'I am not about to trade words with anyone’ he declared. He spoke a very noble French, tinged with something that sounded much warmer.

'There is no trade, and no purchase’ replied the Captain politely. 'My colleague would like to know who you are. Please understand that if you part with this information you will receive nothing in return, except perhaps your life. Tell me: apart from those two strapping fellows you brought with you, will you be missed? Think carefully.'

The boy took a deep breath and blinked again. I was beginning to feel almost sorry for him.

'Perhaps you are accustomed to a herald’ said the Captain. The boy looked up with something like a flash of anger.

'It seems I must needs be my own herald, then, now as always’ he said, and drew himself up to his full height, which was not considerable.

Well then, know that I am Baldwin de Courtenay Porphyrogenitus, Emperor of Romania and Constantinople, Margrave of Namur’ the boy declaimed.

I sensed more than saw that Horst had slipped his knife from his boot and was holding it flat against the underside of the table. He glanced at the Captain.

'An emperor, this one?' he asked in his German-slanted Occitan. We had all been speaking French, and to hear the familiar tongue of the Cormaran was startling. 'He is telling us shite, yes?'

'Not at all’ answered the Captain. 'Has he answered your question, my Horst?' He nodded. 'Then I thank you, but you can put that away.'

Horst let go of his knife, still scowling. I felt surprising anger, although whether it was aimed at this strutting boy’s presumption, the menace of his companions or the result of my own confusion I could not tell. Meanwhile the Captain nodded seriously. He turned back to the boy.

'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.'