Pip Vaughan-Hughes - The Vault of bones

Well met, Petroc of Auneford,' he said. 'I hoped we might see each other again.'

'But not so soon!' I cried. 'This is an unexpected-' He silenced me with a raised finger.

'Let us be quiet, and quick,' he said calmly. 'I am supposed to be somewhere else altogether.' He let the words hang in the close, ham-scented air, and for a moment I wondered where exacdy he meant, for he did not seem to be entirely here. But I blinked and he still sat before me, no phantom, but an old man in a travel-stained cloak.

'The war that my dear old friend Mesarites hoped to ward off has come’ he said, and I nodded. The news had been bad, if one loved the pope: the whole of Italy's middle portion had been taken by the Emperor Frederick, and his lieutenants were barking at the edge of the Lagoon: every morning new pillars of doleful battle-smoke rose across the water, black and shimmering against the hazy mountains. 'Perhaps it is not Armageddon – not yet’ he went on. 'But there will be no getting between these two dogs now, not until they have destroyed each other. In any case, I did not come to give you the news. No: I heard of your… of your survival, and rather more. The Crown of Thorns will be in Paris by now, I suppose. And you look well.'

I nodded. It was true: my body had healed, and I had discovered that, underneath the scabs of grief and hurt I was still a young man after all. Joy and delight had begun to uncurl their shy petals again, but slowly. ‘I am well’ I agreed. ‘I thought so. Now then: to work. Nicholas Querini.' 'He is fled to Stampalia’ I said, surprised. 'In disgrace.'

'A mild sort of disgrace though’ said Doctor Scotus. 'It would not do for the Doge to cut Venice off from all the Querini riches, especially with battle so near.'

'He is ruined’ I protested. 'Exiled. He will never sit on the council, and his enemies are crowing.' But then I shook my head. Once I had wished the man dead with such vehemence that I feared it had poisoned my blood. And although I had seen him brought low, seen his spirit felled like a rotten tree, thoughts of revenge still came back to taunt me.

'Men as powerful as Querini are hard to ruin for good’ said Scotus. Which brings me to my point. When I left you I made my choice and went south, to Gregory. I cannot say that it was the right choice, but at least I was able to whisper some words into his old ears’ 'Meaning what?' I said, puzzled.

'Meaning, my lad, that the pope knows that it was Querini who foiled his plans to wed Baldwin to…' He paused, but I nodded him on. He caught my eye and smiled. 'Well, then. And he knows that Querini has been guilty of simony. The one, the other…' He made a balance with his hands. 'But together?' His hands dropped to the table with a thump, palms up. 'His Holiness does not enjoy being thwarted or toyed with, and if he was ever a patient man he is one no longer. Did you know that simony is a heresy? Of course you did. Peter of Verona, as the pope's Inquisitor here in the north, has decreed that Querini be tried as a heretic'

'Peter of Verona?' I remembered the shrewd-eyed, half-jolly friar from Viterbo. 'But he will not hurt Querini! He was the man's spy!'

'Ah.' Doctor Scotus snatched a bluebottle out of the air and smeared it into the table. There is no justice in this life, as you have found to your cost,' he said softly. 'But there is always cruelty. As a physician I was taught to balance the humours of the body. Let us think of this as redressing the cruel humours of the world, if only in the smallest way: hardly more important, really, than the death of a fly.' 'So the Inquisitor will turn on his paymaster?'

'Oh, the saintly Peter did not spy for money. Querini gave him influence in the lands of Venice, the better to carry out his hunt. Who used who? It is a moral question I should not dare to answer.' He gave a faint smile. 'All this Gregory knew: he chose his Inquisitor well. You knew that Peter was once a Cathar? Well, like many converts he is a fanatic. Gregory allowed him to play up to Querini, for he has no need to doubt his loyalty. Indeed, he used Peter to take a closer look at the Captain and, I dare say, you yourself. Apparently you satisfied His Holiness that you would be worthy instruments of his will. '

'Instruments? Dearest Doctor, if you can discern some form in all these past horrors, indeed you deserve your reputation’

'Oh, there was form, certainly there was. Three wills, those of Gregory, Querini and Captain de Montalhac – and latterly your own, lad, if we talk of reputations – twining and striving like serpents for mastery. You should not be so very disappointed that Gregory has won, for he is the greatest prince on earth – he is fighting this war to prove it’

'So we are the losers’ I muttered. I did not wish the night of despair, so recently faded, to return again, but the darkness seemed to be gathering.

'Did you not hear what I told you? Querini has been summoned to answer charges of heresy. He is at this moment sailing towards Rome’

'A rich man need not fear such a charge’ I scoffed. 'No one is ever declared a heretic because of simony’

'Peter has been diligent. Querini will land in Ostia to find himself an outcast. But there is an invitation, a friendly one, inviting him to the Castel Sant Angelo to explain himself to a sympathetic Holy Father. My dear lad, he will find that Gregory is not there. The Castel Sant’Angelo is the pope's fortress, and his prison. It used to be a tomb, did you know that? Hadrian's tomb. It has depths that you, delicate soul that you are, ought not even to imagine, wormy tunnels gnawed through ancient mausoleums and sewers, into which the Tiber seeps like dead men's sweat. Querini will be set there to wait, in hope of a trial, of forgiveness, and he will wait for ever.' I found myself looking into Michael's grey eyes, and in their depths, where time seemed to quaver like faded grass in the wind, I glimpsed a sudden darkness. A chill shot through me, but then the old man smiled, and I found myself letting out a great sigh of release.

'The worthy Peter's eyes are many and sharp, lad, so I had better be on my way. Ah: one other matter. Would it give you any satisfaction to triumph after all, even if neither Querini nor old Gregory ever knew about it?'

'Of course!' I laughed. 'But I ask for nothing. I am glad to even draw breath, if you would know the truth.'

"Then my physician's work is done. Now: that thing you took from Constantinople, so beloved by Mesarites?' I nodded. 'It is safe,' I said.

'Good. I think de Montalhac has a plan for it. I renounce my claim. Do what he wishes, and there is your victory. Best do it quick, though, while the Inquisitor's gaze is elsewhere.'

He rose, and we embraced, and then he was gone, and I was left alone in the bright sunshine, blinking like a barn owl, catching the faint smell of burning on the north wind. Two days later, very early in the morning, only the fish market was awake. Boats were coming in, and dripping baskets of eels, crabs, cuttlefish, clams and mantis shrimp were being slapped down on the slimy stone pavement. Michel de Montalhac and I walked through the throng, and paid the drowsy traghetto men to row us across to Santa Sophia. We walked quickly through the empty streets as the mist trickled over the edges of the canals and the sparrows started complaining to one another from every tree and rooftop.

Past churches and monasteries, past sleepy priests and famished monks who did not give us a second glance, across the Rio del Paradiso and through the square of Santa Maria Formosa. We were silent, but it was a companionable silence, and we were not in any great hurry. Anyone watching us would have seen two friends, one older, with the suggestion of a limp, the other a younger man carrying a small seaman's pack of oiled cloth.