Pip Vaughan-Hughes - The Vault of bones

I prayed for the ground to swallow me up, but the Captain merely chuckled. 'Naturally’ he said.

'It is most vexing. I was tempted to excommunicate Baldwin on the spot for his temerity, but I need him. There is some indication that the thorn who presently festers most painfully in my flesh – I mean Frederick von Hohenstaufen, boy, who carries the title of Holy Roman Emperor as if he were biting his thumb at Our Lord Jesu himself – some hint that Frederick may be thinking of an alliance with Baldwin's enemy John Vatatzes, who is a true monarch, by all accounts, and would dearly like his throne in Constantinople back. That I cannot allow. I have to prop up the Latins like so many stuffed corpses, if only to stop Frederick's canker from spreading eastwards.'

'But meanwhile, Your Holiness, you will be all too aware that I can do nothing for Baldwin, much as it would profit me so to do’ said the Captain, coolly. 'Unless…' I held my breath.

'Pardon, your pardon, de Montalhac’ said the Pope, chuckling. 'There is, of course, something I require, as always.' Apparently distracted, he stuck a finger into one white-tufted earhole and searched intently. Then he signalled for more wine.

'I have been thinking of what fate I would prefer for Baldwin's treasure if I cannot possess it myself’ he said at last. 'The worst possible thing would be for it to be divided up, scattered like so much plunder. The worth of each individual piece is incalculable, of course – spiritual worth as well as monetary. But how much greater is that spiritual worth when the treasure is intact!' 'Are you asking me to act as broker?' said the Captain. 'Perhaps. Yes. Yes, I am.'

You honour me. I accept. And does Your Holiness wish to discuss the details now? We can

'No, no’ snapped Gregory. He pressed his knuckles to his forehead for a moment, and took a deep breath. 'Baldwin has a benefactor in mind. If I might risk a guess as to whom… But no, dear Michel, perhaps you would save me the bother. Tell me.' '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.

As 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.