Pip Vaughan-Hughes - The Vault of bones

What cheer, friend?' He asked. There was no edge to his voice, only wine and the lateness of the hour.

'Not much, friend,' I answered in my thickest Roman accent, hoping that it would disguise my poor Italian. I must be in Assisi by dawn, and it is a ways away, right?'

'That it is. But why travel by night? You should be by the fire.'

'Ah, I was? I told him, leaning down with what I trusted was an easy smile on my face. 'Fell asleep, didn't I? In company, if you get my meaning. Should have set out this morning, but…' I threw in a leer for good measure. 'Now, my masters a churchman, and an important one, and he'll have my skin for a book-binding if he finds I’ve killed a day in the arms of a wench. So I'm happy to risk a ride under the stars’ I finished with a wink. To my relief the man winked back, a conniving grin spreading across his bristly chops.

Wouldn't want a flaying on my conscience’ he said. 'All right, be off with you.'

'Thank you, friend’ I said. 'By the bye, I'm not from these parts, in case you hadn't noticed. I take the north road, yes? How far do I have to go?'

You'll make it by sunrise if you hurry’ said the guard. 'The road takes you up the valley. It's not yet midnight, and you should be in Foligno by the fourth vigil. If you aren't, ride like the Devil, my friend! Leave the road at Foligno, keep Spello on your right and you'll keep your skin.'

I bid him farewell, and even waved at the other guards, who ignored me. Beyond the gate the road stretched out into the plain between two mountain ranges, one low, one high and steep. I trotted for a few yards until the gate had fallen far enough behind, then kicked Iblis into a gallop. Away we sped amongst the willows. My plan was to catch up with Horst at Foligno, if indeed he was still there, for two would travel more safely than one, and Horst would know better than I how to deal with the nasty turn things had taken. So I hurried on, giving Iblis his head for a mile or so and then walking for a bit, then racing on again. I was keeping an ear cocked for pursuers, but nobody seemed to have followed me, and the road was utterly deserted.

Not a friendly country. No, not by any means. The innkeeper's words fluttered around my head and I tried to keep my nerves at bay, though my path led through land that, while it was no doubt pretty in the light of day, was decidedly sinister under the moon. It was flat, and criss-crossed with streams and ditches. Shadowy willows and poplars lurked on either side. But on my right, on the dark mountainside, white villages gleamed, and that made me feel less alone. I did not tarry, though, and saw the towers of Foligno rise before me well before the stars had begun to fade. Now at last I decided to rest, for if the Spoleto watch had been careless, the gates ahead might be more vigilant, and I did not think a night-traveller would be welcomed. So I found an ivy-swarmed ruin a little way off the road, gave Iblis his long-promised nosebag at last, drank some wine and stretched out before the remains of the fireplace, my sword unsheathed at my side.

I did not sleep long, for a pair of doves fell into conversation in the ivy above my head just after dawn. I arose and looked out of the one remaining window on to a lake of fog, above which the mountains rose, glowing pink. I breakfasted on cold bacon and set off for Foligno. It must have been market day, for the country folk were crowding through the gate, pushing carts, riding on wagons or simply lugging great bags and baskets. I fell in line behind a peasant family pulling a trolley piled with baskets that held fat white geese, hissing and cackling in fury. This town, I was glad to see, was flat, and I headed straight for its centre, steering by the tallest campanile.

It was the habit of the company of the Cormaran to take the best lodgings in whatever town they found themselves, and so I asked my way to the Golden Fleece, which everyone seemed to think was the fanciest inn, and which I found in a narrow street lined with the grand houses of rich merchants, just behind the main square. It was indeed a comfortable place by the looks of it. I went in, and I was wondering if I might dare risk a sleep in one of its no doubt luxurious beds, when a plump and pretty woman emerged from a side room. She saw me and began wringing her hands.

'No rooms, dear sir, no rooms today, and I beg your pardon for it!' she exclaimed.

'Nay, I do not wish for a room’ I told her, noting that she was ashen and that the skin under her eyes looked almost bruised. 'I am seeking a friend of mine. He might have stayed here last night or the night before – Horst of the Cormaran, Tall, half an ear, German?'

'Oh, dear God!' sighed the woman, and sagged against a table. She began to fan herself with a hand, and I thought she would faint. I too suddenly felt dizzy.

'Good lady, what ails you?' I asked, tremulously, for perhaps I knew. ‘Your poor friend!' she burst out. 'Oh, for pity's sake…'

Just then a younger man hurried down the hall and took her shoulders. He gave me a slit-eyed look. 'Good wife, who is this?' he demanded.

'Petrus Zennorius, at your service’ I informed him, bowing politely. 'I merely enquired after a friend whom I hoped to meet here, one Horst, but I appear to have given grave offence.' 'Friend, you say?' 'Friend, comrade, associate.' 'He's dead’ snapped the man.

'I…' I reached for the wall, feeling the powdery whitewash rubbing against my palm. Horst could not be dead. The bacon turned to rottenness in my stomach.

'Listen, sir, I do not wish to seem unmannerly, but I have passed this morning and the greater balance of yesterday scrubbing his blood from bed linen and floor, which is all in the way of an innkeeper's trade, no doubt, but the thing of it is, your… your friend had no coin with him that we could find, and so there has been a tragedy, my poor wife is undone with the horror of it, and we are out of purse. There you have it.'

'Good master innkeeper, do not trouble yourself over payment. I will cover it’I said briskly, straightening up. I wished I could be sick, but there would be time enough for that. The man brightened, and so I pressed on: What happened? Where is he?'

'The holy brothers took him to the charnel house’ said the innkeeper. He was still furious, it seemed, although with me or with fate I could not tell. So I pulled out my purse and found an appropriate coin.

Will that allay your trouble?' I asked, tersely. But the two of them brightened, and the woman took the coin and vanished with it into the side room. 'And now, please: what happened to my friend?' I demanded.

'It was not last night, but the night before’ the innkeeper told me at last. He had led me into a dining room and poured me a mug of cool wine and one for himself. 'Master Horst had arrived from Spoleto and took one of our best rooms. A fine-looking gentleman, and very well mannered…'

That he was’ I agreed, thinking how fitting it was that tall, stern Horst, knight of Prussia, should leave this final impression.

'He ate here, and stayed up late, for he appreciated our wine…' I nodded again. I'm sure he did, I thought. Just as I had enjoyed my own dinner in Spoleto, which ought to have been my last. As grief wrapped its tatters about me, I saw, in the merciless glare of hindsight, the trap that had been laid for us both. Chance, blind chance that I had escaped, and my friend had not. '… and took himself off to bed after midnight’ the man continued. 'He told us he thought a friend might join him that day or the next, so when the other gentleman arrived we thought nothing of it, and sent him up to your friend's room.' 'He was expecting me’ I put in. 'He left me a message in Spoleto, where I had planned to meet him. And there…' I stopped myself. 'No matter. Who was this other gentleman?' 'A Venetian’ he said, as I knew he would. 'How did you know that?'