Pip Vaughan-Hughes - The Vault of bones

I was beginning to wonder if one of the thousand locked doors we had passed hid the Pharos Chapel, and if its wonders were not already buried under tons of ancient roofing. When we had at last found the guarded door we sought, we were ushered in, only to find that there was no throne to speak of, only a round-walled chamber with marble columns supporting a mercifully strong-seeming roof, around which a gaggle of men stood, talking loudly and idly picking at a table laden with silver trenchers of food. Silence fell abruptly as we were announced by a man we took to be the chamberlain, and all heads turned towards us. It was strangely like walking into a country tavern where you are not known. Finally the man with the black hair had stepped forward, gestured for our letter, and blinked with amazement. At once the hubbub was restored, the chamberlain had wandered away, and the Regent had come over to meet us.

Anseau de Cayeux studied the letter in silence. Nothing disturbed his placid face save a little twitch of one eyebrow. Then he murmured something into de Toucy s proffered ear. Their eyes met for a brief moment, then the Regent turned back to us.

‘Jean de Sol, Petrus Zennorius. Your visit was unlooked for, but it comes as the answer to our prayers’ he exclaimed. ‘We are… the empire is suffering a small upheaval, temporary of course, and we cannot welcome distinguished guests as we would wish. This.. ‘ he swept his arms around the low-ceilinged room in which we stood. 'These are somewhat sorry-looking quarters, but the roof collapsed in the throne room – fearful builders, the Greeks! – and in a month or two we shall be moving the court to the Palace of Blachernae. Shocking, really. But soon remedied!' And he threw back his golden head and laughed, as if all this – the palace, Constantinople, the empire itself – were nothing but a good-natured prank at his expense.

'Now, come and share our meal’ he finished, and with a familiar hand on our shoulders he steered us over to the table. Taking my lead from the Captain, who appeared entirely at ease, I accepted a goblet of wine and tore the leg off a pea-hen. The room might be shabby, I thought, but the dinner service was quite impressive: ancient silver and gold carved and hammered into scenes of gambolling animals and humans. I wondered how long it would be before it was sold off. Although the Regent and de Toucy were solicitous, the other barons held back, ignoring us or studying us with hooded eyes. Nervous, I tried to ignore them, and instead watched a tendril of carved ivy as it strangled a marble pillar.

‘Where are you lodging, may I ask?’ The Regent was asking a question.

‘We arrived but yesterday evening, and stayed at the house of some Pisan merchants,' said the Captain. We shall take rooms in an inn close by here, God willing – our hosts recommended it.'

‘An inn around here? Good Christ!' the Regent guffawed, then belched. Your merry Pisans must think you have a taste for knocking shops! Nothing wrong with that, nothing at all,' he added. 'But you are the emissaries of the Holy Father, and the King of France, no less. I do not think our local inns can provide you with the milieu that befits your station. You shall be our guests.' He held up a finger, mock-stern, and I knew we had no choice. My heart sank.

We ate and drank quite companionably, despite our somewhat frosty audience. The Regent was a jolly host, indeed, so jolly that I was quite surprised when he abruptly laid down his cup, signalled for a salver of water and washed his greasy hands.

'Now, let us speak in private,' he said, wiping his hands on a linen towel. We were led through a low door at the back of the chamber into a smaller room lined entirely in snow-white marble. There were a number of curious fittings jutting from the wall, and I guessed that this had been a bathing place once. Now, chests covered with heavy tapestry covers were pushed against the walls, and in the centre a stone-topped table stood on graceful iron legs fashioned to look like the limbs of a beast of prey. We were offered folding stools cushioned in bronze silk. De Cayeux, de Toucy and the chamberlain, a silent man with close-cropped grey hair, a large nose and pendulous earlobes, seated themselves across from us.

'Now, gentlemen, welcome again’ said the Regent, fulsomely. 'I trust your voyage here was easy? And you came from… where, by the bye?' ‘From Rome’ said the Captain.

'Ah, how superfluous a question that was!' said the Regent hurriedly. 'But your journey?'

‘Was easy, certainly’ said the Captain. 'Is that not so, Petrus?' He turned to me, eyes signalling me to be alert.

'Indeed, although we caught a damnable headwind that blew against us right across the Aegean’ I agreed, and swallowed, hoping the Franks did not notice my dry mouth.

'And how do you find our city?' asked de Toucy. To my horror, I realised the question was intended for me. I opened my mouth like a codfish, then shut it again. What, by the excised tongue of Saint Eusebius, was I to say? My lords, your programme of destruction has been admirably efficient?

‘The streets are wonderfully clean’ I blurted out. The barons' eyebrows shot ceiling-wards. 'And… perhaps that is an outward manifestation -' I took a breath – 'of the cleansing of the schismatic churches, and the saving of heretic Greek souls.' There. I seemed to be finished.

But the barons were smiling, and the chamberlain leaned forward and regarded me keenly. I saw that those long ear-lobes were robed in silvery down.

'A cleric?' he asked. I had the odd sense that, had he been a hound, his snout would have been carefully sniffing my clothes. Would that I had such a calling,' I gushed. 'No, no, I…'

'Master Petrus is a scholar,' said the Captain, smoothly. 'He is too modest: his learning is equal to his piety. This young man could have served Mother Church faithfully from within. For now, he chooses to do her work out in the world.'

Would that I were as modest as that – but Master Jean is too kind. I am a bookworm, no more.'

'And yet you both look like soldiers,' said the chamberlain. 'De Sol – a Toulousian name?'

'Aquitaine,' said the Captain, crisply. 'My father held estates in Les Landes.' 'And I am Cornish,' I interjected.

'Indeed. Zennor?' De Toucy rolled the word on his tongue as if it had a taste he was not sure about.

'Hard by Falmouth. The most beautiful place on God's earth – save the Golden Horn, of course.'

'Quite. But you have a soldierly air – Hughues is right,' said the Regent. So the chamberlain was named Hughues.

'One may serve the Church with the sword as well as the Word,' I said.

'Amen! Amen to that, young sir,' said the Regent. 'It that were not so, the poncing schismatics would be fouling this great city as we speak. Piety keeps our defenders on the ramparts, but steel keeps the enemy at bay.'

'As to armed men,' the Captain said delicately, 'we were given to understand that the emperor is at this moment seeking to raise a great army.'

‘Which brings us to business!' said the Regent, slapping the table with a meaty hand. 'Now. You bring a letter from the Holy Father, and yet you are not priests. You serve the interests of the King of France, yet you bear no accreditations. Forgive me if I sound churlish, but who precisely do you serve?' For the first time, the jovial face had acquired a hardness, almost imperceptible.

The Captain presented our mission as our hosts studied us with mounting interest. 'And Louis Capet will be immensely grateful’ he finished.

‘Immensely grateful? In what way?' asked the Regent, grudgingly. His face was flushed, and he rubbed the stubble on his jaw as if something had bitten him there.

‘In the only way that could possibly matter to your empire’ said the Captain.