Pip Vaughan-Hughes - The Vault of bones

I do not remember the pleasantries and expressions of concern that were exchanged, for I was in too much pain, and too sick in my very soul to pay much attention. I nodded and smiled and told a rude outline of what had befallen Rollo and myself. I had enough sense to omit my discovery of the false tattoos, and I saw no need to voice my suspicions, for I felt far too weak and unsure of anything at all. The worthy Moor gave me another of his draughts and called for a litter, on which I was borne up to my chambers and put to bed – or at least I assume I was, for I remember almost nothing until I awoke late the next morning, feeling like something I had once seen a seabird vomit up on the deck of the Cormaran.

I lay there, feeling like meat on a butcher's slab and vaguely expecting to be sent for by my hosts, for the more I chewed over the horrible events of yesterday, the more strange they became. I did not suspect the Regent, for he was all but desperate that the business I had come to oversee go ahead, and indeed the future of his shoddy empire would seem to depend upon it. Perhaps, though, a plot had come to light and would be explained to me. I had some details that I was quite anxious to add, and surely there would be an inquest into Rollo's murder. But no one came, and at last I staggered up, found I was feeling far better than I expected, and so decided to take myself off for a walk, if only to get away from the palace, which I was beginning to find unbearably oppressive.

It was quite late when I made my way out into the rain: some time past noon, I guessed. I set off through the puddles and the freezing curtains of water, and had sloshed my way to one of the streets between the palace and the waterfront where I knew food was to be found, when I thought I heard someone call my name. Then it came again: ‘Petrus!' I whipped around, for my name had been called by a Frankish voice, and it did not sound friendly. Indeed it was Aimery de Lille Charpigny, who was striding towards me across the square. He was scowling. I drew myself up, limbs aching, and prepared for unpleasantness.

'Petrus Zennorius! Where are you going?' Not a hint of a smile, and no warmth in the voice. 'Nowhere in particular,' I told him.

'Then we will walk awhile,' he said, falling in beside me. I noticed he was wearing a huntsman's short sword. We strolled along in deep silence. Finally I could stand it no longer.

'Good Aimery, I owe you a debt of thanks,' I said. He grinned coldly. ‘I doubt that,' he said. Why, though, do you say it?'

Yesterday, when we returned from… from the hunt, you took my part against one of the barons. If you will permit me, I will return your "why".'

He stopped and regarded me closely. His face, I noticed, was very white.

‘I was tempted, sorely, to kill you yesterday when we found you and Rollo. I thought, and it seemed clear at first, that you had let my friend be slaughtered by those… necromantic beasts. But I am a soldier, and have seen many battlefields; and even to my unwilling eyes it was plain that you had fought bravely and tried to save Rollo, and more, that you had made an end of his murderers. And so, when we returned and that fellow seemed more keen to prosecute you than to tend to the body of my friend, seemed, indeed, merely annoyed that Rollo was dead and that you lived, I took your side as a point of honour. And then I decided to find out exactly who you were, my friend.'

I studied his face as carefully as I could, and saw anger very plain there, and sorrow, but nothing else, I thought. 'Good Aimery, can I tell you the truth, as I perceive it?' 'As you see it? Ha! You churchmen and your words… Very well, I will make do with that, for the time being’ 'And could we, perhaps, sit down somewhere?' 'The palace…' 'Not the palace, I think.' To my surprise he gave a half-smile, a real one.

'No, not the palace. There is a place near here – a merchant's tavern.' 'Venetian?' I asked quickly. 'Pisan, I think. Why do you ask?' 'I am not sure. But Pisans will do at a pinch. Lead on.'

Aimery led me down towards the Golden Horn, where the deserted streets had been colonised, ivy-like, by the life and bustle of the Italian wharves. A ruined building had been shored up and re-roofed and now bore a sign emblazoned with a golden bunch of grapes being pecked at by a blackbird. And sure enough, in the corners, the white cross of Pisa. It was empty, and the proprietor had to be summoned. He brought wine and bread, and left us alone.

'Now then,' I said, after we had both drunk. You do not trust me, do you? Of course you do not. But listen to me: we both have suspicions. Shall I tell you mine?' Without waiting for his assent I took the plunge. 'Those men were not Athingani, nor Aigupti, nor any of the rest of it.'

That got his attention. He leaned forward like a falcon who spies a vole in the weeds far below his perch. ‘What do you mean?' he said, slowly.

'Did you examine the corpses?' He shook his head. 'I did. One man drifted away down the river, but the other one… you saw the snake device upon his chest?' A nod. 'Lampblack. And their skin. It was dark brown, yet it had been dyed – walnut shells, I would guess. They were no more Athingani than you.'

You are getting at something. What is it?' Aimery spat impatiently.

'I think, nay I believe, but I do not know, that they were Catalan mercenaries. They fought like mercenaries, anyway, and not like snake-charmers. In my opinion.'

‘I do not believe you,' said Aimery. And yet, from his voice, I could tell that he did not believe himself.

'And when I had discovered that, I thought, why kill Rollo? Why bother to put on such an elaborate disguise, if they planned to leave no witnesses? So I will ask you: was it your plan – I mean the intent of the company – to split into twos and hunt far apart from each other?'

'No, it was not. Actually, that is how I prefer to hunt, and Rollo too. But Gervais – that is Gervais du Perchoi, the tall fellow – he insisted that we make two parties. Now I come to think of it, he mentioned the Athingani in the first place.' Who is this Gervais?' I asked.

'He is the son of Guillaume du Perchoi, one of the emperor's barons,' said Aimery. You will have seen him with the Regent. An old man, with a crippled hand.' 'But Gervais is your friend.'

'Not particularly. He is a little high and mighty. I am a mere knight, raised on the field. He will be a baron one day soon, and the Regent already looks kindly upon him.' I wondered if I detected a note of jealousy. If I did, it was but a hint. I pressed on.

'The false Athingani must have been told to attack the main party, to show themselves, but to only kill one man. And that man, I am certain, was to have been me.'

Aimery pressed the heel of his hand into one eye. Then he sighed resignedly. He looked tired. Why would that be, do you think?' he asked. 'First tell me this. Are there any Venetians at court now? ‘Are there any Venetians who have the confidence, the close ear, of the Regent and the barons?'

'No… only lately, anyway,' he said. 'I mean to say, there are always Venetians, and Pisans, and Genoese coming and going, begging for favours, asking for this in return for that.' He looked disgusted. ‘You do not have much love for Venetians.'

‘Ach, there are so many useless mouths eating at the Regent's table!' he burst out. And so many useless tongues giving advice. We need men and arms, nothing more.' ‘And money,' I put in.

'That too. But, forgive me, with the Venetians and their demands, and the Pisans squabbling with the Genoese and all of them seeking to take from us; and then strange emissaries like yourself who flatter us and make promises which are never kept – with all this going on, the Greeks and the fucking Bulgars are still creeping over our empire like a canker, and what are we supposed to do? Crush them with bolts of Venetian silk? Choke them with pepper, or shoot them with catechisms? It is nonsense, nonsense!' 'I…'