Pip Vaughan-Hughes - The Vault of bones

‘Your pardon,' he said, briskly. 'I meant no offence. At first I took you for one of those bloodless clerics who delight in telling us how holy is our cause, and how certainly we will prevail. But plainly you are not. What you are, I intend to find out…'

‘Well then, I will tell you. But first, who are you?' I filled his cup to show I meant no insult. You are French, I take it?'

'I am Burgundian,' said Aimery, with a proud curl of the lip. 'And how did you come here?' I asked. 'Is it not obvious, good Englishman?' he gave a mirthless chuckle. 'I am a second son, and had to seek my fortune. I have an uncle who holds fiefs for the Duke of Athens, and my father sent me to serve him when I was a lad. When the last king, I mean the Regent John, called for aid, for the Emperor of Bulgaria and the Greek king, Lascaris, had attacked him, I led a company here in time for the siege. That was two years ago. It was the old man himself who knighted me, just a week before he died. A pox on these weak fools who govern us now, Petrus. Old John of Brienne was more of a man than any of them’

He slumped and fixed his eyes upon the dwindling contents of his goblet. For the first time since arriving in this place I found myself feeling sympathy for a Frank.

'Listen to me’ I said. ‘I have a question which I think you will find impertinent coming from my mouth, and perhaps worse. And yet if you will tell me yes or no, I can tell you what lies behind all this, so far as I can’

He narrowed his eyes and pushed back from the table. There was a long pause. Ask away, then’ he said at last.

'My question is this’ I said, lowering my voice and leaning forward over the table. 'Do you love your Emperor Baldwin?'

For a moment I thought I had made a terrible mistake, for Aimery drew himself up and his lips went white. He seemed about to strike me, but then his shoulders slumped again and he shook his head.

‘I love him, but I have never seen him’ he said at last. 'He had already gone abroad when I came to this place, and he has not returned. We expect him daily, but then we get word that he is in London, or Paris, or Rome – everywhere in Christendom save in his own domain. So if love means that I will lay down my life to keep this city in his name for one more worthless day, then I do love him; for on my honour, I will do my duty unto death’

'I have seen him’ I said quietly. He looked at me, startled. ‘You? Where?' He burst out.

'In Rome. I am here at his behest, or rather at that of my master.' 'The pope’ Aimery said.

'No, actually. My master, Jean de Sol – he was here until a week ago – has been commissioned by His Holiness to raise money for your emperor. Real money, mind, and a lot of it. I am here to effect a certain transaction…' 'Transaction?' said Aimery sharply.

So I gave him the bitter tangle of what had befallen since that first meeting with Baldwin in Marcho Antonio Marso's tavern. When I came to Horst's death I fell silent. Aimery filled my cup.

'Then you have lost a friend to this as well.' I nodded. I was about to utter some maudlin sentiment on the subject of dead friends, for enough wine had been drunk for that, when Aimery snapped his fingers.

'Lately, there has been a nobleman – do they have noblemen in Venice? But he looks like one – who has been in and out. Ridiculous clothes on the man: all flaming silks, and he thinks we want to look at his knees, forsooth! They treat him like Prester John himself: quite the little monarch.' His voice dropped again. 'I do not care for the Regent and those who surround him, as perhaps you've gathered’ he whispered. 'There is something weak – no, not exactly that. They scheme when they should fight. I feel the foundations of our empire tremble these days, like a rotten old ship's hull shakes when the waves strike it.'

'My friend, I will not insult your empire, but, if you will permit me, I will not disagree with you. But this Venetian: how long has he been here, do you know?'

'I would say he arrived a little before your colleague left – a day, no more. Wait, wait -I have his name. It is Nicholas. Nicholas Querchetti… Quirinale. No, of course it is Querini. How could I forget such a name: the house of Querini is one of the richest in Venice. Only the Dandolos and Morosinis – youve heard of them, of course – are more powerful. If you are talking about money, I would say that the Querini purse is pretty well bottomless.'

'Querini?' I stammered. 'A short man, thickset? A swaggerer with a broken nose?' Aimery nodded, curious. 'Dear God, Aimery. Your…' I shut my mouth hurriedly.

You know this man?' Aimery's brows furrowed in surprise.

'Of him. His reputation… his influence, I mean, is far-flung.'

'Saints' blood, but I thank God I am but a soldier. I could not find my way for one minute in the mazes of your world,' said Aimery. I thanked the Fates that he did not press me further on the matter of Nicholas Querini, for he would have wished for answers that I had just begun to quest for myself. The wine was gone, and he stood up.

‘I must leave – I have duties at the palace. I am glad I found you, Master Petrus. I no longer wish to kill you.' 'Praise the Lord!' I uttered.

'But there will be an end to that nonsense, fellow,' he snapped. ‘I am no fool, and you are no priest, nor churchman either. What you are I have not yet divined, but you avenged my friend Rollo, and you have scented out something rotten in my lord's court. For that you have my gratitude. You are very far from your home, as am I – but if I have no ken of your world of intrigues and companies, I understand this place, and you do not. Be very careful. I do not believe that you have any friends here.'

I could say nothing to that, so I stood and shook his hand.

‘You should leave Constantinople’ he said, as we left the tavern.

'I cannot. I must wait for the French envoys’ I reminded him.

'Then I think you will die here’ said Aimery, bluntly. He shook my hand again, gave me a nod that was more of a soldiers salute, and strode off into the lengthening shadows.

I went back to the Bucoleon, for where else could I go? Aimery was right: I was utterly friendless in this city. No one remarked upon my arrival, though, which I took as a good sign. Querini had plainly not been lodged in the palace, the lucky man. Soaking wet and feeling shot through with cold, I made my way to the dining hall, for a fire often burned there all day even though the place was empty. Sure enough, a big olive-wood log was smouldering on its bed of embers. I sat down on the hot stone of the hearth and shivered with gratitude as the heat soaked into me. I spread my cloak out beside me and sat like that for a while, gazing up at the ceiling of coffered plaster, trying to make sense of things. When that failed I fell to wondering, as I often did in this sad palace, what the room had been in its days of glory, and so engaged in this pleasant and useless reverie did I become that I was roused only when a company of serving boys came in and started banging things about on the tables. Cursing, for I could see that it was dusk outside, I grabbed my cloak – still damp – and crept away, for I was not in the mood for company, and I did not wish to pass the time of day with any more Frankish ruffians.

I was navigating the maze of hallways that lay between the dining hall and the state-rooms, beyond which lay the way up to my lodgings, when I heard voices up ahead. I had no wish to be seen, so without thinking I ducked into the nearest doorway. I found myself in the ruined throne room with its fallen beams and heaps of rubble, a place I had been meaning to poke around in, but which, at this hour, was almost pitch dark. I leaned against a pillar to wait for the Franks to pass in the corridor. They clattered by, and I heard the voice of the Regent. He was speaking urgently, and sounded excited. Then Narjot de Toucy answered, sounding worried. Suddenly curious, I peeped around the column, just in time to catch a glimpse of the Regent's back as he swept by. And next to him, strolling along as if he were the emperor himself, a figure in a Venetian tunic of saffron silk. It was Nicholas Querini.