Pip Vaughan-Hughes - The Vault of bones

A young man – a beloved young man lies dead in this very palace, victim of a most cowardly and inhuman slaughter’ the Regent went on, as if I had not spoken. 'Rolant de la Rouche was the nephew of our gracious vassal the Duke of Athens. His death casts a pall over the empire itself, and dishonour to our court. Justice, we trust, will wash away that dishonour. Does anyone speak for the accused?'

There was silence, of course, except for some faint giggling. That unnerved me more than anything, and I felt my bowels turn to water.

'The court will note that the accused chose no representation, and has not spoken in his defence’ said the Regent. I was about to try to say something, but the echo of that giggle told me it was a waste of my breath. Witnesses! We have witnesses, do we, Hughues?'

'Certainly. I call Gervais de Perchoi’ said Hughues, lazily. The tall figure of Gervais stepped forward.

'Gervais de Perchoi, you were with the company that rode to the Philopation park yesterday.' Gervais nodded. What was your intent?' 'To hunt for boar’ said Gervais. 'And your further purpose?' 'To entertain an honoured guest of the emperor, sire’ 'Who was this guest?' The accused, sire.'

There was nothing more to it than that. Gervais was asked another four or so questions, the other huntsman stood up to confirm his answers. Then it was the turn of Aimery. He stood there fairly quivering with rage as he described what he had found at the scene of the fight: to whit, myself attempting to prop up an Athingani body so it might appear that Rollo and the Athingani had killed each other; my guilty countenance; and the plain impossibility that a young churchman such as myself could have done the deeds he boasted of. Plainly Rollo had killed both attackers and had then been murdered by the accused.

'And why?' The Regent was not curious. He knew the answer, apparently.

"The accused – a wretch without moral scruples – confessed rather proudly that he had murdered Rolant at the bidding of a Genoese interest.'

'That is so.' The voice of Nicholas Querini, fat with silken menace. He pushed himself lazily away from the wall where he leaned and ambled over to the Regent's table. We – that is, the forces of the Serene Republic of Venice, greatest friend to Constantinople and her Latins – intercepted this creature's master, one Michel de Montalhac, who styled himself Jean de Sol to ingratiate himself with Your Highness. He was en route to Genoa, swift – so he thought! – as a venomous serpent, gorged with vital intelligence of your empire's defences, treasury… all that was necessary for Genoa to usurp the throne of Baldwin de Courtenay.' There was consternation in the chamber, a clamour of enraged voices, many of them buzzy with drink, singing like hounds for blood. I moaned into my gag. It was taking every ounce of my strength to stay on my feet.

‘Fear not, brave souls!' Querini had to shout above the din. He held his arms aloft like a market preacher. 'The serpent is dead, and the worm will soon follow!' He scanned the room, a little smile curling his too-fine lips, and his eyes came to rest upon me. Unblinking, hard as iron nail-heads, his stare seemed to press itself into my eye sockets, until I flinched and looked away for an instant. And when I looked back, he had tilted his head a little to the side, and his smile was wider and more cruel. I was the worm, and he had crushed me.

'Extraordinary!' the Regent was blustering meanwhile. 'Hughues, order a sweep of the Genoese skalai immediately. Seigneur de Lille Charpigny, the court thanks you for your answers, and for your diligence in bringing your friend's assassin to justice. That,' he clapped his hands, and poured himself a little more wine, 'is that. The court finds the accused, Petrus Zennorius, to be guilty of the murder of Rolant de la Rouche, of conspiring with the Republic of Genoa against the Empire of Romania, and of passing himself off as the agent of His Holiness Pope Gregory. The punishment for any one of those acts is death.'

Querini laid his pugilist's hand, heavy and beringed, upon the Regent's shoulder. He bent and spoke into the older man's ear. Then he was gone, leaving nothing but the memory of his power, and the faint glow of golden silk. The rest of them let me stand there for a few minutes while they stared at me, muttering to each other and tittering. The Regent stood up and left in his turn, taking his wine with him. I tried to catch his eye as he passed me, but his face was sunk into a mask of something that resembled guilty delight. For my part I dared not move a muscle, lest it hasten my end. For now my thoughts had begun to turn, not to the fact of death itself, but the form it was to take. I feared that my audience was presently deciding that very thing. Finally Gervais rose to his feet and stretched. 'Come, fellows: we have a duty to perform.’ At once they swarmed about me. 'Come along, then’ said one of them, almost kindly. I felt a nudge in my back and followed Gervais from the room. I felt their eyes upon me. They were studying me closely, for to them I was no longer alive, but a mere curiosity: a ghost already. 'Take out the gag’ ordered Gervais. 'Perhaps he will beg us for his life.' The gag was yanked out, and I coughed and spat redly.

Where are we going?' It was Aimery, and he alone sounded as full of rage as the others had earlier.

'To the courtyards, of course’ said Gervais. 'The gallows where they hang the commoners. I will send for the tanner: we shall flay him while he lives, and nail his skin to the gate of the Genoese quarter. Does that not seem fitting?'

We were walking through a plain, whitewashed passageway. It smelled of boiling food and boiled clothes. Doors led off’ here and there, and I glimpsed people bent over their work: mending, cooking, brewing, the things of life, the things I took for granted. And now they were going to flay me. I had seized my bottom lip between my teeth to keep from whimpering, and now my jaw so trembled that I bit clean through the skin. My mouth, though, was dry, and my throat was so parched that it felt like being choked. Yet everything about me had taken on a sort of luminous calm. The white walls shone like moonlight. I was feeling lighter: my feet no longer seemed to be touching the floor. So when Aimery halted in mid-stride and turned, I almost did not notice. 'No, Gervais! I cannot let you… it is for me to do! Rollo was my dear friend, and now I must suffer the memory of this louse defiling his poor corpse for the rest of my days. Let me finish him.'

Gervais laughed sympathetically. 'I know, good Aimery. But consider, we are not exercising vengeance, but justice! We are mere instruments of His Majesty in this. Fear not: he'll linger.' And he turned and gave me a nod, as if to reassure me that I was in capable hands.

'No, by Jacob's… No.' I wondered how I had not noticed before: Aimery de Lille Charpigny was plainly mad. He was shaking his head and twitching with fury. Finally, clenching his fists until I thought the bones would pop from his knuckles, he leaned towards Gervais with a forced smile on his lips. Well then, could you allow me a few moments? I'll…' and the rest was whispered. Apparently Gervais found nothing objectionable, for he clapped Aimery on the back. Well then, go to, sirrah. We will await your call.'

Aimery strode up to me. He laid his hand on my shoulder and looked into my eyes. Then he brought his knee up smartly into my ballocks. The luminous calm of the world vanished into a whirlpool of nauseating pain. I bent forward and the Frank caught me by the neck and pulled me sideways. I heard the sound of a foot kicking wood, but dimly, because the blood was roaring in my ears and I had quite possibly just pissed in my britches. Then I was floating through the air, and just had time to wonder if the lovely pale calmness had returned when my chin struck a cobblestone floor. A hand grabbed my hair again and lifted my head. I found I was staring into the heart of a fire.