Pip Vaughan-Hughes - The Vault of bones

I am James of Paris’ said the smooth-faced one. 'And my colleague is Andrew of Longjumeau

I raised myself stiffly and found myself stooping under the awning as I attempted a courtly bow.

‘I greet the most worthy emissaries of His Majesty the royal and most pious King of France’ I croaked in my best French. The smooth-faced man beamed and motioned me to sit with the flat of his hand. I glanced at his cadaverous friend, and to my surprise I saw that he too was smiling, an honest grin that showed a row of yellow, horsy teeth. 'Please sit down, sir’ he said. He had a rich voice, a singers voice, that belied his pinched visage. You have fallen on ill times, and come to us out of the night and the mists of the sea – and yet you bear a letter from His Holiness that pertains to our mission here in the Empire of the Latins. I find this exceedingly curious, to say the least’

'My name is Petrus… indeed, it is Petroc of Auneford’ I corrected myself. 'I serve Monsieur Jean de Sol, of whom I believe you will have heard.'

'De Sol? But of course’ cried James of Paris. 'Our travelling companion in Italy. He left us in Venice to come here, to Constantinople. He is here still…?' He left the words fluttering in the air between us, a question not quite asked.

'Alas, he is not’ I said, and bowed my head. The tall man, Andrew, leaned forward sharply, like a heron who spies a frog.

'Not here?' he said, carefully. 'And from your evident travails, I find myself drawing unpleasant conclusions. Tell us everything, please.'

'Monsieur de Sol, my dear master and benefactor, is dead – or so I fear’ I rasped, for my throat had gone very dry. ‘I cannot be certain, but I have little hope.'

'But you must tell us’ said James. He had gone somewhat pale.

'I shall, but first I must warn you that nothing good awaits you in that city’ I said, pointing beyond the bowsprit to where Constantinople hovered, a rapidly resolving blur. 'Captain, I would suggest you take in some sail and let us slacken our pace, for I have a long tale to tell, and I would not have us at the quayside before I am done.'

The man looked somewhat taken aback, and turned to the friars. We have talked matters over with Doctor Scotus’ said the one called Andrew. 'He – I did think he was dead, but no matter – he has confirmed everything you have told me, save the awful news of your master. Yes, Captain, do as he says.' James nodded urgently to him, and he left us to see to his men. Letice – I had almost forgotten about the girl, I realised – had sunk down into her swaddlings and I thought she might be falling asleep, but then her eyes flashed and I knew she was following the proceedings with every one of her needle-sharp wits.

'Good brothers, it began like this’ I started, and laid out my tale from the start – or not quite the start, for I passed over our first strained meeting with young Baldwin in the tavern, and gave matters a gloss of gentility that had, at the time, been sadly lacking. I was honest, to a degree; as honest as I believed I could be, but I left the girl out of the telling, and made my escape from Rome into a pleasant diversion. I said nothing of the Inventaria, those of the pope and of Mesarites, and made pretend there was but one list of the relics in the Pharos chapel, that of Baldwin. And, to be sure, I did not tell of my last visit to the Chapel, and of what had befallen there. I guessed Michael Scot had also left out this detail. Querini, I told them, had taken Jean de Sol with him, plotted with the Regent to have me killed, and then returned for the Crown of Thorns. Letice… I had no idea what to do about Letice, or indeed who she really was, but to make matters simple I styled her as the sister of Querini's secretary, come to Greece to seek a husband, who had fallen under the threat of some terrible dishonour at the hands of Querini – I took care to be exceptionally vague at this point – and had helped me to escape in return for her own rescue. As I told this last piece of the tale I felt the girl's eyes upon me, and glancing at her, received a cat's languid, two-eyed blink.

When I had finished, the Dominicans, who had been listening to me in rapt attention, bent their heads together for a moment. Then James rose and, with a polite bow, ducked out into the sunlight while Andrew turned back to me.

'My son’ he said, you have had a most vexing time of it. And yet you appear to have done your masters memory some honour. You have escaped with your life and with His Holiness' letter. You have saved a most famous man, by which I mean the famed Scotus, and his venerable friend. And you bring to the midst of this disaster some hope that the task entrusted to my brother James and I might yet be fulfilled. For if, as you think, it is Querini's intention to hold the holy Crown as a security’ he curled his lip at the blasphemy of the thought, 'then it is simply a matter of transferring the, the gratitude of my royal sovereign from Baldwin to said Querini.' "That is so’ I agreed, 'as far as I can fathom it.'

'It is tiresome’ said Andrew, cracking his knuckles briskly with annoyance. 'His Majesty did so want his cousin's empire to benefit. But the Regent's improvidence has rendered that impossible. But as Solomon the Wise said, "Go not forth hastily to strive, lest thou know not what to do in the end thereof, when thy neighbour hath put thee to shame.'"

'Solomon also said, "He that maketh haste to be rich shall not be innocent’" I said.

'If you mean Nicholas Querini, I would not put great store in his innocence’ agreed Andrew, amused. 'But remember the whole of the proverb, for the first part has some bearing on your own self: "A faithful man shall abound with blessings. 'Blessed, but hardly faithful’ I said piously.

'Not at all. You have shown great loyalty to your master, and faith in the rightness of his – and our – mission’ said Andrew. 'And let it be said that I greatly enjoyed Monsieur de Sol's company. I grieve that I shall not enjoy it again, and I believe that King Louis will be saddened, for he spoke highly of de Sol, to me and to others.'

'My master had many friends,' I agreed. 'The Holy Father himself held him in some esteem. When we spoke with him, he…'

'Gracious me, you have met the Holy Father?' said Andrew, amazed. He seemed to be regarding me with new respect, which I confess had been my intention. And so I told him again of the journey to Viterbo, remembering that I had left myself out of the first telling, and realising that to profit now from telling something of the truth would do me no harm at all no matter what King Solomon might have to say.

While we were talking, the ship was drawing close to the city, and indeed we had rounded the end of the peninsula and were sailing through the boom and into the Golden Horn, until the captain ducked his head under the awning to ask Andrew what his pleasure might be. A pilot boat had met us some time before, and the news of our arrival (though not of my presence aboard) would already be at the palace. So I expected the order to be a meek retreat, but instead the friar stood up and beckoned me to join him. I left Letice, who had fallen into a trance of fatigue, and staggered out into the cold sunshine. There was the wall of Byzantium, jagged and rotten, and, towering above it, the vast and piled domes of Hagia Sophia, pallid in the sun. And there were the Italian wharves. We were close enough to see that upon one of them, a party waited: knights done up in their finery, fluttering pennants, and even the purple robes of a bishop could be glimpsed. I knew the Regent would be there, florid Anseau de Cayeux, and no doubt Chamberlain Hughues would be at his side.

The Genoese captain was a fine sailor. He had hung just enough sail to carry us sweetly and gently forward, and the fat ship was gliding like a swan, tacking up into the wind, trailing its own modest pennants in the lively air, for the royal standard had been furled at Andrew's request. We edged towards the quay, until I could see the red of the Regent's cheeks. A man in white robes stepped forward and raised his hand to us in a lordly greeting. There was a loud crack! and the great flag of France unfurled behind us. There was a cheer from the quay. At that moment Andrew gave the captain a nod. The Genoese gave a curt command. All of a sudden the deck was alive with scurrying men, all grabbing up ropes and hurling themselves into the rigging. There was a commotion of canvas and air, and the ship began to go about. With timing so perfect that I found myself sharply envious of the crew's skill, the hull drew a white circle upon the dirty waters of the Golden Horn, until it presented its stern to the Regent and his party. With another command, the crew heaved upon the lines, the sail filled, and the ship began to gather speed. The great blue and gold standard of Louis Capet waved a mocking farewell to Constantinople, and to the men on the quay, now milling about in consternation. But they were fading from view, for we were already out past the boom, out into the currents of the Bosphorus, with a fine, fast day's westward sailing ahead of us, out of the Sea of Marmara and the ruined city that squatted at its end, like a dead spider in an empty web.