Pip Vaughan-Hughes - The Vault of bones

Will you pray for him?' I asked. ‘I cannot, and he would not wish me to. But if you will.. ‘I will’ she said, and closed her eyes.

There was a little space below decks, away from where the men slept and not too near the bilges, a nook surrounded by barrels and coils of rope, and there we made a bed for the Captain. There he lay for a long day and night, attended by Michael Scot and by the Dominicans who, after they had overcome their distress at his terrible state, became quite transported with joy. They knelt at his side, deep in prayer, while I watched from the shadows. I hoped the Captain would not wake and find them there, for the sight of two black-swathed agents of the Inquisition hunched over him like ravens might well finish what Nicholas Querini had begun. Michael had found tincture of poppy in the barber's physic chest, and he did not wake, even when we cleaned his wounds with sea-water – a measure Michael insisted upon, for the salve which the barber wished to use smelled like a mouse drowned and rotted in piss-thinned pine tar – and wrapped them in clean linen. He had been scourged, I guessed; beaten and kicked, and hung up by his wrists, for there were rope burns there and his elbows were swollen.

‘I fear for him’ said Michael simply, after the Captains wounds had been bandaged to his satisfaction. 'He is not young.'

I had never thought of that before. But Captain de Montalhac must be close to his fiftieth year, I supposed. He was not old, I told myself, but no, perhaps not young after all. I kept my vigil beyond the edge of the lantern light, wrapped tightly in my own thoughts, for a day and a night, and into the next day. At some point, Letice came to huddle with me, and tried to comfort me with soft words, but I could not be companionable, and so she left again. The Captain had started a fever, and Michael had rifled the barbers chest while the poor fellow looked on in horror, measuring out powders and essences, and dosing his patient first with one mixture, then another; and then, when nothing seemed to take effect, he joined the brothers in prayer. When I saw that Michael Scot himself had resigned himself to the Captain's death, and that my master was going to die in an airless hold amongst cargo and bilgewater, I called Michael aside and asked that the Captain be taken up on deck, for I knew that he would wish to die under the sky, in the salt air, and not in this hole. I thought he would protest, but instead he agreed, and the four of us, with the help of some crewmen, carried the limp body up into the sunlight. I laid a pallet for him near the prow, where he would not be tripped over by the sailors, and when he was settled I wiped the sweat from his forehead and waved the brothers away, for I wished him to be free of their pious mummery, at least until he was beyond its reach.

The wind was blowing away the stink of sickness and fouled wounds, and in the sunlight I noticed that the bruising on the Captain's face was fading a little. I bent down and whispered in his ear.

'Breathe, dear Master, breathe in the air. The gulls are wheeling, the sea is running, and we are sailing west. Breathe.'

I called for wine and, dipping my finger in it, wet his lips. The sun crept around and fell upon him, warming the black cloak with which I had draped his body. I hardly took my eyes from him, for I was expecting at any moment to see his chest cease its shallow heaving. But instead of failing, his breath began to steady and his chest to rise more strongly, until I could hear the air passing between his lips. Not daring to hope myself, I beckoned Michael over, and he bent down and searched the Captains face.

'The fever has broken’ he said. 'That is very good. Keep watch, and give him wine if he will take it’

I raised his head and trickled a thread of wine between his teeth, but too much, for he spluttered and gagged. And then he opened his eyes. 'Petroc’ he murmured. 'Do not say a word to.. ‘

‘You are safe, Master’ I told him, tears welling up in my eyes. ‘You are on a ship bound for Italy. We found you on Stampalia’ 'The Venetian.. ‘

'I know. I worked it out, too late of course. Do not worry: I have the letter, and… and some other things’

Things?' said the Captain, and he tilted his head ever so slightly. I held the cup to his lips, and after he had drunk – a proper draught this time – he gave me a weak smile. 'Things, do you say?'

'I do say. Now sleep, sir, for you must be well soon. I cannot be expected to treat with kings and emperors by myself, can I?'

He smiled again and laid his head down, and watched the clouds for a while before drifting into a wholesome sleep. And I fell asleep too, like a dog, my head on his chest. When I awoke it was evening, and Letice was tucking a fur blanket around me. 'How is he?' I gasped, for I had been having dark dreams. 'He is well. He took some gruel, and now he sleeps’ she told me, pushing me down firmly. 'Between you and Master Scotus you have cured him, I think.'

'He cured himself,' I said, closing my eyes in relief. I felt her lie down beside me. She stretched out, close enough that our bodies did not touch, but I could feel her there.

Well, Master Dog, you are a physician as well,' she said softly. 'As well as what?'

'Oh: thief, murderer, priest – I mean monk – papal envoy…'

'How do you know about that?' I demanded, sitting bolt upright. She did not move, but grinned up at me.

'I was laying you down, and your chest crinkled and crackled,' she said. Thought there was something amiss, but instead I found a letter with a fucking great lead seal! She whispered the last words, and her smile widened, and grew even wider as I slapped my hand to my breast and felt the reassuring weight of the papal bull.

'Listen, Petroc,' she said, her smile fading. When your Captain wakes up – I mean properly – there will be a deal of explaining to do, and it seems quite likely that a certain girl from London might get slung over the rail; and I can't say as I'd blame anybody for doing it. But I'd rather make it to dry land alive. So suppose we explain things to each other first. I liked your Captain asleep, but awake?' She peered up at me, searchingly. What do you mean?' I said, looking down at her.

'I mean, you know half of what is happening, and half of why. I might know the rest. We can put it all together, and see if your master feels like being kind to his enemy's once, but now repentant, tart.' 'Go on,' I said. Well, Querini and the emperor. You go on.'

'Very well. My best guess is that Querini – he's a banker, is he not? – holds the empire's notes, and that was his way in: suck Constantinople dry, and give the husk to the Republic. They'd certainly make him Doge for that.'

'Oh, fuck. He's far more clever than that,' said Letice, shaking a finger. 'He helped the Regent mortgage himself away, but to other bankers – actually, to the Republic itself. He doesn't carry any of the risk.'

'But then, what of the Crown?' I asked. You mean, he's just doing the Republic a favour? He's simply a patriot?'

'Ha! It works! The scheme works!' she crowed. 'Querini the Selfless – the martyr, perhaps?'

'Very well, then,' I said, feeling mocked. Was that worth all those lives? My friend Horst? And Rollo, to say nothing of Fulk de Grez and the poor fellow in Spoleto – did they all die to advance Querini's selflessness?'

'Don't be a twat,' she told me, not unkindly. 'Constantinople – the whole of Greece. The trade routes, Petroc. The bloody trade routes. Querini will place the Republic's greedy fingers on the vein which pumps in all the silk, all the pepper, the ginger…'

Well, they'd make him. Doge, all right,' I said, glumly. I lay down again, and sighed, gazing up at the mackerel sky, stained orange by the setting sun. "The Regent's little debt is a pittance, isn't it? A pinch of salt to be thrown over the shoulder. Thirteen thousand livres – not much, is it, what is the commission on that, do you think? And how much is the damned Crown worth anyway?' I knew what I had done the instant the words left me, but I could not take them back. Screwing up my eyes, I cursed silently.