Pip Vaughan-Hughes - The Vault of bones

'Is it branded in some way?' I said, squinting reluctantly at the blank-eyed face. 'It is horrible’ I confessed with a shiver of revulsion. As if I had given him some signal, the Captain lowered the cloth carefully into its box and hastily shut the lid.

'The image of a tortured man’ he said, when we were both sitting on some handy bales of silk. I was shocked to find that he was wide-eyed and smiling. It was an expression I knew, but had never thought to find upon that face: the ecstasy of faith. What a symbol of love that is, eh? I hate it too’ he burst out. 'My people revile the cross and the Crucifixion, for-'

'But to you, Christ was a spirit’ I put in. 'He had no form, so how could He be crucified?'

'Indeed! He could not be, but it has long been our belief that the Crucifixion was a dreadful mummery concocted by the Dark One to shame Christ, to humiliate him, by spreading the lie that He had suffered death. No matter that He was resurrected, for what has never had life, not as we imperfect ones know it, cannot be reborn, can it?'

I suppose not’ I muttered. Then I understood. 'And because this seems to be real…'I could not believe I was saying this, but I pressed on. 'Because this is, somehow, the burial cloth of an actual man, you think that your belief is proven? But – forgive me, but I was once a Church scholar, if a dreadfully indolent one – it also seems to prove the presence of the miraculous’

'There are no miracles’ said the Captain. 'No – there may be, but they are illusion, tricks of the Devil made to snare us and lure us from the pure way. If this is proof of a miracle, then…' To my horror, he buried his face in his hands and gave an awful, sobbing laugh. I hugged him around the shoulders.

You are tired’ I soothed. 'I should not have shown you these things yet’

He took a deep breath, and when he turned to me he was himself again.

'Forgive me, Patch’ he said. ‘I have lived for so long with my people's agony. The reason I was overcome is not hard to explain. The Good Christians have brother sects in the East, even in Constantinople, where they are called other things – Manichees, Bogomils – and when I was a child, the perfecti in my country heard, from merchants coming from Greece and the land of the Serbs, of an image of Christ crucified with three nails, thus proving that the cross venerated by the Church was false. The Good Christians used this image to taunt their enemies, and even made images of their own, with which they mocked the priests of Rome. I wondered if the stories had their origin in something they had seen in Constantinople, and when I read Robert de Clari… Now you see. Here it is, in the flesh, as it were. And that is the point. This thing, miracle or not, is the imprint of flesh. We cannot deny it, can we?' He took a deep breath and swallowed as if his own Adam's apple were choking him. 'And if this is the image of the crucified Christ…' He sat back and reached his unsteady hand towards the wavering light of the lantern.

'So this is your proof’ I said after a long silence. What will you do?'

What can I do? Doctor Scot will carry out his friend's wishes, and give it to Frederick Hohenstaufen, who in turn will give it to the pope – is that not the plan? I cannot let that happen, but what is my choice? We cannot – I cannot do away with the doctor, for that would be a foul sin indeed, to pay such a friend out for his good deeds. I do not know. I will think’ He rose, and clapped me upon the back. 'And now I will go to bed. Master Petroc, you have done well. You are the equal of any man I know, and the better of most. Thank you for saving my life, and..he looked towards my pack where it lay upon the chest, fat with secrets, gleaming black and smug.

I fear I have brought a deal more trouble into the world’ I muttered, but locked away our dreadful treasures and helped the Captain to his bed. But I did not sleep well that night, nor for many nights to come.

We sighted the long coast of Italy on a clear morning in early spring, after a short, squall-fretted night crossing from Corfu. The Seynt Victor made landfall near Otranto and turned her prow north. The weather improved, and the sea settled down, and one by one the recluses emerged from their places of torment, and turned their white faces towards the sun. Only Doctor Scot stayed in the cabin, writing endlessly in a great black ledger. He had become a quite different man since Mesarites had died, and I, who had always been in awe, and indeed a little terrified of him, left him well alone. He was looking and acting more like a necromancer every day, and I did not wish to tempt the Fates.

It was time to make plans. The Captain wished to travel straight to Venice and face Querini, but much as I hated to admit this even to myself, he was still far from recovered. He was dreadfully thin, for the victuals aboard a ship are barely enough to keep starvation at bay at the best of times. If he had been active for too long he would begin to tremble in his hands, and his eyelids would droop and twitch. He looked older, too: his beard had gone almost white, and the streaks of grey in his hair had widened. So I argued against that, saying we should wait, perhaps in Rome, and take the good Dominicans with us to see the pope. Andrew and James, though, to my surprise, were all for haste. They had been sent on a mission by their beloved king, and felt it was within their means to fulfil it without more time being wasted. To this end they argued good-naturedly and then not so happily with the Captain for a day or so, until I could bear it no longer. I called them to the prow, and, as we sailed past the cloud-capped peak of Monte Gargano, told them that I would go to Venice alone.

'Listen to me’ I told their sceptical faces. 'Querini thinks me dead, and no one else in Venice knows me. I will find Baldwin, for he must be a guest of the… the.. ‘

'Doge’ said Letice. Uninvited, she had appeared at the Captain's shoulder. We all turned to stare at her.

'The Doge. I will come with you, Petroc. I know Venice – you, plainly, do not. And I am afraid to say that Baldwin is more likely a guest of Nicholas Querini, who is not the Doge, at least not yet.'

'But you are Querini's companion’ said the Captain. I admired his tact. ‘I am not certain that we should take your advice, if you will forgive me.'

'I will forgive you: you are right to look at me askance. I will not spare your blushes. I am a woman cast aside, plotted against and almost deprived of her life. You should know that I want my revenge of him. I will hazard that your plans involve redeeming the Crown from Nicholas. I think that might be difficult, unless he has done the honourable thing and turned it over to the Republic. If he is a good son of Venice, he will have. But as he is a scheming, plotting creature whose only loyalty is to Nicholas Querini, I believe he will not. Now, he is how many days ahead of us?' 'Not many’ said Andrew. A week, perhaps?'

'Then we must act fast. Petroc will seek an audience with Doge Tiepolo, and show him his papal credentials. Good brothers, can you provide him with letters of your own, to make him a representative of King Louis?'

The brothers grudgingly said they would consider it. Andrew shook his head angrily. 'If only we could steal the Crown back from the thief!' he cried. The Captain and I exchanged weighty glances.

'And then what?' asked the Captain. 'I mean, should such a thing be possible.' Now it was the turn of Letice to raise her eyebrows, but Andrew spoke first.

'Querini is a proven thief. I am sure that the legal position is clear: the Constantinopolitan Regent's debt is transferred to the Republic, and our king shall redeem the Crown by making his gift to Venice. Indeed, payment of the debt shall be a perfect solution, for it sidesteps the issue of simony.'