Barry Unsworth - The Ruby In Her Navel

The sneer was back in his voice but it was not this that swayed me. Even without Yusuf's orders I was not disposed to be treated thus lightly and kept in ignorance. It was a question of dignity – once again I felt the eye of Alicia on me and remembered my vow to be worthy of her. She would not want me to be ingratiating towards this arrogant interloper. He was of higher rank than I, but he was acting under instructions, I felt sure of that, though why I was so sure I could not have said. Because of this he would not want anything that might appear as a mistake on his part, anything that might make him open to question.

"You speak as if I had no choice but immediate acceptance of this mission," I said. "But that is not so, it is not a mission that comes within the tasks and duties of my Diwan, otherwise we would have had the notice ourselves and arranged the matter in the usual way without this naming of me from outside. I will need to know more before I can agree to go."

"Agree to go?" he said. "Harken to this young cockerel, Wilfred. Your Office has agreed to this interview and that is tantamount to acceptance of the mission."

"Animus promptus consensum valet," Wilfred said.

"That may sound like wisdom but it is not, in Latin or in any other language," I said. "Willingness to consider does not imply readiness to agree, either in law or religion. One need not be versed in logic to understand so much. The greatly revered Peter Abelard, in a letter of reply to Bernard of Clairvaux, draws attention to these quite separate states, the one exemplifying the separateness and even loneliness of each individual soul, the other leading to the unity of all souls in Christ. No doubt you are familiar with this text?" I was by no means certain that the source was to be found in Abelard, and was relieved to find that neither of them knew enough of the matter to dissent. Taking advantage of the silence that followed, I said, "Who is this man that I must meet? What is the money for? How can I return and present a report to the lord of my Diwan with this information lacking, particularly as the money is to be accounted through us? He would never accede to it, he would protest to the Curia. With all respect, Excellency, if it is the case that you are not authorised to answer these questions, you must seek the authority."

"It is permitted to me to say more, at discretion," he said coldly. "But this obduracy of yours will be made known. The man is a Neapolitan, his name is Spaventa. He has a mark in Constantinople."

"A mark? You mean a quarry? He is an assassin then."

"He is presently under our orders."

"I see. I suppose he is one who will be under orders to any, if the pay is enough. And who is marked out for him?"

"I will explain it to you. Corfu has fallen to the Byzantines, as all of us know to our cost. Only by treachery could this have happened. They had provisions for a year and fresh water in plenty. It is a well-known fact that the citadel is impregnable. For the Greeks it was like shooting up to the sky, they could never have taken it. Someone opened the gates to the enemy. In the dead of night, someone lowered the drawbridge, pulled the bolts from the gates, leaned over the battlement above the gateway and sawed through the chains."

I was discovering in Atenulf an accomplished storyteller. His eyes held mine, he had lowered his voice for greater effect. I could begin to see now the reason for his success: building the King's fame was also a kind of storytelling. His recounting of such sustained and deliberate treachery had brought horror to my mind. I saw the Evil One crouched at the side of the traitor while he filed and sawed at the chains. "He must have had accomplices," I said.

"That cannot be known now. But the captain of the garrison, where is he?"

"How should I know?"

"I will tell you. He is in Constantinople, enjoying the protection of Manuel Comnenus, who has granted him the post of Commander of the Imperial Guard. No need to look further, would you not agree?"

"So this Spaventa…"

"He will be the executioner of this foul traitor. It will be known to all that no one betrays our King and lives to profit from it."

"And he can be trusted not to talk?"

"A man who has made killing his trade does not talk, either about his failures or his successes. He would not last long if he did. You must know this yourself – you have carried money to assassins before, have you not? This Spaventa is very experienced and very careful. It is because of this he is so expensive – the money you are taking is only the first half of his hire, the second will come when the work is done.

He is gifted, very gifted. He can make death look like an accident or a suicide, he can make it a public spectacle or a private disgrace. He is an artist, a shaper of circumstance, he is one who understands the importance of the symbol."

His harshness of demeanour had quite gone, melted away in the warmth of his praise. He had spoken as one master commending another, a man after his own heart.

"So," I said, as I rose, "in Constantinople it will be the public spectacle?"

"The precise manner of it will be left to him. He must make it notable, memorable. Such are my instructions to him – I am entrusted with the fame of it, the mark it makes on men's minds. Perhaps this recreant will be found hanging upside down in some public place, with his testicles in his mouth, perhaps he will be wearing women's clothes, or a false nose and jester's cap. Perhaps only his head will be found, mounted on a spike. Something men will remember and be warned by. They will know the power and scope of our King, who can reach a long arm to be revenged on those who have played him false."

"And the name of the man to be killed?"

"Enrico Gravina."

I took my leave on this, satisfied that I had prevailed upon them to give me the information I demanded. I did not myself believe that these orders had come from the King, he was at a level high above. It seemed to me that this Spaventa, and those who had thought of hiring him, and Atenulf who was entrusted with the fame of it, and I who would carry the money, all belonged with my friend Muhammed, creatures feasting and fighting below the surface of the dark water on which the King's silver barge rode serene, enveloped in light. Yusuf's words came back to my mind: He is just, unjust things are done in his name… But this was not unjust, the traitor deserved to die. Would it not be a worthier thing to abduct him, bring him to trial in the King's court before the people he had wronged? This would not be beyond the power of resolute men. But it was not our King Roger who decided, he had no knowledge of it, it was the creatures below the surface. Why did I labour so to keep the knowledge of this death that was planned from the King's mind, to keep him sheathed in brightness? And why, to my faltering spirit, did the labour seem always greater?

That same day I went to Yusuf and gave him a full account.

"So Wilfred sought to settle the matter with four words of Latin," he said. "That is very typical of the Roman clergy. For them, Latin is the magic formula. No matter what the problem, by expressing it in Latin you have solved it before you reach the verb. And this faith is founded on the very thing that should give them pause, the fact that so few words are needed. Latin is excellent for inscriptions on tombstones, where space is lacking. But no one should dream that such conciseness serves the interests of truth, rather the opposite is the case, truth is obscured because no room is left for doubt. The Arabic language is far superior, it is looser and more ample. We do not see truth as a dead butterfly to pin down, we follow the path of its flight through the fields and forests where it lives. "