Barry Unsworth - The Ruby In Her Navel

"That scaffolding and the curtain round it, will it not offend the King's sight?" I asked him.

He replied very curtly, muttering some few words about work in progress and permission obtained to keep the hanging in place. There was another platform, also with curtain, on the west wall, near the entrance, he said.

This was true certainly, but not much to the point, as there was nowhere on the west wall from which the King's viewing place could be overlooked. But I did not remark on this to Lupinus because it had come into my mind that if I had stumbled on the truth, if by these guesses that were my only logic I had discovered a conspiracy, then he might also, since he was here in the church, be one of the plotters and I would rouse his suspicions if I showed too much interest in this well-swathed platform.

However, perhaps from some resentment at the criticism implied in my question, or perhaps merely to add to his own importance, he now spoke some words which cleared him of all suspicion in my eyes. The orders for this drapery, he said, and for the lilies, had come from the Office of the King's Fame. He had heard this on good authority – he was a man with friends in high places. He uttered no names, there was no need: all knew that Atenulf was Lord of this Douana; only the innocent would make reference to him when there was no requirement to do so.

Boasting had released him from distrust. "Fresh lilies," he said now.

"White, they had to be white. The hanging is spun silk, it comes from the altar to San Salvatore in the basilica of the cathedral. Bishop Leontius will conduct the liturgy, he who founded the cathedral of Gerace. The King's Chancellor, Robert of Selby will be in attendance, also Maio of Bari and the Lord of Lecce…"

He would have gone on but a feeling of urgency pressed now on me.

Sunrise could not be far away. The King's habit was to attend the liturgy early, making his way with the companions he had chosen, unseen by all others, along the covered passage from the royal apartments to his viewing place. The women would be finished soon with their strewing of the lilies.

I took leave of Lupinus without much ceremony and returned along the nave to the west door, which was still open. As I came out of the Chapel and began to follow the outer wall on the south side, the first rays of the sun came on to my face. There was a beggar, a cripple, there in good time with his back to the wall and his bowl before him, waiting for the great ones who would be crossing the square to the Chapel. I passed him without heeding his pleas, coming to a halt below the transept window.

It had a deep ledge; it would be easy enough for an active man to find lodgement here and scramble through. I could see no means of climbing to it but anyone doing so could have drawn a rope up after him. He would have entered early, before there were people about, probably during the hours of the night. The moment of greatest danger would be in leaving, the deed done. Then he would have to rely on speed and surprise. Once in the maze of streets on the eastern side of the square – and a score of running steps would take him there – it would not be hard to elude pursuit. He would have looked at these streets already, planned the way he would run…

A sense descended on me that someone other was living out these moments of irresolution as I stood there below the window, someone not myself who yet was inhabiting my body, a person at odds with all the life around him, the voices and clatter of the wakening city, the people crossing the square, people with work to do even on this feast day, women with baskets and brushes on their way to the washing slabs in the via del Bastone, a sherbet-seller with jug and cups on a tray slung from his shoulders, a group of Saracen soldiers talking together at the far end, perhaps waiting for a companion, or someone who would come to take command of them.

Some moments more I hesitated. Then I continued along the wall, moving quickly now. I rounded the apse and came to the workshop adjoining the Chapel where I had found Demetrius on the last occasion I had seen him.

By great good fortune the door was unbarred. Inside there was a man who I afterwards learned was in attendance on Lupinus. I saw two ladders, one lying flat, the other, longer one, propped against the wall. Whether the man was daunted by my suddenness, or by my dress and bearing, or whether he knew me by sight, I know not. But he made no objection when I seized this longer ladder and bore it away.

Great care was needed now by the stranger inside my skin. I set the ladder against the wall, alongside the window, striving to make no sound as I lowered it into place. Then, step by step, I mounted. The sill was easily deep enough, as I had thought, for me to leave the ladder and lodge there on my knees, still without making any sound. But this same depth of sill prevented me from seeing immediately into the enclosure of the curtain, which was not set exactly before the window as I had supposed, but a little to one side of it. I had to edge forward and insert my head and shoulders through the aperture before I could see inside.

He was sitting with his back to the window and there was a crossbow on the planks beside him. I think he had been peering through the join in the curtain, but he heard me now or sensed me there or perhaps it was that my body blocked the light because he was turning already and his hand was at his belt. Even before I saw his face I knew him, that exquisite moulding of the head, the short black hair like the fur of some mammal. He gave me now a fearsome demonstration of his promptness; the dagger was in his hand without my seeing the movement that brought it there. He turned as he drew it, still crouching, and the movement, the shifting of his weight, caused the platform to rock a little, he had to pause, to steady himself, before he could lunge at me.

This pause it was that saved my life, or so I think now. I was half-in and half-out of the window. My arms were confined – I could not get at my knife. If I tried to withdraw he would cut my throat before I could get back to the ladder. There was only one thing to do and the terror I was in made me do it quickly. I shouted with all the force of my lungs and I launched myself forward head first, arms flailing, hoping to get to grips with him before he could use the dagger, a forlorn hope, I knew it, he was poised to strike as I came. But this heavy fall of my body slipped the rope that was holding the nearer corner of the platform, it swung free, the platform tilted sharply. Spaventa, still in his crouch, dagger still in hand, was precipitated backward through the parting in the curtain and disappeared from view. I felt myself sliding after him and grabbed at a fold in the silk. It held, I was left dangling there, half enveloped in the curtain, a ridiculous sight, I have no doubt of it – though at that moment I was very far from considering the effect on the spectators.

Lupinus was there below me. His eyes were starting out of his head as he looked up: he had heard my bellowing, seen one man come flying out of the curtain, another left hanging there. A man was sent for the ladder I had left outside, and I descended, much shaken. Spaventa had landed on lilies but they had not sufficed to break his fall. He was on his back, looking up to the ceiling. His right foot was turned outwards at an unnatural angle and his breath came noisily, as if something within were clogging his lungs. He had crawled to recover his knife; it was loosely clasped in his hand and seemed oddly like a crucifix that he was holding for his comfort.

I came to stand near him, not too near, and he transferred his gaze from the ceiling to my face. "The pursebearer," he said. "You bore me ill fortune. I should have killed you at Potenza, when it came into my mind to do it."