"The Vault of bones" - читать интересную книгу автора (Vaughan-Hughes Pip)

Chapter Four

The bells of every church in the Rione Campus Martius, with all the other belfries in the city, began to chime the nine bells of terce.

Gilles had awoken me at dawn. Opening my eyes, I found him squinting at me down his nose, like a surgeon in a mummers play.

You are rested? Not still in a drunken stupor? The Captain has need of you’

'I was not so drunk – I hardly drank anything last night’ I rasped indignantly, my leathery tongue giving the lie to my protest. And then, 'Has need of me? How so?' I asked, curious despite myself. 'He is taking you with him to see Baldwin’ I all but choked.

'Why, O Gilles, is the Captain taking me? It is much too weighty a matter’ I protested when I had recovered my breath.

'Aha!' he said, chuckling. Your perfect manners’ He smiled. 'Listen, Patch: I will not say more now, but I can at least tell you this. The Captain has a great liking for you, lad, as do I. You are a brighter light than most; you are young, and you have proved that you have the liver for our sort of work. If the Captain chooses to take you along to an important audience, perhaps he means you to learn something. Eyes open, yes? Eyes and ears’ 'And mouth shut tight?'

Gilles merely laughed, and, seeing that my unsteady hand was shaking ruby droplets on to the bed linen, reached out to steady my cup.

'Look upon it, then, as your reward for having the hardest head on the Cormaran, and for returning to us despite all’ he said. 'By the bye, you will be Peter of Zennor, of course.' I nodded. It was the name I had assumed in London, where my own name was likely to lead me to the scaffold.

Gilles had ordered a set of fine clothes laid out for me. I dressed hurriedly, all fingers and thumbs, and although I heard a commotion beyond my door I was too nervous to join in with what was clearly a rowdy breakfast. When at last the Captain knocked, I was pacing in front of the window, watching the goats play-fight amongst the stones. After that I broke my fast on raw eggs, cheese and good bread with the Captain, who all but ignored me, instead leafing through a sheaf of old parchments. But at last he poured me a mug of small beer and one for himself, toasted me with a warm smile, and drank.

'That is better’ he said, wiping the foam from his beard. Well, my lad, are you ready for the off? An emperor is waiting for us.'

I followed him out into the already bustling street. Striding through the Campus Martius, we came at last to the bank of the Tiber, and nervous though I was, my heart leaped to see it, running fast over a bed of weedy, tumbled stones. Perhaps I had been expecting something as grand and majestic as the Thames, but here was a stream much like my own River Dart back in Devonshire. But that was merely the river itself. If it seemed friendly and familiar, what lay along its banks was not. We passed a dark, lowering building spiked with gibbets that overhung the bank of the Tiber, a brace of leathery cadavers swinging there seemingly unnoticed by those who walked beneath them, and crossed a great stone bridge that led over the river to a strange, circular castle that guarded the far bank.

This, Patch, is the Pons San Petri’ said the Captain. 'The Romans built it – the old ones, mark you – and they built that thing as well’ he said, pointing to the castle. "That is the Castel Sant' Angelo, the fortress of the pope. Grim, is it not?' 'Not as grim as the one behind us’ I said.

'Ah yes, the Tor di Nona. That is where the Holy Father has his enemies strangled in the dead of night. Up there’ he pointed up the hill across the river, where I could just make out the long roof of a great church, 'that is Saint Peter's, from where the Church extends its control over the souls of men. But here we stand between the symbols of its power over their bodies. The pope is also a prince, lad. Old Gregory is also Ugolino, Count of Segni.'

My strength was ebbing under the baleful watch of the bodies dangling from the Tor di Nona. I began to feel weak again. What was I, a bumpkin, a pipsqueak from the boggy moors, doing here? I followed the Captain like a whipped hound into the tangle of streets that made up that part of Rome called the Borgo, which lies beneath the walls of Saint Peter's Church. Saint Peter's! The dangling cadavers of the Tor di Nona had all but driven the thought of her from my head, yet there was the mighty arched tower of her bell tower, there the great flight of steps up which pilgrims were crawling, and rising in the distance, the basilica itself. I stopped in my tracks, slack-jawed with wonder yet again, until the Captain tapped me on the shoulder.

It was not hard to find the Sign of the White Hound. It was directly across a square that stood before the church of Santo Spirito in Saxia, the biggest church hereabouts, whose bells were beating the air with their din; and the two French soldiers from last night were standing self-consciously in front of the door, pretending not to guard it. They recognised me straight away: there was no mistaking my finery, which the Captain had bid me wear. As always, he himself was dressed in simple black, almost priestly garb, with a cloak thrown about his shoulders and a black coif covering his greying hair. Only when you came very close would you see that what seemed to be homely cloth was in fact damasked with strange creatures and plants, with subtle workings of silver thread. This morning it was I whom the two bodyguards fixed their blue eyes upon, and seeing this, the Captain leaned and whispered in my ear.

"They look no happier than they did last evening’ he said. 'Go to, Patch: win them over’

I licked my suddenly dry lips and stepped forward. The taller one was grasping the hilt of his sword in a business-like manner, and it was true: neither of them seemed overjoyed to see us again. Not quite knowing what to do but remembering how I had seen courtly folk act (the few times I had been anywhere near such people), I strolled towards them, halted a few paces from where they stood, pointed my right toe in front of me and bowed slightly from the hip. Straightening up I spread my arms wide and smiled, in what I hoped was a friendly manner. Last night I had been angry and withdrawn and quite eager – as my late friend Will would have said – to get stuck in, and now I wanted them to know I was harmless, or at least in a better mood. Happily they seemed won over, for my true harmlessness was no doubt all too apparent, and both smiled faintly at my display. And now they take me for a prize poltroon, I thought. Nevertheless I cleared my throat ostentatiously.

'Good morning to you, sirs’I said in French, which luckily I spoke tolerably well – luckily, that is, for apart from a smattering of Latin, French was the only tongue that Baldwin and his entourage had at their disposal. We are here at the hour appointed by your master. Pray tell: is he within?'

'His Majesty the Emperor of Romania is within, and he awaits you’ said the tall one in courtly French, and it was then I realised that he and his mate were not men-at-arms, but knights. They had made an effort to disguise themselves in rough attire, but I now saw, as I had not last night, that they wore golden rings on their fingers, and their belt buckles were golden also, and worked in the outlandish fashion of the East. The tall man had taken a sword pommel or shield-edge on the nose once upon a time, and an old scar trailed from his temple to his mouth.

‘You are welcome’ added the shorter man, who had seemed so possessed with fury outside the inn. He had grey hair and age or a fight had robbed him of two front teeth. 'And we beg you to forgive our intemperate manners at our last meeting. It was poorly done.'

'No, no: if my manners were surly, the fault was mine alone’ I said graciously, trying not to sound as relieved as I felt. 'I was mistaken in my assumptions, and somewhat on my guard, as I am not yet familiar with this place.'

'Then we shall be friends, in that at least’ said the tall man. 'Though I took you for a native son of Italy last evening, you are an Englishman, I think.'

'Do I know you, sir? I mean, aside from last night?' I asked politely, for there was something familiar about him that I could not place. 'I do not think so, good sir’ he replied. 'Bruges, perhaps?' I was racking my brains. 'Alas! I was whelped not far from there, but I have not been back these twenty years or more’ he exclaimed with a sad smile. Perhaps he simply looked Flemish, I thought, and let it be.

'Now let us make haste’ said the other man. 'The emperor is anxious to talk with you. Monsieur de Sol’ he called. 'I bid you welcome in the name of His Majesty Baldwin, Emperor of Romania and Constantinople. Please, come inside’

The Captain shot me an approving look as we made our way inside the inn. The Sign of the White Hound had seen better times, but it was not quite so insalubrious as its surroundings promised. I caught sight of a couple of bright whitewashed rooms with long tables laid for the midday meal, and a pretty serving-maid in a clean apron was bustling around. We were led upstairs to a suite of modest rooms panelled in painted wood, with dark wooden ceilings. There were tapestries on the walls – I guessed they were Baldwin's, for they were creased and somewhat clumsily hung – glass in the windows, and fresh rushes underfoot that filled the air with their sweet scent. An ornate but travel-worn chest stood against the wall, and I glimpsed another in the adjoining room, where there was a bed and a somewhat grander hanging, upon which a cross in gold thread shone on a field of red cloth, surrounded by a pattern of smaller golden crosses. Baldwin was sitting in a high-backed chair with his back to the largest window. A shield – a war-shield in size, but bearing no marks of war – hung behind him, and on it a black Flemish lion pranced on a field of gold behind a diagonal red band. The sun was coming in and it was obvious he had chosen this spot so that anyone facing him would be dazzled. The tall man offered us two stools that had been placed in front of Baldwin’s would-be throne, but the Captain winced as if in pain.

'I am not a young man, and my bones are as old as I am’ he said ruefully, making his way to another chair set off to the side. 'If you will permit me, I will be more pleasant company if my back is straight’ I pulled one of the stools next to him and sat down. We heard a hiss of exasperation as Baldwin heaved his chair around to face us. He was no longer a commanding shadow half hidden in light but merely a young lad in a rented room. He put a brave face on things, though, and called for wine and food. Then he raised a pale, lordly hand in greeting.

'Gentlemen’ he said, you are most welcome. Monsieur Jean, last night you spoke of my palace of Bucoleon. I wish with all my heart you were my guests there, rather than here, but expedience… no matter. And already I am remiss. Let me introduce my two most faithful of men: this’ he said, indicating the tall knight, 'is Fulk de Grez, and here is Gautier de Bussac. These most excellent knights have been my faithful companions as I have made my way from one chilly northern land to another – we all miss the sun, eh, boys?'

Fulk de Grez glanced at us with something almost like mortification in his eyes. These men, I saw, must be from Outremer. They had probably fought hard their whole lives, against the Infidel, pestilence, the sun itself, and this was their reward: handmaidens to this half-emperor. Yet they played their parts with exceedingly good grace. Gautier de Bussac brought a silver dish with water and clean linen towels, and we all washed our hands. The serving-maid came in with a silver flagon of wine, a tray of glass cups and a dish of little honey cakes. Only when everything was set to Baldwin's satisfaction did they retreat to an inner chamber.

'At last’ said the emperor, when we all had a glass in hand. ‘I have been waiting for this moment.'

‘I am honoured that one so illustrious should be so eager to make my acquaintance’ said the Captain gravely.

'Forgive me, but I am an impatient man’ Baldwin went on, then paused. He took a sip of wine, which was rather poor stuff, and sighed. 'That is not true at all’ he said. 'I have already learned that you are more perceptive than most men, Jean de Sol, and very well informed about my affairs. So you will know that I am nothing if not patient. I waited for years for my Regent to hand the throne over to me, or at least to die, but like Methuselah he clung to life like a strangling vine. Now he is dead at last, but I must wait patiently by the thrones of my rich cousins while they decide whether or not they will grace me with a little gift. I am patient because I need their gifts, not for myself, but for my empire. This you already know, I think, but the Empire of Romania is all but destitute. Venice took everything at the very start, and they hold all the choicest land. They squeeze the trade-routes like a wolf's jaws around the throat of a lamb. When the crusaders took Constantinople they set up their empire and left it supplied with nothing more than promises while they moved on to other deeds. My brother Robert, who was a besotted fool, died nine years ago, and if old John de Brienne had not been named Regent there would no longer be an empire. We are beset on all sides: by John Asen of Bulgaria, by John Vatatzes of Nicea, byThessalonika.' He sank back in his chair as if the very act of telling these things had exhausted him. 'My barons are loyal when it suits them so to be. My Greek subjects, to a man, loathe me as they loathe all followers of the Church of Rome. So I need money, a great deal of it, and soldiers. I have not been home for two years, and yet I am still empty-handed – no, I have my hands full of promises.' And he held up both fists and shook them. His knuckles were white.

'But what do you wish to discuss with me?' asked the Captain. 'I am no Henry of England or Louis of France. I have no armies and no treasury. You have all my sympathy, but I believe you want a little more than that’

'Straight to the mark, sir – thank God. You know what is in my mind, so let us be direct with each other. You know of the Chapel of Pharos’ 'I do’ 'Do you know what it contains?'

'The relics of the Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ, so I understand’

I all but choked on my wine at these words, so carelessly uttered. If I had not held a goblet I would surely have crossed myself with reflexive piety, but I did not, and in another moment the training of my new life had overpowered the habits of the old one. Meanwhile, Baldwin brought his hands together and kissed his fingertips. I had seen the same gesture last night.

'Those wonders have been guarded there since the Empress Helen brought them out of the Holy Land a thousand years ago. It is beyond.. ‘ He shook his head.

'Forgive me, but I am as overcome as you are by even the mention of such relics’ said the Captain with great care. 'The greatest wonder is the Crown, is it not?'

'The Crown of Thorns itself’ Baldwin breathed. 'The thorns that pierced His flesh, that were doused in His blood. Yes, that is the treasure of all treasures. But there are more’

The Captain was silent. He leaned back in his chair, as calm as if he were alone in the library of the Ca Kanzir. He regarded Baldwin with no more than polite interest. Only the slight tilt of his head showed that he was paying attention.

Yes, more’ Baldwin went on, becoming somewhat carried away. 'The Crown is chief of them, but the chapel holds the Spear that pierced His side, the Reed, the Cane, the Sponge, the Chain that bound Him; His Swaddling Bands, His Tunic, His sandals, a part of the Shroud that wrapped His body…' He was rattling away, counting relics off on his fingers. I fought back a grin.

'… the Towel He used to dry the feet of the Holy Apostles, the True Cross – pieces of it. The head of the Baptist, and Saint Clement's, Saint Simeon's, Saint Bias' heads. The very staff of Moses!'

'But the Passion relics themselves,' said the Captain. Your pardon, but I am fascinated. As you know from your cousin Louis, I have helped with the translation of a number of relics over the years, and for many clients, including Louis himself. But to hear of such things, and from a man who has seen them with his own eyes…' The Captain passed an expressive hand over his face. ‘I understand the very Stone that blocked the mouth of the Tomb is there?' 'Supposedly… that is, indeed it is. The Sudarium also…'

Your pardon again, Sire, but is this Sudarium – the facecloth from the Gospel of Saint John, I believe? – is it not part of the Shroud you mentioned?' 'No, I don't think so. The…'

'No matter, no matter. You are speaking of wonders and I am acting the pedant. There is no doubt you possess a formidable collection. I think you wish for my professional opinion?'

'Indeed,' said Baldwin, his voice almost cracking with relief.

Well then. The Pharos Chapel holds the most formidable of any collection of holy relics in Christendom. That you knew.' Baldwin nodded. 'And so…' He held up his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "There: my professional opinion. I am speechless. Now let us come to the point. Money is easier to talk about.' Baldwin puffed his cheeks and blew out. You are every bit as direct as Louis described you’ he said. 'But that is good.' He cleared his throat, which set off a small fit of coughing. 'How much? How much is it all worth?' he said at last. 'All of it?'

'All of it. Every thorn, every stitch, every bone. I will lose my throne, sir, and all my vassals shall be cast out if I do not act now, this instant. So, how much?' 'To whom?' the Captain asked, as calm as ever.

'To whoever wants it’ said Baldwin. He was smiling, but shaking his head in exasperation.

The Captain brought his fingertips together and regarded them for a long moment. A death-bed hush had abruptly descended on the room. I watched the dust motes dance in a golden swarm through the sunlight from which Baldwin had withdrawn himself. Then the Captain stood up, a great black shadow that loomed over the emperor. The boy flinched.

'You ask me to put a price on what is priceless’ he said, and his voice was as hard and sharp as flint. ‘I am not a pawnbroker. These relics, things that have touched Our Lord, that have rent His flesh, have no worth at all. They are truly valueless, as prayer is valueless. The prayer itself is nothing more than air. But what price the prayer that reaches the ear of the Almighty? I will not value these things of yours. If someone wishes to buy them, take what is offered. I can give you no more advice.' He gestured to me and I too rose to my feet, watching the man at my side for any sign as to what might happen next.

We thank you for your hospitality’ the Captain went on at last. 'It is one of my dearest wishes to set foot inside the Pharos Chapel, and I am relieved to hear that it did not suffer the hideous fate that befell the rest of your city when Doge Dandolo and Baldwin of Flanders took it for themselves. But I cannot help you. I am no usurer, nor am I a banker. If you wish to raise a loan, there are many here in this city to whom you can turn. And there are many more, scrupulous and not, in Christendom and beyond. And now, by your leave’ He took a step towards the door, and I made as if to follow.

Baldwin let out a great cry, and instantly the two knights rushed into the room. When they saw the Captain and I standing there so solemnly they stopped and looked to their master. Baldwin had risen too. He turned impatiently to his men and shooed them out again. Then he turned to us, and flung out his arms beseechingly. 'Please, sir, please! Do not leave!' he cried. Why should we not?' asked the Captain bluntly.

'Because you have misconstrued me! You have taken offence where none was intended, but I clearly see my error. I beg you to reconsider’ the poor boy pleaded.

Your Majesty’ said the Captain, to my surprise, as I had never heard him honour anyone with their title, no matter how illustrious. 'I am a businessman, and as such a very hard person to offend. You have not offended me in the slightest, but I fear you have wasted my time and yours. I wish you every good fortune, and now I must be on my way.'

Jean de Sol, I command you… oh, fuck it’ said Baldwin, sinking down on his chair. ‘I just want you to talk to the King of France on my behalf’ he went on. 'That is all. I have nothing, do you hear? Nothing!' His voice was pinched, shrill. You would not fix- a price on a prayer, you say? Well, Louis would! For one of Christ's farts in a bottle he would pay enough for me to build a wall around my whole empire! These things are all I have, and you tell me they are nothing? Is this my punishment for trying to sell what should not be sold? Dear God, I am a Christian king!' His last words were shouted at the ceiling.

'I am sure that no one doubts your piety’ said the Captain in a softer tone. 'But if you put the Crown of Thorns up for sale as if it were a bale of silk or a sausage hanging on a butchers stall, you will be reviled. Canon law is not specific on this subject’ he went on, sitting down again and arranging his sleeves like a schoolmaster. 'But I can assure you that the Holy See would accuse you of the sin of simony, simonia realis in this case, although to some even considering such an action makes you guilty. And simony is a grievous sin.'

'But simony is merely the buying and selling of benefices and indulgences’ protested Baldwin. He too seemed a little calmer, and had taken his seat once more. I was the only one standing, so I refilled my cup and sat down. 'It goes on all the time. I would guess every bishopric in my empire was bought, and who has not given a few coins for an indulgence? I know many who would not go into battle without one.'

'It is all a matter of scale’ said the Captain patiently. 'The Church turns a blind eye to many simoniac benefices because it is simply too troublesome to do anything about them, and too easy to bribe one's way out of trouble. It likes to sell indulgences because it is a simple way to raise coin. In my estimation, however, putting the relics of the Passion on the open market would be akin to buying the papacy. You would be excommunicated.' 'Really?'

The Captain shrugged. 'Perhaps. Who knows what the Church will do? How are your relations with the Holy Father?'

'His Holiness Pope Gregory has been kind enough to take a… a keen interest in our affairs’ said Baldwin. For once he sounded like a courtier, and I understood that this was a speech he had made many times in the last two years. 'He has preached a crusade against John Asen, he…'

'Concrete assistance? Forgive my interruption, but has he opened Saint Peter's purse for you?' 'Not yet, but…'

'He was quick to excommunicate your cousin Frederick,' the Captain pointed out.

'Frederick Hohenstaufen is a godless, pitiless voluptuary,' squeaked Baldwin primly.

'But Gregory excommunicated him merely for not being quick enough to set off on crusade,' said the Captain. 'For all your protestations, Frederick too is a Christian king – your pardon, an emperor. No, I think you might find that old Gregory would swiftly show you his whip-hand if you attempted to sell the relics.'

'Then what am I to do? I cannot risk Gregory's anger. He is our one true friend in all Christendom.'

Strange, I thought, that young Baldwin had spent his life in thrall to old men. His Regent, John de Brienne, had been approaching his ninetieth year when death took him, and Pope Gregory was already ninety. This boy, who fancied himself a lion, was no more than a gelded ram at the mercy of prodigiously ancient shepherds. I shuddered: there was nothing in Baldwin's lot that I envied.

‘We are here, sir, because you have a buyer for these things you cannot sell,' said the Captain. It was a statement, and Baldwin stiffened. 'But there is a difficulty,' he continued. 'Louis desires your relics, but he cannot buy them. And he would not: Louis, of all men, would not risk his mortal soul thus, nor would he be so vulgar.'

'That is it!' cried Baldwin, slapping his knees. ‘You have cut to the very quick. My empire is saved, but for the scruples of my saintly cousin! He would give anything for the Crown alone, let alone the… the rest of it, but he cannot. I am like Taranto in Hades: I approach water to slake my thirst, and it turns to dust!'

'I think you mean Tantalus’ I said, before I could stop myself. Fortunately my remark went unnoticed.

What does the empire require?' asked the Captain. 'I mean to say, what price had you intended to place on your treasures?'

'I – that is, the empire… we require money, and men. Fifty thousand men at least, and the money to keep them victualled and armed. More money to pay our debtors.' He shook his head. We have nothing’ he said again.

The Captain was looking at me as if he wished me to contribute something sensible to the proceedings, so I steepled my fingers as well and leaned forward. 'Have you discussed the relics with Louis?' I asked.

I had expected Baldwin to be surprised and affronted, but he seemed to take me for an important confederate of the Captain, and answered willingly.

'Of course! Many times’ he said. 'It is a subject very dear to his heart – not, perhaps, as dear as the welfare of his kingdom, but…' He closed his eyes for a moment as if remembering something. 'One day he took me to his private chapel at Vincennes and showed me his collection of holy relics. It was marvellous, I was duly impressed, and after we had prayed together we walked through the fields, as is his custom. He was greatly animated, and spoke of all the great treasures in his realm: the Milk-tooth of Christ, the two abbeys that claim to possess His…' he coughed delicately, '… His Foreskin; the Robe of Our Lady, of course, in the Cathedral of Chartres. But none of these compared, he insisted, to the treasures of my house. How he envied me! That made me feel altogether dreadful, I can assure you, being all but overcome with envy for my dear cousin at that moment. The king seems to regard me as little more than a boy…' he sniffed disapprovingly, and we did our best to look sympathetic. 'But in this matter alone he pays me some small deference’

'Forgive me, but I must know: you have requested aid from the king?' I enquired delicately.

'I have. He is most sympathetic: one Christian monarch to another, you know. He has made me some promises and offered a little money. A very little money, although more than Henry, that… no matter. His promises and gifts so far would barely pay for my passage home.'

'And why do you not simply approach the Venetian banks? One hears that their purses are practically bottomless. We assumed that was why you were here’ This last was pure inspiration, but I could tell by the way the Captain cocked his head that I had asked the right question. And indeed Baldwin puffed out his cheeks and expelled the air noisily.

'The Regent John has already placed my empire very solidly in the Serene Republic's debt,' he said ruefully. 'Indeed, until I return to Constantinople I will not know the true extent of it. And I am quite anxious that the Republic does not discover that I am here. I have placed myself in the Hons mouth – the winged lion as it were – to seek you out, sirs.'

The Captain nodded slowly. Reaching for a honey cake, he nibbled the edge, studied it for a moment as if it were of great worth, then popped it into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully, washed the remains down with a sip of wine, and sat back.

‘You will give the Crown of Thorns to Louis Capet as a gift,' he pronounced. 'I beg your pardon?' spluttered Baldwin.

You will make a gift of the Crown of Thorns to your cousin’ 'But why? No, certainly not!'

You will make him a gift of the most precious thing in your kingdom. I will ensure that Louis makes you an equally precious gift in return’

You? How?' said Baldwin. He was beginning to lose his patience, I saw.

The Captain stood up and Baldwin recoiled once more, but he merely brushed the cake crumbs from his clothing and sat down again.

'Do you actually know who I am?' he asked, a little pointedly.

'A dealer’ said the boy. He was trying to be flippant, but the Captain had him once again.

You are right. I am a dealer. I am the dealer. Every important relic that is bought and sold in Christendom has passed or will pass through my hands in one way or another. Not the little vials of martyrs' blood or poor bits of sacking that have touched some saint's tomb: my business is the relic over which a cathedral will be built, a town founded, a cardinal's hat bought. I do not buy arid sell: I arrange for the invention and translation of these things.'

Baldwin looked blank, so I explained: 'Church dogma has it that invention is the discovery of a relic. Translation is its transfer to a new home.'

'So I conduct my affairs under the mantle of dogma’ said the Captain. 'Thus souls can remain spotless. I have taken wine with popes, and taken their money. I am known to the greater number of your royal cousins, including Frederick Hohenstaufen, whom I count as a friend.' Baldwin looked surprised at that, and I was taken off guard as well: this was the first I had heard of such a friendship.

'Louis Capet, as I have said, is a man I know well. He will not buy the Crown, or any other thing, from you. He certainly would not buy them from me, and I would not offer them to him: as I have said, they have no worth. But a gift, an imperial gift: that, I will guarantee, will bring you a mighty reward. We have spoken of this very thing, sitting beneath his oak tree at Vincennes. "My dear Jean," I remember him saying, "Think of all the treasures yet behind the walls of Constantinople, the things that bore witness to the suffering of Our dear Lord’"

I had never heard the Captain talk so much like a common huckster, but then I saw that Baldwin was rapt, and that tears were welling in his eyes.

"Would that it were in my remit to bring them to you, my lord," I answered,' the Captain went on. '"But I fear the Venetian wolves stole everything at the time of the fatal Crusade." "Ah, not so," he replied, "for I have read an account, The Story of Those Who Conquered Constantinople, by a noble knight of Picardy, one Robert de Clari. He lists the things the Venetians took, but the Crown remains in Constantine's palace, alongside all these others." And he listed to me the things that this Robert claimed had been saved from pillage. He believes you have in your possession the Crown, the Nails, the Burial Cloths, the Spear, Sponge, Tunic, Cane; the Stone of the Tomb, and the Cross itself, or parts thereof. "If," I said then, "if these things were indeed still owned by the emperor it is a great wonder, for I thought them lost." "No, no," he said, "They are there, and I tell you, I would give every coin in my kingdom to bring them here to France’" 'You heard those very words?' said Baldwin, faintly. 'And many more on the subject, over the years.' The emperor opened his mouth, then closed it again. He reached for the wine jug and filled his cup to the rim, drank most of it off and set the cup down again. His hand was trembling slightly. 'Can you help me?' he said.