‘And the money?’ Juan went on.
‘Do you know what it costs to maintain Smyrna and Rhodes? Perhaps a hundred thousand florins a year, to maintain four hundred knights and six galleys. A crusade? If we want to have ten thousand men for a year,’ — he laughed — ‘three hundred thousand florins of gold, and that’s before we feed a man or a horse, or ship them to the Holy Land.’
Juan stared, eyes wide. ‘Holy Mother of God,’ he said. ‘Is there so much money in the world?’
Sam nodded. ‘So, you’ll go to Italy after you visit Avignon,’ he said.
Fra Peter spread his hands to the fire. The first hint of autumn was in the air. ‘Master Bibbo,’ he said, ‘I can’t predict where I will go next any better than a leaf on the wind. A year ago I thought that we were about to see the greatest crusade since good King Richard marched, but now, I’m sorry to say, I can’t guess when the King of England will go, or even send his son.’ He frowned. ‘I’m maudlin. So I’ll confess to you that I’m not convinced that a great crusade would be the best way to deal with the infidel. But to fail to have a crusade would itself be a blow.’ He lay back. ‘Enough lessons. When I am on the road, like this, eating rabbits under the stars. .’ His eyes met mine. ‘It’s not a bad life.’ He lay, looking at the wheel of heaven. ‘I’ll likely go to Savoy first. And then Italy. You’ll like Italy.’
Bibbo groused about our pace, but he stayed with us until Avignon. Messire Doffo Bardi was gone back to Florence, but his suddenly self-important nephew informed me that I had a balance of 855 florins, a small fortune. As we had come all the way south with some English and Dutch merchants, I went to the book market, bought a small and fairly undecorated copy of Galen, the old Roman doctor, with some receipts in Greek, and sent it to my sister in the care of the English merchants, with a note for her and another for Nan.
The harness I had ordered in the spring was complete.
I was so excited by this that somehow it took me three days to go and see it.
Young Fiore had been back from Nuremberg for two weeks when we came.
‘I fought a duel!’ he said by way of a greeting.
I laughed. I hadn’t fought anyone in five months. Well, I had played at sword and buckler in London with Juan, more for old times’ sake than anything. Juan and I had adjusted the English game to our longswords, and we would take turns cutting and thrusting at a buckler held by the other.
It turned out that the German master in Nuremberg had been less than enthusiastic about having a foreign pupil who was critical of each thing he taught; they’d fought, and Fiore had left him bleeding and had to flee the wrath of his students.
‘They should thank me,’ Fiore said with the sort of arrogance that always marked him.
‘Perhaps they loved the man,’ I said.
He grimaced. ‘He may have been a fine man,’ Fiore said, ‘but he was the merest inventor of tricks, as a swordsman.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘And so many pious mouthings and mysterious sayings.’ He drank wine, and his eyes met mine. ‘A charlatan.’
‘You learned nothing from him? I asked.
‘Oh, as to that,’ Fiore grinned. ‘I learned a number of things.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘He had a theory — he divided all fighting into two parts.’ He shrugged. ‘I will never think of a fight in quite the same way again.’
Juan leaned over and poured more wine. ‘Then, pardon me, Fiore, but he was no charlatan.’
Fiore sat back, ignored a magnificent pair of breasts passing at eye level and shook his head. ‘He knew a great deal,’ he said dismissively, ‘but he couldn’t sort his knowledge from his ignorance. Like a priest who preaches the true word of God and heresy by turns.’
Juan raised an eyebrow, turned to watch the beautiful girl pass off into the rough crowd of servants and soldiers by the wine barrels, and looked at me with one eyebrow faintly raised.
I agreed with Juan. I agreed about the girl, agreed about Fiore’s failure to react to the girl, agreed about Fiore’s arrogance.
All that in a glance.
But here’s the thing. Fiore was the real thing. Fiore is to fighting what a Dominican is to religion.
The armour fit well. Some of it was perfect, and some could have used another fitting before I left. The helmet was fine; the breast and backplates were Milanese work, altered to fit me. The arms were perfect, and the legs were a little large. But the whole sparkled in the sun, and I felt like a new man. I had not been so well armed since the morning after Poitiers.
I paid in gold florins.
I don’t know how long we were in Avignon — it was such a pleasant time, and such time passes swiftly. Juan, Fiore and I were inseparable, and we went to church, prayed, drank, played chess, rode about the countryside, practiced at arms, and debated the world. Fiore was a well-read man, and my trip to the book market for my sister had reawakened my spark. I bought a gloss on Aquinas and a small copy of Cicero’s letters in Latin — a new discovery from the ancient world that somehow seemed exciting to me, and the more I read, the more I wanted.
Fra Peter was busy all the time, and once his horse was curried and fed, Juan and I had no other tasks. I had money, and I spent it.
I think my favourite memory is waking in a cottage under the walls — a pretty place I’d heard of from a priest in the curia and rented for a few days. I woke with Anne under my hip, and we made love, then I lay with my head on her tummy and read Cicero to her.
‘Are you going to be a priest?’ she asked, and laughed.
Juan had a girl, as well, and the two of them, Anne, myself and Fiore went for a picnic in the late summer hills. Fiore never seemed to have a girl. Nor did he have a boy — he was above such things. He was a priest of the sword.
Very well! I’m boring you by remembering that some times were good times. Ingrates! I’ll go back to war and death.
At some point — a week or two after we returned — Fra Peter had us to dinner at the preceptory, in the hall. The invitation seemed to extend to all the donats — there were forty of us by then — and to the mercenary men-at-arms who had been serving the order in the papal army. Serving the order directly, that is, paid by the prior.
We received the Prior of Avignon’s thanks for our services — in the field and, specifically, on the embassage to England, which was more thanks than I ever received from the Prince of Wales. Let me tell you this of the Order. It could be venal, and it could be petty, and par dieu, it could bog itself down in petty politics and bureaucracy, but men were praised by their leaders and rewarded at every chapter meeting and every evening at prayer. This instant reward of even minor virtue taught me a great deal, and soothed my soul, as well. A man may change — and be rewarded for that change.
But the Order also existed in the world of sin and death.
Over wine, Fra Peter told us that he would be going to Italy, and that the crusade was delayed at least a year, and perhaps two.
‘I feared this,’ he said. ‘The King of Cyprus is on his way. He should be the leader of the crusade — he knows the enemy and the conditions — but the Pope has offered the command to the King of France. And there is more corruption involved than you’d find in the corpse of a week-old Plague victim. The crown of France and its dependents have an old claim to the crown of Cyprus. .’ Here Fra Peter showed more anger than I’d ever seen in him. ‘Talleyrand is using his influence to block the true King of Cyprus from coming here — to keep Father Pierre Thomas from exercising his authority.’ He sat back suddenly. ‘Merely in an attempt to get his own family some land grants in the east. In truth, young masters, it is not the Turks who will defeat Christendom. We will defeat ourselves — through greed. Routiers and cardinals. They deserve each other.’ He shrugged. ‘But I am not being a good knight. My lord, Father Pierre Thomas, will be going across the Alps to speak to the Count of Savoy, and I am to escort him.’ He looked at Juan, and then at me. ‘The Pope has great hopes that the Green Count will go on crusade.’