‘My God, they’ve stolen the Pope’s cock!’
25
‘Don’t be an idiot!’ said Bosco, cold and angry. ‘It’s a woman.’
This was harsh. It was not Gil’s fault that he was completely ignorant of the anatomy of women. How could he be otherwise? If the conclusion he leapt to seemed outlandish it was surely nothing like as monstrous as the truth: that the rock on which the Holy Church of the Hanged Redeemer had been built for the last twenty years was a creature regarded by many moderate theologians as possibly not having a soul at all. Before the stroke had ruined the Pontiff ’s mind it was one much admired by Bosco for its clarity and ruthlessness. Even in the fog of a broken brain this Pope had sought with passion and great enthusiasm the terrible death of the Maid of Blackbird Leys. Gil was almost too stunned, but not quite, to be insulted.
‘Give me the keys to the room,’ said Bosco to Burdett. There was a considerable jangling as Burdett loosened the key of the cremulatory from his vast collection. ‘Have you said anything about this to anyone else?’
‘No, Lord,’ said Burdett.
Bosco looked at the first embalmer.
‘Have you said anything to anyone else?’
‘No, Lord.’
He looked at the second.
‘Have you said anything about this to anyone else?’
The man shook his head, horror-dumb.
‘Stay here until I send Redeemer Gil for you. And cover up that monstrosity.’ He ushered Gil out and locked the door behind him.
It was half an hour, having twice lost their way in the under-streets of Chartres, before Bosco and Gil were back in the Vamian Room. Even then it was ten minutes before either of them spoke – the earthquake still shaking in their souls.
‘How could this have happened?’ asked Gil.
‘It hasn’t. You will arrange for the body to be displayed as normal. In fact everything will proceed as normal. Because nothing that is not normal has happened.’
‘What if there are others?’
‘Then the threat to the One True Faith is deadly. You will prepare an investigation into that possibility but do so in the greatest possible secrecy. You will also prepare an encyclical statement that it is a mortal sin punishable by eternal damnation in the fires of hell to raise the woman question.’
‘The woman question?’
‘Of course.’
There was a beat.
‘What is the woman question?’
Bosco looked at him but it was unclear if he was joking or not.
‘You don’t know?’
‘I require guidance.’
Bosco looked at him for a moment. ‘The woman question concerns what kind of sin it is to enter into any discussion of the ordination of women. The answer is that it is a sin crying out to heaven for vengeance.’
Gil was puzzled. ‘Is anyone discussing it?’
Bosco looked at him. ‘You can ask me – with that hideous gynocoid lying in the basement?’ There was no obvious answer to this.
‘And the three Redeemers in the mortuary. What shall I do about them?’
Bosco sighed. ‘Do you remember the story of Uriah the Hittite.’
‘Yes.’
‘Reassure yourself that they’ll say nothing. I don’t want any more innocent blood on my hands but you must be sure of them. Say nothing. Allow nothing to be said. Do not allow anyone to say anything.’
Something out of the window caught Redeemer Gil’s eye – from the great chimney of the Chapel of Tears white smoke oozed droopily into the damp air.
‘We have a Pope,’ he said to Bosco. ‘Congratulations, Your Holiness.’
26
Chancellor Vipond hurried into his rooms followed by IdrisPukke. If this sounds grand for someone who was no longer the Chancellor of anything but the rump of an idea there were only two of these rooms, neither of them very large. The heavy, if grubby, curtains were pulled even though it was the middle of the day and he had already opened them himself that morning. IdrisPukke by nature more alert to small oddities was about to stop him but his half-brother was too quick and whisked the curtains open with great and sudden briskness.
‘Good God!’ shouted Vipond. IdrisPukke had put his hand to his sword as soon as the curtain started to open and it was out and raised by the time Vipond stepped back in such great alarm. Both looked on astonished at the sight of Cale sitting in the thick window ledge with a knife on his lap and staring at them.
‘You want to be careful with that,’ he said, looking at IdrisPukke. ‘You’ll have someone’s eye out.’
‘What in God’s name are you playing at?’ shouted Vipond.
Cale stepped down from the ledge and put away the knife.
‘I’d have got the butler to announce me properly but I didn’t like the look of him. His eyes were too close together.’
‘You did that deliberately,’ said Vipond and sat down. Cale did not reply.
‘You know, Cale, the Ghurkhas swear a vow that they’ll never sheath their sword until it’s tasted blood.’
‘Lucky for you you’re not a Ghurkha then.’
‘Where’s Vague Henri?’
‘He’s hurt – bad. He took an arrow in the face at the border. Can’t get it out. We need a surgeon.’
‘There are two, I think, with us here. I’ll see ...’
‘Not a Materazzi surgeon. No offence.’
‘I’ll see what I can do. Where is he?’
‘He’s with three of my men in a farm about ten miles away.’
‘So it’s not just you and him?’
‘Not exactly.’
He explained about the Purgators.
‘You’re telling me,’ said Vipond, ‘you’ve brought a hundred and sixty Redeemers here.’
‘They’re not really Redeemers.’
‘And what do you expect me to do with these hundred and sixty non-Redeemers?’
‘Well, I won’t tell anyone who they are if you don’t. Have you ever seen a Khazak mercenary?’
‘No,’ said Vipond.
Cale looked at IdrisPukke.
‘No,’ he said at last.
‘Then they’re Khazak mercenaries. Who’s going to know different?’
‘It’s a bit thin,’ said IdrisPukke.
‘It’ll have to do. I’ll worry about it later. Vague Henri is the point.’
‘He must be in great pain.’
‘Not really.’
‘Every philosopher can stand the toothache except the one who has it, right?’
‘No. You’ve seen that kit I have for stitching wounds and that.’
‘I remember.’
‘It’s got a small cake of opium in it.’
‘You never said.’
‘Why would I?’
‘Sounds a bit indulgent for Redeemers,’ said IdrisPukke.
‘They can be very generous when it comes to themselves. Nobody likes the idea of dying in agony if they don’t have to. Anyway, with a hundred and sixty of us we can keep him toked until the cows come home. We got the shaft out but it snapped off and the head is stuck real deep.’
In the end IdrisPukke persuaded Cale to bring Vague Henri into Spanish Leeds while he sorted out the surgeon. Cale took two days of rations for the Purgators in one of two wagons and sent it on to a wood twenty miles away with the two Purgators who’d been guarding Vague Henri. Then along with Hooke, who fancied himself as a bit of a doctor, he made his way back to Spanish Leeds with the nearly unconscious Vague Henri lying in the back of the other wagon. As long as they could keep him from his occasional fits of shouting they’d have a good chance of getting into the city. The borders might be jumpy but Spanish Leeds was a merchant town and the men who’d made it rich didn’t see that it was necessary yet to start annoying customers or encouraging the authorities to begin sticking their noses into things that didn’t concern them. So Hooke gave Vague Henri an extra half-cake of opium to keep him quiet and shoved a pile of blankets over him. They passed into the city without a problem and soon Vague Henri was snoring away back to a lighter state of unconsciousness in Vipond’s bedroom being examined by the uneasy surgeon, a John Bradmore, who IdrisPukke had managed to bribe to come and offer his opinion.