He steepled his fingers like Father Pierre and nodded, but he didn’t interrupt.
When I was done, he scratched his beard. ‘Very complete. You won a tournament under the eyes of the Emperor? You know that our Order is expressly forbidden to fight in such affairs? Eh?’
I sat back, stricken. ‘I-’
‘Please don’t tell me you didn’t know. I believe I have taught you the Rule myself.’ Fra Juan, for all his ambition and occasional venality, was a commanding figure.
I stuttered like a boy caught stealing.
He waved. ‘A minor sin next to the fame you won us. I will get you a pardon and a light penance, I promise you, but as long as you are on duty and wear the Order’s habit, it is forbidden. Yes?’
I swallowed.
‘Sometimes, in this Order, we do things that are forbidden for the good of all. You know what the good Fra Peter says: it is possible that we will go to Hell? And that is a worthy thing for a knight to give his soul for others that they may see heaven. So much for the sin of pride. Are you strong, my son? In your faith? In your belief in God?’ He frowned.
I sat very still.
He handed me a large square of parchment. It was stained brown.
As I bent it, it cracked.
‘This came wrapped around some meat,’ Fra Juan said. His eyes met mine. ‘It was addressed to you.’
I swallowed again. My mouth was full of salt.
‘The letter is in Latin, and it was easier to read before the blood dried,’ Fra Juan said. ‘Did you know a young woman named Anne?’
In a moment, I couldn’t hear him. Instead, I was seeing the ginger-bearded man who had followed me and watched me with Anne.
I may be a damned fool when I have been hit in the head, but I’m accounted quick enough to do sums and audit the accounts of the Order, or to carry a message between cardinals. Or command armies.
‘… dead,’ Fra di Heredia said. ‘I believe that this was to have held her heart.’
I was shaking.
Fra Juan leaned forward. He spoke very slowly, as if I was a child, and very quietly. ‘These are bad men, even by my standards, Sir William. And very, very powerful men.’ He put a hand on my shoulder. ‘Their intention was to force you to meet with them. To turn you to their will.’
A small area of the parchment was legible, and in neat copyist’s Latin it said, ‘meet’ and then ‘To your advantage’ and later ‘unfortunate’.
‘This wasn’t the first letter,’ I said heavily.
Fra Juan pursed his lips. ‘No,’ he said. ‘There was a letter the same day you left. And when you did not attend their meeting, they meant to kill her.’ He looked at me.
‘You are killing me, my lord. Is she alive?’ I asked.
‘And very far away.’ Heredia nodded. ‘You owe me for this — understand?’
I fell to my knees, as the Order’s spymaster no doubt intended. But I didn’t care. I didn’t care that he had two mistresses and more ambition than the entire college of cardinals.
‘I took her from them. It is not important how.’ He shrugged, and in his long, ascetic Spanish face I saw a man as dangerous as any I had known. He permitted himself a small smile of satisfaction, and then the smile was gone. His eyes were bland — and blank. ‘I like you, Sir William. We have many things in common. You owe me one. That is all, except that the Bishop of Geneva means our legate harm, and this was but a small battle in that war.’ The Spanish knight tapped his teeth with his thumb. ‘Do not, I pray, offer this man or his minions any more hostages.’ He leaned back. ‘How is my … nephew?’ he asked.
At the time, I barely noticed his hesitation. ‘An excellent man, my lord, and ready for knighthood.’
‘Ah!’ Fra Juan nodded. ‘It is that time — indeed, the Crusade is a noble occasion. Thank you for the reminder.’
I went to my cell, lay full length on the cold floor, and prayed.
When I went down to eat with my brothers, I felt better, and that lasted for some hours, until I realised that Marc-Antonio was missing.
The Hospital was almost empty of knights and donats and even mercenary men-at-arms. They were all headed to Venice for the Passagium Generale and any knight worthy of his habit was with them except di Heredia, who was the Pope’s commander in Avignon.
I went to him first, instead of running through the streets like a fool.
‘I will send a message,’ he said. He looked at me. ‘Expect the worst.’
With the Bourc and d’Herblay, the worst was bad indeed. ‘I will kill them,’ I said. ‘The Bourc Camus.’ I paused. ‘The Comte d’Herblay.’
Di Heredia shrugged. ‘Just do not ask my permission,’ he said. ‘I command you not to leave the environs of the Hospital.’
While I fretted in my cell and tried to pray, I realised a number of things. I realised that Emile was a Savoyard, and that she lived somewhere in the debatable counties between Geneva and Burgundy. Her husband had served with the Savoyards at Brignais.
Her husband, who hated her, and knew the Bourc Camus.
Yet even in my panic, and as I began to understand the power of the coalition against Father Pierre and how I could be used against him, I was deep in panic. Still, I knew that Emile was a practical woman with a talent for controlling her husband. And that she would not have a will that would allow him a brass farthing if she were kidnapped and killed. I had to credit her with that much sense.
And further, it is difficult to protect a woman you have not seen in two years and more.
I prayed. It is one of the times that I’d say prayer helped me the most, in that with prayer came the clarity, sent, I think, by that fine soldier Saint Maurice: the clarity to see that my first duty lay to my squire.
And as I rose from my knees, a Turkish slave fetched me to attend Fra Juan.
‘My friend Robert, Bishop of Geneva, has been polite enough to say that there has been some misunderstanding, that Marc-Antonio was rescued from some brigands and is safe, and will be returned to you unharmed. And all you have to do is go and fetch him.’ Di Heredia tapped his teeth with his thumbnail. ‘I am almost sure that they do not mean to kill you. But almost sure is separated from sure by the length of a dagger … You know that expression?’
‘I can handle myself,’ I said, or something equally foolish and untrue.
He nodded. ‘They can kill you. My question is: what can they offer you to turn you? Would you betray Father Pierre?’
‘No!’ I said, hotly.
‘Good,’ Fra Juan said. ‘Try to remember that. If I don’t see you in three hours, I’ll pay them a visit.’
I rode to the bishop’s palace and dismounted, leaving my riding horse with servants. The Bishop of Geneva had a palace as large as most of the cardinals, and larger than the Hospital. I wore the Emperor’s sword — it was like a talisman, and it made me brave, but in truth, I was terrified. Battle is one thing. This was another.
The major-domo, a deacon, escorted me to the great hall. The bishop sat on a low throne, with men standing around him. The hall was hung in tapestries, magnificent weavings of war and the chase and scenes from the chansons. The blues were vibrant and alive, the reds stark. A hart bled out, and its blood pooled in scarlet silk almost to the floor.
I wore my surcoat of the Order, a little travel stained. It was, I thought, the best armour I had.
The bishop raised an arm from where he sat on a low dais. ‘Sir William!’ he called. His voice was a trifle high, but so is mine. His slightly protuberant eyes locked on mine. He smiled. ‘Please grace us with your presence.’
The Bourc Camus was standing at his right side. D’Herblay was nowhere to be seen. Marc-Antonio was with them; he had a cut across his face and a black eye, but he was well dressed and he was smiling. I didn’t know the other men.
I bowed, fully and respectfully. ‘My lord, I came as soon as I received your message.’ This was the tack that di Heredia and I had determined on. ‘I am so relieved to see my squire in good spirits.’