The Ruby In Her Navel Page 34

  As I say, this writing was small, and I postponed the reading of it for a little while, turning to the sheets that followed. All the time I was looking for Alicia's name, feeling sure that Yusuf, once knowing that the meeting in Bari had been deliberately contrived, would have set people on to watch her and find out what they could about her past. But she was not here among these names, Yusuf had not made the same mistake as I – there was nothing to connect her with Atenulf or Gerbert or my mission to Potenza.

  I found her in the entry concerning Bertrand of Bonnval and more lines were given to him than to her. The long course of his efforts, public and private, to increase the Norman power at court and foment hostility towards the Saracens in the palace service, all was given here with details that went back over several years. Alicia had less than a page to herself. Those returned from the Holy Land who had known her there had been questioned and had testified to the dissolute manner of her life, her lovers, the lavishness of her spending which was impoverishing her husband and the cause of much quarrelling when he tried to curtail it. There were some who said that the manner of his death had been other than the one given out, that a stoppage of the heart can have various causes. But such rumours were too vague, Yusuf had noted, amounting to little more than gossip. Some lines were devoted to her father. Far from having taken part in any revolt, he had been Roger's firm and constant follower, no slightest suspicion of disloyalty was attached to his name; he had on various occasions given hospitality to his Norman peers at his castle in Apulia, among them Bertrand and his lady. There was no reference to the state of his health in the present or the past.

  My last defence was stripped away by this reading, my last attempt to attenuate her treachery. There had been no threat to her life or to any member of her family, there had been no forcing of her. My bitterness returned, the sense of having been treated cruelly, like some tender-skinned creature that has strayed into a blistering light it is helpless to avoid and so can only wriggle and suffer.

  To escape from these thoughts I turned back among the sheets until I found again the sketch of the triangle. Yusuf had drawn lines which went out at right angles from the exact centre of each side. I saw that these lines were designed to show connections between the three names written at the angles. Gerbert's name was at the apex, Atenulf's at the angle on the left. Along the line that came out on this side two things were written, one above and one below. I drew the lamp nearer and strained my eyes to read. The writing above the line related to Gerbert and gave a date of three months previously when he had visited the city of Augsburg, where at that time Conrad Hohenstaufen was holding court.

  Below the line was a briefer note: Tostheim-Augsburg 6 leagues. Tostheim was Atenulf's birthplace, his father's lands were there – this much I knew. No date was given, but it was natural that a son should sometimes return to the home of his parents. A simple matter, in the course of one such visit, to travel those leagues. Departure and return would be scarcely noticed. Natural also that a prelate of high degree like Gerbert, with his knowledge of the language and his experience of the country, should be chosen to bear missives from Rome to the King of the Germans…

  I sat back, staring straight before me. These two events might have coincided – that must be what Yusuf had meant by drawing only the single line. That would mean that on a certain day in the early summer of this present year Atenulf and Gerbert had been at Augsburg together in the royal presence. Render unto Caesar. Who was Caesar now, I had asked myself. There was an answer here. He who hated King Roger with a mortal hatred as usurper of his lands and powers. He who had himself crowned King of Italy at Monza at a time when he still possessed no more than a German Dukedom. He was Caesar and heir to all the Caesars, in his own eyes at least, grandson and nephew of Emperors, bent on the Roman Imperial title and the lands of Italy conquered and held in subjection by Charlemagne. Conrad of Hohenstaufen. Was it for him I had carried the purse?

  XXVII

  There was still nothing to do but wait. I could not go with such a story to the Justiciars or the Curia Regis. There was no definite evidence of a plot, no evidence that Atenulf had made the journey from Tostheim to Augsburg or that Gerbert had sought an audience with Conrad or that the times had coincided. If I made accusations now, my own part in carrying the money would come into question. Moreover, the plan – if indeed there was one – would be abandoned; some other means, some other time, would be found.

  It was still no more than suspicion but it was with me while I measured out the time of waiting. It was a prospect of action, it helped to save me from the misery of dwelling on the past – by day at least. At night it was otherwise; I was sleeping badly and would wake sweating from dreams of gleaming water and looming, distorted shapes, and the nausea would return to me. Caterina brought me food but I had no appetite for it. As the day approached a passion of desire grew in me that I should be proved right, that I might recover a particle of self-regard as one who was not always duped, might even win some small degree of pardon from Yusuf, since these had been his suspicions too. It came to me in the fevers of my sleep that he and I were joined again, together again in understanding, and I had brief happiness in this, though we were united not in friendship but in suspicion, the common sentiment of the Diwan.

  When the morning came I rose at first light and dressed hastily. As I made my way towards the Royal Chapel, the dawn call to prayer was sounding from the minarets of the city, followed soon by the bells of the churches announcing daybreak. Groups of labourers with the tools of their trade strapped at their backs were gathering at street corners, waiting to be hired for building work. Familiar sounds and sights – the familiarity troubled me with doubts. Could there be an element of such astounding difference in this place known so well, in this pearly light of a summer morning seen so often before?

  The doors of the Chapel were open wide. There were women carrying armfuls of flowers inside to scatter in the aisles and transept, white lilies, in memory of the shining raiment of Christ on the morning of the Transfiguration. They had been gathered early – I saw the dew on them as the women went past me. The flowers were to honour the King's attending the liturgy and I thought they must have been brought by order of the palace. This was confirmed when I went inside and saw an under-chamberlain I knew slightly directing the proceedings, a man named Lupinus, who was employed in the King's household.

  The flowers gave a scent of great sweetness, which filled the whole space of the church. I think of all the moments that had elapsed since the shadows of the birds' wings on the surface of the pool at Favara and the vague birth of my suspicions, this was the one when the notion of a plot against the King's life seemed strangest. The bustle of the women, the air of importance Lupinus assumed as he directed them, the sweet odour of the scattered flowers, the daylight that entered through the open doors and filled the body of the church, it was all so much to be expected on such a day as this, an occasion of happiness, the one day before His death when Christ was imbued with the divine light and showed the divine nature, when God declared Himself well pleased with his beloved Son. Today the King would be present to bathe in this light, to share in it as God's deputy on earth…

  I began to walk down the nave towards the Sanctuary. I could see nothing yet, the wall of the nave cut off my view. It was not until I had almost reached the crossing, close to the place where I had come upon Gerbert and his companions, that I was able to look up at the south wall of the transept. A platform there was, though it was not possible to see any scaffolding or planks that might be joined together, because of a dark drapery that fell round on either side and was gathered below. However, I could see the ropes that secured the four corners; they rose through the canopy and were hooked together higher up, close to the ceiling. The covering itself was silk, by the look of it, and dark purple in colour.

  It was so arranged that it allowed a parting in the middle, though this was closed now and I saw no way of opening it from below. There was a w
indow directly behind, not visible in its shape but giving some faint light to the area enclosed by the curtain. I saw no sign of life or movement, no faintest shadow of a human presence, within this canopy. It hung there, directly opposite the King's viewing place on the opposite wall, a little higher than this.

  I had stared up too long: a faintness came over me and for some moments I felt in danger of falling. This passed but I was still slightly uncertain of my footing as I walked over to Lupinus, the floor being made uneven by the strewn lilies. He gave me good-day but showed no gladness at the sight of me. By this time I was reassured that Muhammed had spoken the truth when he said my name had not been published, so set down Lupinus' lack of warmth to a suspicion that I had come from the Diwan of Control to meddle in his work. To counteract this I fell to complimenting him on the beautiful appearance of the church, with the flowers strewn everywhere, but even as I did so I was reminded of the litter on the floor of Yusuf's rooms and the sickness and sorrow that had come to me standing in the midst of it.

  "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."

  "Your days of killing are over," I said. Even now, in the way his eyes fastened on me and his grip tightened on the knife, there was something in him that daunted me and overbore my spirit, and I turned away from him without speaking more.

  What followed is soon told. Others had gathered, as happens strangely quickly when there is accident or injury. I recounted the part I had played, though briefly: my suspicions of the shrouded platform, placed as it was to overlook the King's viewing place, my decision to investigate, my discovery of the assassin. Lupinus bore me out in much of this and I was thankful now that I had spoken to him.

  Since it touched on the safety of the King's person, word was sent to the palace guard and four came, with a captain in charge of them. The crossbow, and a single bolt – all Spaventa had deemed necessary – were recovered from the folds of the silk where they had rested. Spaventa himself, white to the lips but completely silent, was lifted on to a litter and we all, including Lupinus and the man who had seen me take the ladder and the three women who had been bringing in the flowers, were escorted, first to the Precentor of the Chapel, then afterwards, and with him also now part of the company, before the Magister Justiciar at the Vice-Chancery, Robert of Cellaro.

  Here the story was repeated, once again I was supported in my account by the witnesses. Afterwards I asked for a private audience, and this was accorded me. It was the Magister himself who heard me and my words were taken down by his notary. I told of my earlier suspicions, the request that had come from the Curia Regis to our Diwan to furnish the purse, the false story I had been told by Atenulf and Wilfred, my meeting with Spaventa at Potenza and the delivery of the money, his unguarded words which I had afterwards construed into an intention to murder the King on this Sunday, the day of Transfiguration.