Hawk Quest

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On a mild overcast afternoon at the beginning of April, the runagates gathered by a busy crossroads on the Ermine Way, a few miles south of Stamford. In the surrounding fields, peasants were sowing and harrowing, the same scene repeated all the way to the flat horizons, as though the peasants themselves were a crop.

The company lounged back on their elbows, legs outstretched, heels propped on toes, watching the passing traffic. Nobody bothered them. After three weeks sleeping rough, they looked a thoroughly villainous crew. So did many of the other itinerants on that highway. Carters, drovers, vagabonds and refugees criss-crossed the junction, where a makeshift bazaar of stalls and booths offered refreshments, charms and horoscopes. A squadron of Norman cavalry rode by looking neither left nor right and went highstepping south, towards London. Raul farted.

‘What are we waiting for?’ asked Hero.

Vallon stood and squinted north to the highway’s vanishing point where a small but important outline had appeared against the milky sky. It advanced slowly, slower than a man walks, gradually shaping itself into a wagon train of four great carts, each drawn by six oxen and piled so high with bales and kegs that they resembled lurching siege engines. Whips snaked and cracked. Two thuggish outriders flanked the convoy and crop-eared mastiffs stalked between the wheels. A feral-looking boy darted from wagon to wagon, greasing the axles with lard. The driver of the leading vehicle was whippet-thin with a face like a shrivelled wineskin. Beside him sat the train captain, an immensely fat merchant with dewlaps spilling over his fur muff.

Vallon walked into the road with Raul and held up a hand. The teamster drove back the mastiffs with whiplashes of stinging precision. Vallon leaned on the drawbar while Raul translated. When Hero saw the merchant turn his piggy eyes towards him, he had a premonition of ill fate.

Money changed hands. Vallon walked back, took Hero’s elbow and led him aside.

‘Are we going to London?’

‘You are. This is where we part company.’

Hero felt hot and cold at the same time. ‘How have I offended you?’

‘You haven’t. The truth is, we’re stepping deeper into danger, and you’re not cut out for it.’

‘I’m tougher than Richard.’

‘Richard has no choice but to flee these shores. You have better things to do with your life.’

‘But I vowed to serve you.’

‘I release you from that vow,’ Vallon said. He kissed Hero on both cheeks and stood back. ‘Don’t think I won’t miss your company. Evenings around the hearth won’t be the same without your stories and speculations.’

It was happening too fast for Hero to muster an argument. The teamster rolled his whip. Vallon raised his arm. ‘The fare’s been paid. The merchant’s a rogue, but he won’t harm you. I told him I’d be joining you in London.’ He pressed money into Hero’s hand. ‘I’m sorry I can’t spare more. I know you’ll reach home, though. Apply yourself to your studies. Write to me in Byzantium. Astonish me with news of your achievements. God speed you and keep you.’ He squeezed Hero’s shoulder and turned away.

One by one, the others came up to make their farewells. Richard sobbed openly. Raul grasped him in a bear hug. Wayland regarded him with cool blue eyes, looked like he might shake his hand, then nodded and turned.

The wagon train trundled into motion. Hero watched his companions walk away down the highway, travelling east. Vallon didn’t look back. Didn’t turn his head once.

Hero wept. All his life the men he loved had disappointed him. His father had dandled all five of his sisters and died three months before the birth of his only son. Cosmas, the man who could have taught him everything, had been with him for less than a month. And now Vallon, the captain whom he’d vowed to follow until death, had discarded him without a backward glance.

He really was all alone. His companions had crossed the horizon in one direction; the wagon train had disappeared in the other. Only the serfs remained, stooped and wretched in the clotted light. Hero dragged himself up and shuffled towards London.

Around the campfire that night, Vallon told the remaining fugitives that the first leg of their journey was nearly over: in two days they would reach Norwich.

‘Tomorrow we’ll hire three mules and buy new clothes. Next day we’ll enter Norwich separately. Richard, you’ll ride ahead and find lodgings and make contact with the moneylender. Wayland will escort you as far as the city walls. Go in by yourself. It will be safer. Use a false name and say that you’re travelling on family business.’

‘One of the soldiers might recognise me. If news of our crimes has reached Norwich …’

‘If the worst happens, tell them the truth about the ransom and the moneylender. Remember you’re Olbec’s son. You don’t take shit from common soldiers. Wayland, if Richard runs into trouble, wait for us outside the west gate. Raul and I will join you by sunset. We’ll be travelling as military engineer and engineer’s assistant.’

‘All the gates will be watched,’ Raul said. ‘The guards will ask for papers.’

‘Lady Margaret gave me documents carrying the royal seal. No soldier would dare open them.’ Vallon laced his hands behind his head. ‘Well,’ he said through a yawn, ‘the night after next we’ll eat like lords and sleep under goose down.’

His assurances fell into a queasy silence. Everyone knew that Norwich was one of the most formidable Norman strongholds in England. Three hundred soldiers manned its castle, and they would be alert. Less than a year ago the garrison had helped capture the Isle of Ely, the last redoubt of English resistance, only a day’s ride to the south. The rebel leader called Hereward had escaped the encirclement and was still at large, rebuilding his forces, it was rumoured.

Richard and Wayland left for Norwich at cockcrow. Vallon and Raul followed at noon, riding across the levels under a huge blue sky. Vallon wore his hair cropped short, Norman style, and was clothed in clerical grey. Miles before they reached Norwich, they could see the castle dominating the skyline.

They halted at a drinking trough well short of the west gate and mingled with other travellers watering their animals. Wooden walls surrounded the city and a guard tower bridged the gate. Curfew was approaching and the road was busy.

‘No sign of Wayland,’ Vallon said. ‘Let’s hope the Normans haven’t arrested him.’

Raul spat. ‘They’d have more chance of catching the wind.’

Vallon led his mule back to the road. They eased into the stream of travellers. The sergeant of the guard, a hard-bitten veteran, watched them approach.

‘That one’s trouble,’ said Raul.

The sergeant crooked a finger. ‘You two. Move to one side. Get down.’

Vallon stayed mounted. The sergeant strutted up to him. ‘Didn’t you hear me?’

‘I heard,’ Vallon said in a clipped voice, ‘and I’ve a good mind to repay your insolence with the flat of my sword. I’m Ralph of Dijon, military engineer, travelling on the King’s commission. As for my business, that’s not for you to know.’

‘Papers.’

The sergeant returned them after examining the seal. He hailed a soldier who was rubbing down a horse outside the tower. ‘Hey, Fitz, escort these two to the castle.’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Vallon. ‘I want to take a look at the city’s outer fortifications while there’s still light.’

The sergeant’s jaw jutted. ‘The castellan doesn’t like visitors dropping in unannounced. I’ll send Fitz to let him know you’re on your way.’

‘No, you won’t. My job is to inspect the King’s defences any way I see fit. This is a surprise inspection. That’s why the castellan isn’t expecting me.’ He flicked the documents. ‘Understood?’

The sergeant stiffened to attention. ‘Sir.’

They could hear him muttering obscenities as they rode through the gate. ‘He won’t forget you in a hurry,’ Raul said.

‘I know. Let’s hope he doesn’t enquire about us at the castle.’

Raul stood on tiptoe. ‘There’s Wayland.’

The falconer turned his back on them and went up the thoroughfare, dodging through a crowd of vendors and shoppers. Vallon and Raul followed, pestered by a swarm of touts and beggars, the lame and the blind hopping and tapping in their wake. From every doorway children observed them with sharp urban eyes. Months had passed since Vallon had been in a city. He breathed in the pungent mixture of woodsmoke, sawn timber, meat, tallow, bread, livestock and shit. They turned a corner by a church with a round stone tower and left the stink and hubbub behind. Two turnings later they were in a narrow lane deserted except for a rooting hog. Wayland stopped at an iron-reinforced gate in a high wall and jangled a bell.

Richard opened the gate and led them into a courtyard paved with moss-grown cobbles. On three sides stood an ancient house with a timbered gallery, once level but now undulating and sprouting weeds. Doves cooed on the tiled roof. A well of silence filled the court.

‘You said you wanted somewhere quiet.’

‘It’s perfect.’

Richard beamed. ‘It belonged to an English merchant. I rented it from his widow, two months’ rent in advance. She thinks you’re a French wine importer. I took a room for Wayland and Raul at the White Hart, by the cornmarket.’

‘Did you find the moneylender?’

‘It wasn’t difficult. His house is right under the castle walls.’

‘Has he received the letters?’

‘Days ago. He’ll see us tomorrow, after sunset.’

‘Why so late?’

‘It’s the Sabbath.’

‘How did he react when you gave him our names? Did he seem nervous?’

‘I didn’t meet him. I wasn’t invited into the house. I spoke to someone through a grille.’

Bells were striking compline when Vallon and Richard set off for their appointment with Aaron. In the dusk-shrouded streets, shopkeepers were boarding up their premises and citizens hurried homewards. The castle keep loomed bone-white against the bruised sky.

‘I wish Hero was with us,’ said Richard. ‘He deserves to see our business brought to a successful conclusion.’

‘Success isn’t guaranteed. Drogo must have guessed our intention. There aren’t many moneylenders in England. He could have got to them first.’

‘He doesn’t have any power over the Jews. They’re not even Norman subjects. The King brought them from Rouen as his personal chattels.’

The street opened into a wide plaza surrounding the castle — a massive structure built on a huge artificial mound. In the middle of the open space stood a scaffold and several whipping posts. The heads of executed malefactors sprouted from poles planted above the castle gate. Aaron the Jew’s house lay within sight of the gateway, on the corner of a street leading down to the haymarket. It was a substantial two-storey stone hall, the ground floor blind, the windows on the first floor barred and shuttered. Steps led up to an arched door braced with iron straps. Vallon lifted the heavy knocker.

A grilled flap opened and a grave-looking eye regarded them through the lattice. Several bolts were struck before the door swung open. A young man with delicate features ushered them inside. Instead of the usual aisled hall, a corridor led down one side of the house past a series of rooms. Vallon had a sense of life lived behind closed doors. He thought he heard muted female voices. The last doorway stood open. The youth bade them enter. The room was neither large nor extravagantly furnished, yet the glint of silver, the thick Moorish carpet and the scent of beeswax gave the chamber an air of restrained opulence. Aaron, dressed in a silk gown and turban, stood at a polished table that held a bowl containing a pot-pourri of rose petals. Behind him a fire burned in a wall-hearth. By the shuttered glass window a pair of goldfinches twittered in a cage.

‘Please,’ he said. ‘Be seated.’

‘I believe you’ve received letters from my mother,’ Richard said.

Aaron smoothed a roll of parchment and let it flick back. ‘Lady Margaret wishes to pledge lands in Normandy as security for a loan.’

Richard reached under his cape. ‘Here are the deeds. I understand that the estate is valued at more than three hundred pounds.’

Aaron angled the documents to the candlelight. ‘On paper, yes, but I’ll have to ask my agent to make an independent valuation.’

‘How long will that take?’

‘Hard to say. Not more than six weeks.’

‘Six weeks!’

‘It depends on conditions at sea. The last time I crossed to Normandy, I had to wait eight days for a favourable wind.’

Richard shot Vallon an appalled glance. ‘The ransom deadline looms close. My brother’s life hangs in the balance.’

Aaron’s dark eyes remained calm. ‘The property may have deteriorated. I have to make sure that it isn’t entailed. There may be other legal encumbrances.’

Vallon touched Richard’s wrist. ‘I’m the man who carried the ransom terms to Lady Margaret,’ he said. ‘There are complications that Richard is embarrassed to speak about. Sir Walter has a stepbrother of the same age. There’s a long history of rivalry. Until I arrived, he had every reason to believe that his brother was dead, leaving him the undisputed heir.’

‘I see.’

‘He’s already put obstacles in our path. Given enough time, he could sabotage our venture entirely.’

Aaron composed his hands on the table. ‘This isn’t the first ransom I’ve dealt with. You aren’t the first to find yourselves embroiled in a family dispute. I’m sorry, but it makes no difference. If all goes well, we should be able to seal the contract in three weeks.’ He looked past his guests, brows arching. ‘Yes, Moise?’

His son murmured something in Ladino — the hybrid Spanish-Hebrew tongue used by the Sephardim of Iberia.

‘Excuse me,’ Aaron said, and crossed to the door.

‘We can’t wait three weeks,’ Richard whispered.

‘We might not be around that long,’ Vallon said, watching the pair at the door. The interruption was clearly unexpected. Aaron looked startled, concerned, then resigned, but when he returned, his expression had settled into courteous inscrutability.

‘A young man has called at the house — a Greek who speaks excellent Arabic. He claims to be your servant.’

Vallon had been so sure that the visitor was Drogo or one of his agents that it took a moment to sink in. ‘Hero’s no longer my servant. I dismissed him three days ago. No, “dismissed” is too harsh. I released him so that he could return to his studies.’

Aaron frowned politely. ‘What does he study?’

‘Medicine. But there’s no branch of philosophy that doesn’t excite his curiosity.’

‘Do you want me to send him away?’

‘By your leave, it would be better if he joined us.’

Aaron nodded at Moise. In a little while Hero tottered through the doorway. He looked wasted, his eyes as dark and vacant as a moth’s. Richard gasped with concern and ran to him. When Hero saw Vallon he began to blubber. Vallon only just managed to stop the Sicilian from falling at his feet and kissing his hands.

‘Sit down,’ Aaron said, guiding Hero to a stool. ‘You’re exhausted. You’re ill. Which is ironic. Your master says that you’re a student of medicine.’

Hero nodded and snuffled.

‘Which school do you attend?’

‘The university at Salerno.’

Aaron’s face lit up. ‘The finest in the Christian world. Have you ever met Constantine the African?’

‘He was one of my teachers. It’s because of Constantine that I’m here.’

Aaron’s brows rose halfway to his turban. He laid his arm around Hero’s shoulders. ‘You’d better explain. Moise, bring some soup for the boy. Wine and biscuits for our other guests.’

While Hero recounted how Constantine had recruited him, Vallon and Richard sipped wine from rare beakers of Damascus glass. When Hero had finished, Aaron softly pounded the table. ‘Your master’s right: go back to school and complete your education. It’s a ludicrous undertaking. Four gyrfalcons to be carried from Norway to Anatolia by way of Rus, the expedition to be led by men who are neither traders nor navigators. I wouldn’t consider the proposition for a moment.’

‘We run the risk,’ Vallon pointed out. ‘Whatever happens to us, you won’t be out of pocket.’

Aaron ignored the Frank’s bad manners. He warmed his hands before the fire. ‘What’s the minimum amount you need?’

‘Not less than a hundred pounds.’

‘Including the cost of trade goods?’

‘I’m not a merchant. I hadn’t thought of it as a trading venture.’

‘Pardon me, but if I’m to advance the money, I want to know that it’s working. There’s no sense sailing all that way in an empty ship. I imagine Norway lacks many commodities.’

Hero nodded. ‘They have no wine and little corn.’

‘And presumably they have some resources that would find a market in the south.’

‘Woollens, salted and smoked fish, eider down.’

Aaron spread his hands. ‘You see. You must be businesslike. The falcons are perishable goods. At least protect yourselves against their possible loss.’

Vallon’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you saying you’ll give us the money?’

Aaron permitted himself a smile. ‘I’ll advance you one hundred and twenty pounds. The term of the loan is for one calendar year. Interest will be charged at twopence in the pound, compounded weekly. That’s more than fifty per cent in the year. Yes, I know what you’re thinking. Usurer. But the King takes more than half. Besides, I don’t expect you to redeem the pledge.’

Vallon couldn’t stop his eyes drifting towards the lower floor. Aaron interpreted the look.

‘I don’t keep money here. Come back the day after tomorrow, at noon.’

Vallon rose. ‘Can you help us charter a ship?’

‘I know several merchants who trade with Flanders and Normandy. I’ll make enquiries, but my guess is that none of them would make a crossing to Norway.’

Vallon wasn’t sure how to express his gratitude, or whether he should express it at all. Eventually he held out a hand.

Aaron held on to it. ‘Your face is familiar. Did you campaign in Castile?’

Vallon looked him in the eye. ‘Yes.’

Aaron released his hand. ‘Moise will show you out.’

As Vallon and Richard made for the door, father and son held a whispered conference.

‘One moment.’

Vallon turned.

‘My son reminds me that last summer a man called applying for a loan. What was his name? Never mind. He was a Norwegian, one of the few survivors of the invasion defeated by the English at Stamford Bridge. He escaped in a ship which was blown on to the shores of East Anglia. He wanted money to repair the ship. He offered to repay me in fish, and when I told him I wasn’t a fishmonger, he tried to sell me an orphan English girl. Even if he’d had collateral, I would have refused him. He was a repulsive wretch, careless with the truth and a little touched in the wits.’

‘I think we can do better than that.’

‘I only mention him for these reasons,’ Aaron said. He counted them off on his hand. ‘He has a ship; he needs money to repair it; he wishes to return to his homeland.’ Aaron held up another finger. ‘And, as I said, he’s crazy. I wish I could recall his name. It will come to me the moment you leave.’

‘Where will we find him?’

Aaron conferred with Moise. ‘A town called Lynn. It’s a day’s ride north, on the Wash.’

On the steps outside the entrance, Vallon watched soldiers moving in the glow of braziers by the castle gates.

‘Come here,’ Aaron said to Hero. ‘You know that Jews in England are forbidden to follow any trade other than moneylending.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I’m a wealthy man. I can travel anywhere in the kingdom without paying tolls. In a court of law my word is worth the testimony of twelve native-born Englishmen. I have many personal blessings — my family, my religion, my books, my garden. Yet the truth is, I’m confined to a cage.’

‘We ought to be going,’ Vallon said, eyeing the soldiers.

‘I didn’t choose to be a moneylender,’ Aaron continued. ‘My ambition was to follow the law, but … ’ With a little roll of the hand, he dismissed the tidal waves of history. ‘You must be a scholar of great promise to have been singled out by Constantine Africanus. Don’t waste your talents out of misguided devotion to a … ’ Aaron looked at Vallon. ‘Condottiere.’

‘There’ll be time for my studies when I return.’

‘Ha! The optimism of youth, the bliss of ignorance. There’s never enough time.’

Aaron closed the door. Bolts were shot, chains rattled. The key turned in the lock.

Hero eyed Vallon. ‘Don’t be angry, sir.’

‘Why did you come back?’

‘I couldn’t forget how Cosmas had said an unfinished journey was like a story without an ending. How could I leave without knowing how this one ends?’

Vallon shook his head. ‘Not all travellers reach their destination, not all journeys end happily.’

‘There’s another reason — something that’s been plaguing my conscience.’

Two of the soldiers had begun walking towards them across the plaza. ‘Tell me later.’

They were at the foot of the steps when the judas hole opened. ‘Snorri,’ Aaron called. ‘That’s the Norwegian’s name.’

‘Leave us,’ Vallon said. He waited until Richard had gone, then sat down on a stool by the open window. Hero remained standing in the middle of the room, clasping his medicine casket. A single candle burned on the table. The only other light came from the moon rising in the east.

‘Well?’

Hero spoke in a barely audible voice. ‘When you asked me why Cosmas had gone to such pains to rescue Walter, I told you that he’d acted out of pity and a desire to visit England. I wasn’t speaking the whole truth.’

Vallon remembered his doubts about the old man’s motives. He rested a foot on the window ledge. ‘I’ve had a trying day and I’m in no mood to question or catechise. If you have a confession to make, get on with it.’

‘It’s true that Cosmas went to the Sultan’s camp after the disaster at Manzikert. It’s true that he helped negotiate ransom terms for some of the more noble prisoners, including the Emperor Romanus. While he was involved in these negotiations, he received a message from Sir Walter. It was a strange message and one that greatly excited his curiosity. Walter claimed to have in his possession documents sent by the ruler of a distant Christian realm. One of the documents was a letter addressed to the Byzantine Emperor, offering to forge an alliance against the Turks and Saracens.’

‘How did Walter come by the letter?’

‘While raiding into Armenia, he sacked a Muslim town. The governor gave him the documents in exchange for his life. He himself had obtained them after his troops intercepted a caravan travelling from the east. Cosmas knew how important an alliance could be. He believed that the defeat at Manzikert would lead to a Holy War. He went to the camp where Walter was being held. The Norman showed him the documents and offered them in exchange for his release. Cosmas persuaded Walter to give him the first few pages of the letter, in which the ruler offers an alliance and describes the glories of his far-off realm. The rest of the letter — explaining how an embassy can reach his land — together with the other document, Walter wouldn’t part with. He said that he’d hand them over once Cosmas had bought his freedom.’

‘For a king’s ransom.’

‘That was the first setback. The Emir couldn’t understand why Cosmas would want to free a low-ranking mercenary, so out of mischief or suspicion he set his demands impossibly high.’

‘Go on.’

‘Cosmas intended to raise the ransom from the patriarch in Constantinople. But before he reached the capital, he discovered that the newly returned Emperor had been deposed by his nephew.’

‘The traitor who provoked the rout at Manzikert.’

‘Yes, sir. Cosmas knew that as one of Romanus’s advisors, his own life was in jeopardy. He fled to Italy.’ Hero’s voice faltered.

‘Sit down,’ Vallon said. He waited until Hero was seated, cradling the chest on his knees. ‘We’ve reached Italy. What then?’

‘He visited his old friend Constantine. It was at this point that I was recruited, but I swear I had no knowledge of the documents. All they told me was that we would be travelling to England on a matter of great importance. By the time we left Rome, Cosmas was already showing signs of his fatal illness. I urged him to turn back, but he wouldn’t abandon the journey. The quest had become an obsession.’

‘When did he take you into his confidence?’

‘Not until the night you found us in the storm. He passed the letter to me before he died.’

‘You still have it?’

‘Yes, sir. It’s hidden in my medicine chest.’ Hero made a move to open it.

‘Later. What’s the name of this ruler?’

‘He doesn’t boast a regal title. Out of Christian humility, he calls himself Prester or priest — Prester John.’

Vallon frowned. ‘I’ve heard the Moors speak of him.’

‘As have I. Cosmas heard rumours of him as far east as Samarkand, as far south as Egypt. Some say that he’s descended from one of Alexander the Great’s generals. Others claim that his line goes back to Gaspar, one of the Magi who visited the baby Jesus in Bethlehem.’

‘Where does his realm lie?’

‘Somewhere in the three Indias. When Cosmas made an expedition into Greater India, he discovered several Christian communities founded by the apostle Thomas, the patron saint of Prester John’s realm. Cosmas believes that the seat of his empire is to be found in India the Far, a land that travellers of old call Ethiopia.’

Vallon nodded without really taking it in. For him, India was a place receding into myth and mist.

‘Describe it.’

Hero ran his hands over the lid of the chest. ‘Prester John says that it lies next to the original Eden. It’s divided into seventy-two provinces, each with its own king, some of whom are pagan but all tributary to the supreme ruler. Twelve archbishops and twenty bishops administer to the spiritual welfare of the ruler’s subjects. A river called Physon flows into his realm from Eden. Along this river is a clear fountain with miraculous properties. Anyone who drinks of its waters will be restored to youth and vigour.’

Vallon suppressed a smile. ‘Cosmas was mortally ill. Did he hope to bathe in the fountain of eternal youth?’

‘I don’t know about that, but he told me that if he’d obtained the documents, he would have sold them to finance a voyage to Prester John’s court.’

‘More than one document, you say.’

‘Yes, sir. The other is a gospel whose existence has been long suspected, but not confirmed until now — the Gospel of St Thomas.’

Vallon levitated from his stool. ‘The Gospel of St Thomas.’

‘Including the Secret Sayings of Jesus, recorded in his lifetime.’

Vallon scratched his head. ‘Does the world need another gospel?’

‘Cosmas told me that this one is of inestimable importance. Scholars believe that the four Biblical gospels were written by followers of the apostles, long after their deaths. But the St Thomas gospel was written in his own lifetime, dictated in his own words. Imagine — a first-hand account of Jesus’s life by one of his closest disciples. Let me read you the opening verses.’

Hero opened the secret drawer and extracted a sheet of parchment. ‘The gospel’s written in old Greek. Walter allowed Cosmas to read some of it and transcribe the first page. This is how it begins: Herein is set down the Gospel of Judas Thomas called Didymus, in which I shall show you what no eye has seen, tell you what no ear has heard, give you what no hand has touched, and open up the secret places of the human heart.’

The words resonated in Vallon’s head. His skin prickled. ‘You said that Cosmas intended to sell the documents.’

‘Not merely for personal gain. In the year of my birth, Rome and Constantinople broke off relations in a dispute over which is the head and mother of the Churches. Cosmas hoped that Prester John’s offer of an alliance against the enemies of Christendom might help mend the schism. Cosmas also had other calculations. In his lifetime he’s seen political power slip from Constantinople to Rome. Although Byzantium is the richer empire, her territories are small and isolated, while Rome’s ecclesiastical jurisdiction extends throughout Europe. He believed that if Constantinople possessed the Gospel of St Thomas, it would strengthen the patriarch’s hand in his dealings with the pope.’

Church politics meant nothing to Vallon. For him it was enough that he believed in God, prayed more or less daily, and wasn’t surprised or disappointed when his prayers went unanswered.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Cosmas swore me to secrecy. He knew nothing about you except that you were a mercenary. He thought you might steal the letter and sell it in Rome. In his last few days he wasn’t in his proper state of mind.’

‘Did he expect you to continue the quest on your own?’

Hero hung his head. ‘At first I was honoured to be given the task. That excitement didn’t last long. Once I’d considered what the mission would involve, I knew it was beyond me. I wanted to tell you, but with every passing day it became more difficult to confess my deception. I feared your anger. I thought you’d punish me by driving me away.’

‘What were you going to do with the information?’

‘Hold it close until we’d completed our journey to England. I hoped that Olbec would reward us for bringing him news of his son. I didn’t know that Walter had exaggerated his family’s wealth or concealed Drogo’s existence. My intention once we’d parted company was to return to Italy and hand the letter over to the patriarch in Sicily.’

‘All without a word to me.’

Hero averted his face. ‘Punish me as you see fit. If you cast me away again, it would be no more than I deserve.’

Vallon leaned forward. ‘Hero, I guarded you safe throughout our long journey. For your sake I risked my life, endured cold, hunger and exhaustion.’ He stabbed a finger. ‘By all rights, in all honour, I should kill you.’

Hero’s eyes bolted. ‘Yes, sir. My treachery is unforgivable.’

Vallon stared at him. ‘What a fool you are.’ He kicked the stool over. ‘What a fool am I!’ He paced around the room. ‘In any other circumstances I would have known that Cosmas wouldn’t be travelling to England without some secret motive. The reason I didn’t was that my mind was clouded by grief.’ Vallon stopped, face darkening, and pointed a trembling finger. ‘You simpered and flattered.’ Vallon pitched his voice high. ‘“Oh, sir, you are strong and I am weak. Please help me.”’ Vallon whirled and braced his hands each side of the window.

Hero began to sob. ‘I know you were troubled in mind and are troubled still.’

Vallon’s vision cleared. He looked out into the garden. A carpet of mist had lapped up from the river and ducks quacked in the murk. He drew a shaky breath and straightened up. ‘What are the documents worth?’

‘Whatever price you ask. Enough gold to keep you comfortable for life. A duke’s title and estate. But first you have to get your hands on them, and I think that will be impossible.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s as Aaron said. A voyage to Norway and then a journey through Rus and across the Black Sea. Sir, even an army couldn’t complete such an epic undertaking.’

Vallon turned. ‘A group of determined individuals can travel further and faster than any army. Cosmas proved that. You told me that he journeyed to the ends of the world and didn’t even carry arms.’

‘Yes, sir. But Cosmas was exceptional.’

‘Does Walter know what the documents are worth?’

‘He knows they’re valuable, but doesn’t understand wherein their value lies. He can’t read and his circumstances make it impossible for him to make a translation.’

Vallon stared into the night, a vast enterprise beginning to take shape in his mind. ‘Go to bed.’

‘Sir?’

‘Go to bed. I need to think.’

‘Are you done with me, or is this merely a suspension of punishment?’

‘I won’t punish you. Your conscience may have saved our lives. If you hadn’t shown up at Aaron’s house, we’d be kicking our heels for the next month.’

‘Does that mean I can stay?’

‘Perhaps that is your punishment. I gave you a chance to quit the enterprise; there won’t be another. You’re tied to my destiny now.’

‘As you will it.’

‘Nothing can be set in motion until we have the money. Until then, I don’t want you to stray beyond the house. Tell no one about the documents.’

A long pause. ‘I almost confided in Richard. It was a burden too great to bear.’

‘Now you share it with me. Keep it that way.’

Hero’s feet dragged as he left the room.

Vallon put up a hand. ‘On second thoughts, you might as well make yourself of service.’

‘Whatever you command.’

‘Get all the rest you can. The day after tomorrow, go to Lynn and find the Norwegian. Take Raul and Wayland. It will probably be a wasted journey, but it will keep the three of you out of mischief.’

When Hero had gone, Vallon stood at the window gazing at the moon. He shivered. It wasn’t the dank river air that brought him out in goosebumps. He’d embarked on the journey as an act of penance, but now he had a nobler purpose — one ordained by heaven. Appointed to show the way, Cosmas had said, that dark all-seeing eye fixed on him. Vallon dropped to his knees and raised his hands in prayer.

‘Dear Lord, thank you for giving me this task. I’ll pursue it with all my might, and if I succeed, then by Your grace and if it pleases You, redeem me of my grievous sins.’

Moonlight sharpened his profile, etched deep shadows on his face. It was late. He closed the shutters, lay down on his bed and for the first time in months slept like a baby.