Hawk Quest (18 page)

‘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.

XI

The expedition to track down Snorri started in a muddle. When Hero arrived at the inn by dawn’s first light, Raul couldn’t be found. Wayland had last seen him reeling into the night with a jug of mead clutched in one hand and a nervous-looking whore in the other. On the road from Norwich, Hero’s mule cast a shoe and it was midday before a smith sent them on their way again. Trying to make up for lost time, they took directions from a peasant and ended up back at the crossroads they’d started from. Nightfall caught them miles short of Lynn, forcing them to take shelter in a rat-infested barn, where they discovered that neither of them had brought any food. Wayland stalked out in disgust and spent the rest of the night under a wrecked cart.

Tempers were still frayed when they reached Lynn, a fledgling port straddling a lagoon where the Great Ouse flowed into the Wash. Here they faced another problem. Hero couldn’t speak English and Way -land couldn’t speak at all. Eventually, Hero went into the settlement to make such enquiries as he could, leaving Wayland by a ferry upstream.

The day was calm and warm. Wayland sat hugging his knees, watching wildfowl rise and fall over distant mud flats. This was his first close view of the sea and it was nothing like the tempestuous ocean his grandfather’s tales had painted on his imagination. Yet something about the brilliant monotony entranced him. His mind dissolved into it, transporting him across horizons to a land where dwelt white falcons as big as eagles.

Hero flung himself down. ‘I knew this was a fool’s errand.’ He rolled over and doled out biscuits. ‘Snorri was here on Tuesday, selling fish at the market. But you can forget about the ship. None of the locals has seen it. They say he’s a crackbrain.’ Hero waved across the river. ‘He lives up the coast, a day’s journey there and back. We’d need a guide to find our way through the marshes, but we can’t risk anyone finding out what we’re up to.’

Wayland could see where this was leading.

Hero sat up. ‘If it was up to me, I’d say the hell with it. By now Vallon will have the money. He can take his pick of ships. If we go chasing around in the marshes, we won’t get back to Norwich until tomorrow.’ He paused. ‘What do
you
think?’

Wayland stood and set off towards the ferry.

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?’

Wayland waved his hand.
No
.

Hero hurried after him and held out a purse. ‘You’d better take this. In case there is a ship. To show that we’re serious.’

Paths made with bundles of withies ran through the marsh, diverting Wayland to peat cuttings or salt pans or little islands whose residents – all strangely alike in feature – shook their fists and hurled clods until he retreated. Other trails followed some logic lost on Wayland, ending in reed-choked culs-de-sac or petering out in sludgy wallows. He set his own course, jumping fleets and ditches, until he reached a mere too deep to wade and too boggy to bypass. Balked, he headed for the coast
and followed the shoreline, negotiating saltings where the tides had hollowed out holes big enough to swallow a horse and cart. The terrain was too flat to offer a view of the way ahead and several times he detoured on to peninsulas that dead-ended in mud flats or sandspits.