Gulling The Kings Read online

  I had spent a good deal of time thinking about the best way to proceed against the murdering bastard whilst we were sailing to Lisbon. But now that I was actually in the great city, I was not really sure as to what we should do. As a result, Peter and I talked for quite some time. When we finished we had a plan of action. It wasn’t a great plan, but at least it gave us a place to start. If Peter had sailed with me, we would have had more time to talk and we might have come up with something better; I need to keep that in mind in the future.

  And, of course, we could always use the plan Peter suggested we use if my plan didn’t work—hire someone locally to stick a knife in the bastard.

  ******

  Edward Butcher was relieved when he returned from assisting John with the merchants and learned that neither Peter nor Helen and I would be staying with him at his shipping post. He was told we wouldn’t be staying with him, even though we would like to, because “we had to be available to tend to the needs of the wealthy northern prince who chartered both of our galleys and who was, at that very moment, resting in the castle a few feet away from us with a coughing pox ‘that looks to be serious.’”

  Helen and John looked up in surprise at the news that we had a wealthy and seriously poxed northern prince on board, but neither of them said a word. It probably helped that I gave them both a hard look as I was explaining things to our post captain.

  Edward’s obvious relief at learning we would not be moving in with him disappeared somewhat when Peter and I proceeded to question him closely about conditions in Lisbon and the state of his relations with the local hard men who police the city’s neighbourhoods and collect coins on behalf of themselves and the church. What we wanted to know most was the latest information about Bishop Resende.

  Our questions about the bishop did not surprise Edward. When he had been given another stripe and promoted to be our post sergeant in Lisbon, he had been told about the Lisbon church’s control of the safety and security provided by the local hard men for each parish’s residents and merchants. He’d also been informed that the company had a special relationship with the Lisbon cathedral, through Bishop Resende, such that we did not have to pay the local parish’s monthly fees for the protection of our men and property.

  Indeed, ever since he arrived in Lisbon, Edward had been periodically asked for detailed reports about Bishop Resende as the leader of the Church’s protection services: where he lived, where he travelled, when the people of Lisbon might be able to catch a glimpse of him; that sort of thing. We needed to know, Edward had been told “so we could approach the bishop discretely if new arrangements ever became necessary.” Edward never did know that we had another reason for asking.

  What Edward told us about the bishop was not as reassuring as he thought it would be under the circumstances; the circumstances being that there had been no efforts to collect protection money from either him or from the poxed and crippled archers and sailors who were on half-pay and living at our Lisbon hospital with the women their lodgings and coins had attracted.

  The bishop, according to Edward, rarely appeared in public. He was, however, rumoured to keep a woman in the Jewish quarter and visit her frequently. Well that has potential if we have to hire someone locally instead of killing him ourselves.

  “Now tell us about your interpreter, Edward. Is he dependable?”

  When we finished talking, Edward went off to fetch his interpreter, and we sent for the sergeant captains of our galleys. Before he went off to fetch his interpreter, I told Edward what he was to tell him.

  “Edward, and listen close, your interpreter is never to be told that I am the captain of the company or that I or anyone else ever inquired about the bishop. I want you to tell him that I am Sir Alaric, the chamberlain of a great lord from the land east of Germandy who is searching for a place to build a great church or cathedral so that someone will always be praying for his soul—because the great lord is poxed and dying. He doesn’t trust his own people to pray for him because they are only new to being Christians and might fall back into their heathen ways.”

  What Peter and I did not tell Edward, and never would, was that one of the several reasons we would be staying on board our galleys was the possibility that we might need to make a hurried departure.

  Edward may not have needed to know about the possibility of a sudden departure; but the sergeant captains of our galleys certainly did. So as soon as they arrived in response to our summons, Peter and I cautioned them to keep their men close at hand—and be ready at all times to repel boarders and push away from the quay at a moment’s notice. This was necessary, we told the two sergeants to tell their crews, to protect our wealthy and important passenger in case someone tried to capture him and hold him for ransom.

  It was a prudent precaution; our plan might not work and we’d have to run for it.

  ******

  Each of the sergeant captains paraded their men so I could share the good news with them as Peter and our apprentice sergeants stood silently nearby taking it all in.

  “As you all know, we have a poxed and extremely wealthy lord on board one of our galleys, the man from the lands east of Germandy who found the great hoard of missing Roman gold. He has contracted for two of our galleys to carry him on a search for a place where Christianity is secure so that he can use what’s left of his gold to build a thanksgiving church or cathedral before he dies. He wants to do this so there will always be priests and monks praying for his soul.

  “And here is some good news for everyone—our great and important passenger has been satisfied with his voyage so far and wishes to reward the crews of both the galley carrying him and the galley standing by to take him on board if the first galley falters.

  “Accordingly, following his wishes, every man in this crew will be given four copper coins and a four-hour liberty to go ashore and spend them. Everyone will have to take turns so there will always be enough guards on duty to keep him safe. Your sergeant captain will distribute the coins and organize your liberty parties.” The men cheered and immediately began making their plans.

  It was, of course, all ox shite. But the men will talk in the taverns tonight and it will be all over Lisbon by tomorrow that a great and wealthy lord is on one of our galleys who might be talked into giving money to the local church.

  ****** William

  After I finished telling the galley crews about their sudden good fortune, I had John’s sailor sergeant go to the central market with Edward’s translator, a sailor man named Gama who’d learned to gobble English as the slave of an English merchant in Nantes. They were to buy some used pilgrims’ gowns and crusader tunics with the pouch of copper and silver coins I gave them.

  One of the pilgrim gowns was for our wealthy passenger to wear so it must be very impressive even if it had to be bought new. He was, I told the two men, about my size. They were also to buy five crusader shields if they were available; if they weren’t available, they were to buy colour dust we could mix and also some horse hairs we could tie together and use to paint crusader crosses on some of the galley’s shields.

  After Edward’s interpreter and the sailor sergeant went off to the market, I confided to Edward that we had good reason to believe that the bishop and the band of toughs who collected protection money and shared it with the church was a danger to both our wealthy passenger and to the Company of Archers, and thus needed to be dealt with very quietly because of the importance of the bishop’s position.

  “As a result of the tenderness of the situation,” I told Edward with Peter nodding his agreement with a serious look on his face to help me convey the importance of the situation, “I am going to give you a direct order.”

  “Bishop Resende’s name and title are never more to be spoken aloud by you ever again, not even to your most trusted deputy, nor ever mentioned in any parchment you send. And neither is the fact that Lieutenant Peter and I inquired about him or that we made this port call. From now on and forever, the bishop is on
ly to be referred to as the German. Indeed, when you return to your post I want you to burn any parchments with any inquiries or reports about him.

  “Similarly, as I told you earlier, neither your interpreter nor anyone else is ever to be told that I am the captain of the company or that Peter is my lieutenant and second in command or that we made this port visit. Those are company secrets that are to be withheld from your interpreter—and it will go hard on you if your interpreter or anyone else ever finds out that Peter and I inquired about the bishop or made this port call.”

  Edward nodded his agreement and carefully repeated his orders back to us so we’d know he understood.

  ******

  When the sailor sergeant and Edward’s interpreter returned with the clothing and the paint dust and horse hairs for painting the shields, I sent the interpreter to the cathedral to inquire as to which services Bishop Resende would be attending.

  “Tell them you need to know because two of our galleys have come in carrying a great and wealthy noble who prefers to attend church services when a bishop or cardinal is either putting the prayers on the people or, at least, listening to one of his priests gobble them.

  “He thinks being near someone who speaks directly with God will take him closer to heaven and help inspire him as to where he should spend his gold and silver coins to build a church or cathedral so that someone will always be praying for his soul.”

  Later that day, Helen and the two apprentices and I donned our pilgrim gowns, and Peter and John put on crusader tunics and chain. My hooded pilgrim’s gown was sewn particularly fine as befit the chancellor of a wealthy and powerful prince; it completely covered my wrist knives and chain shirt.

  “If anyone asks,” I told Helen, Freddy, and Oliver before we put on our pilgrim gowns to go to the market, and then to church, “you’re my wife and Freddy and Oliver are my sons, and we are accompanying a great prince who is on a secret pilgrimage to find a church or cathedral where there will always be priests and monks constantly praying for his soul.

  “What we are going to do now is go to Lisbon’s great central market to let everyone see our prince’s great wealth, and then to the cathedral to show our piety to the priests.”

  They all smiled when I explained why.

  ******

  Peter and John and two of John’s best swordsmen joined us on the quay. They were wearing crusaders’ tunics and went with us as our sword and shield carrying guards. Also joining us was Adam’s translator who had been told that we were a family of very religious nobles who were accompanying a poxed relative who was so wealthy that he had contracted for two entire galleys from the archers for a pilgrimage.

  Our trip to the market was a great success. Helen was both disbelieving and ecstatic when I first told her she must spend more coins and pay too much to buy foolish things including a number of religious relics. But then she got into the swing of things and certainly did.

  After our trip to the market we went to the cathedral where Bishop Resende had his seat, bought numerous prayer candles, briefly prayed, inquired as to which of the cathedral’s religious services was particularly inspiring and valuable because the bishop participated. That the bishop himself would be present, I suggested to the priest who was helping us light the candles, might make the services appropriate for great lord with whom we were attending. He never attends a service, I confided to the priest, unless a bishop or archbishop was present to help his prayers reach God.

  As we departed, I left a rather large pouch of silver and copper coins as a gaggle of attendant priests watched. As I deposited it, our interpreter confided to one of the priests that I was the chancellor of a princely pilgrim seeking guidance as to how to best use spend his great wealth, and that I’d be back the next day to attend the afternoon services. Then we returned to our galley for some food and to discuss our next move.

  ******

  The sun was just finishing travelling on its endless journey around the earth the next day when we arrived to attend the cathedral’s evening services. Sure enough, there was a bishop at the door smiling a warm welcome to everyone as we arrived. I’d never seen him before but our interpreter recognized him and identified him to us as we walked towards the cathedral’s great front entrance.

  That he was a bishop was hard to miss since he was the only person in sight wearing a mitre. It was impressive compared to the battered old mitre Thomas sometimes wears, the one he got years ago off the Bishop of Damascus when he killed the murdering bastard. The women who embroidered Resende’s gown must have had tiny fingers for it was embroidered most fine and covered with little beads and jewels. Mine was nowhere near as nice.

  “Ask one of the priests if he is the great Bishop Resende of whom we’ve all heard such good things in our own land,” I ordered the interpreter before we entered. He did and it was.

  “Your service was inspiring,” I said mournfully to the bishop a couple of hours later as he greeted me after the service. He was standing in the door of the cathedral and bidding farewell to his flock as they filtered out into the night. They were clearly quite astonished to see him.

  Then I shook my head sadly and told the bishop more as his flock went streaming past him and disappeared into the dark of the early evening.

  “I’m sorry my prince was too weak from the pox to attend such splendid services. What’s more a pity is that we may be leaving for the Holy Land as early as tomorrow so he can die there. That’s a pity for my prince needs the prayers of someone of your importance to console him and distract him from his suffering. It has worsened recently because he hasn’t found a place to build a new church so that its priests and monks could constantly pray for his soul.”

  “How strange you should say that,” the bishop responded most sincerely. “It must be God’s Will that you are here. Why, just this very day we began praying and planning for a new church for some of our priests.” He was quick off the mark at the possibility of coins, I’ll say that for him. It’s probably why he’s a bishop. I wonder what he had to pay for this diocese; certainly more than Thomas paid for Cornwall, I’d wager.

  “God’s Will,” I exclaimed with delight as I repeated the phrase several times with a look of wonderment on my scarred face. “God’s Will” has always meant something to my prince, and to me as well for that matter. I’m sure he’d greatly value hearing you explain it and get your advice about the need for constant prayers and how to use his coins to make sure they occur.

  “He’s the king of some lands east of Germandy where the true word of God only recently arrived. That’s why he wanted to have the priests constantly praying for him where Christianity is more established—so that the priests and their prayers won’t disappear.”

  ******

  The archbishop was such a fine and Godly fellow that he insisted on accompanying us back to the galley to pray for my prince and advise him on the best way to get perpetual prayers for his soul. I sent one of the archers scurrying back to alert Peter that the bishop would be accompanying me for a visit to the prince—and for John to recall his men and quietly, very quietly, be prepared to sail as soon as we arrived. Any of John’s men who were left behind could sail in the other galley and re-join us at Ibiza.

  Somewhere off the coast of Spain I decided that it was “God’s Will” for the bishop to be given a chance to swim for shore.

  Chapter Nineteen

  George’s unexpected danger.

  It took all morning for one the German galleys to tow the emperor’s ship up the Tiber to where the river became too shallow for it to go any further. As I watched the sailors on the deck of the emperor’s ship throw their mooring lines to the Roman wharfies, I wondered if Peter had already arrived or if I was here first; either way, it would be good to see him and get the latest news. Truth be told, I was bored out of my mind and anxious to leave by the time the emperor’s ship was towed as far as possible up the river and moored with one of its escort galleys lashed to it on either side for maximum prot
ection.

  Constantly playing chess with the emperor and trying to avoid involvement in the court intrigues that swirled about him had been quite trying, particularly after the bishop tried to involve me “as a fellow priest” when he learned I had been ordained because I could scribe and gobble Latin. It seems he wanted the emperor to ask the Pope for his appointment as a cardinal, and two of the priests in his entourage to be raised to bishops.

  I smiled sweetly, kissed the bishop’s ring which pleased him greatly, and promised “to do everything possible to help.” And then I did what I thought was possible when I had the emperor’s ear during our games—absolutely nothing.

  As you might imagine, and which would have astonished his courtiers who desperately tried to spend every waking moment with Frederick, I could hardly wait to leave the ship. As a result, as soon as we moored I took a most respectful leave of the emperor during which I lied and said I thought his game had greatly improved, hired a horse cart from among those waiting in a line for customers, and went straight to our company’s shipping post on the Via Margutta—and damn near got myself killed for my trouble.

  ******

  What I had not known when I hired the horse cart to carry me into Rome was that the city was once again in great turmoil. There were riots and fighting almost every day. They were, I later discovered, between the supporters of the Pope who wanted the church’s priests to govern the city, and the supporters of Rome’s leading families who considered the Pope to be a rural bumpkin and wanted to govern it themselves.

  Everything was initially quite normal and the cart horse trotted briskly as it pulled its cart through the scattered houses and farm lands from the wharf where the emperor’s ship was moored to the city. The trouble started when we tried to pass through a gate in the city wall and enter the city. A large crowd of angry men armed with homemade spears and farm tools surrounded us and apparently demanded to know who I was and which side I was on. I don’t speak Italian so, of course, I tried to explain myself in Latin. Bad mistake. It was an anti-church mob.