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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 a
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 window 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 i
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 ru
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.