Rome

Swan shook his head. ‘I don’t know the Greek word,’ he admitted. ‘But I think it went on the base of the spear.’

‘Beautiful – like a Greek column,’ said Bessarion, weighing it in his hand.

Swan laid out all his treasures. Bessarion nodded over all of them.

‘I will give them as gifts,’ he said. ‘The butt spike for Sforza of Mila, with the spearhead. They express the majesty of Greece. What is lost. And what can be regained. Well done.’

Swan hesitated. ‘I spent money on them,’ he said. ‘I intended … to sell them.’

Bessarion was looking at a small crystal seal with a tiny Eros masterfully carved into the face. ‘Of course you did, my young criminal. Unless you stole them.’

Swan raised his eyes to heaven. ‘I didn’t steal any of them,’ he said.

‘Then they didn’t cost you much,’ Bessarion answered him. ‘But do not think me ungrateful. I’ll get you some gold. Bring me more of this …’ He waved at his table. ‘Great men will put them in their cabinets and display them. We will have some measure of power by having these things.’ He shook his head ruefully. ‘In Constantinople, we had so much of this that these would have been like rubbish.’

‘I need a new sword,’ Swan said. ‘And a breastplate that fits me better.’

‘You should spend less on Demoiselle Violetta, then,’ Bessarion said. ‘Go and see Di Brachio. I’ll find you some money.’ He got up. ‘I will look at Father Ridolpho’s activities. But stealing from another member of this household will not happen again. No matter how much you dislike him. And you will only enjoy si

Swan bowed his head. ‘Yes, Eminence.’

Bessarion opened his five-page wax tablet set and tapped his stylus against his forehead in mock consternation. ‘Now it is I who play the fool – I have not told you your mission.’

Swan was on his feet. ‘There’s more, besides fighting with the knights?’

‘My son, much as Christendom needs every warrior, I would not, in fact, send you to fight for the order if there was another ship that was sailing east in winter.’ Bessarion sat back down, and his chair creaked. ‘Listen,’ he said very quietly. ‘The reports coming in from the Siege of Constantinople and from every action of the Turk since then suggests to some that Christendom has a traitor. Many accuse Demetrios Paleologos of being this traitor – he has openly suggested that he might convert to Islam.’

‘He is the current ruler of Monemvasia,’ Swan said.

‘You have a gift for this world of intrigue. Yes. He is. I know him – indeed, I know every member of that handsome family. If he meant a general betrayal, he would not flout his coming conversion. Besides, his hatred of the Latins is well known. Neither the Genoese nor the Venetians trust him. He is not the traitor. The traitor is … effective. Someone we trust.’

Swan nodded.

‘The Genoese are sending a famous man – Francesco Drappierro – to be their ambassador in Constantinople. You understand that Genoa openly supported the Emperor in the last days of Constantinople – yes?’

‘Yes. And paid for it – they lost Pera across the straits and most of their city privileges. I saw that with my own eyes.’ Swan nodded.

‘Just so. Now Genoa is desperate. Loss of the alum mines in Phokaia would devastate the Genoese cloth trade – loss of their sugar plantations would cripple their banking, and loss of Lesvos and Chios – which belong to the Gattelussi – would end Genoa as an overseas empire, topple the balance of power in Italy, and incidentally rob Christendom of the second-most powerful military fleet in the I

‘More importantly, the fleet most likely to help the Pope,’ Swan noted.

‘I am pleased that you have become so very … accurate in your views on Church politics,’ Bessarion said. ‘So Genoa is sending a very wealthy man – one who was friends with the Sultan’s father – to attempt to bring the Sultan to a more friendly state of mind. Genoa is fully aware that there is a traitor. Drappierro will be fully briefed. You will go with him and serve where you see fit – with the knights, or with Drappierro’s embassy. The Turks hate the knights – but respect them. They despise the Genoese, but use them.’ Bessarion spread his hands. ‘This is a very ticklish matter. I meant to send Di Brachio. Can you help me catch a traitor?’

Swan nodded. ‘I can try. I imagine his weak point would be in passing communications to his Turkish friends.’

Bessarion shrugged. ‘It could be someone right here in Rome,’ he said. ‘Ah – here is a list of my plantations on Lesvos – please collect the rents if you have a chance.’

Swan wished that he had a five-fold wax tablet book. ‘I’m to go with the knights, fight for them if I must, watch for a traitor, buy antiquities for sale, and, if possible, collect your rents from Lesvos. Anything else?’

Bessarion laughed. ‘I have some shirts that need washing,’ he said. He raised his hand and blessed Swan, who knelt and kissed his episcopal ring. ‘I also have some letters for you to deliver. Come and collect them this evening. Now go and see Di Brachio.’

Di Brachio was conscious, and had Master Claudio with him.

‘Ah – you will all be my testimonials when I apply for a professorship at Padua,’ the doctor said. ‘Let me look at that eye – don’t go getting killed before I’m done with you. This is a salve – try it on the abrasion. The abrasion, fool.’ Claudio put salve on Swan’s cheek with his thumb.

Di Brachio’s skin was waxy and his face was pale so that his unshaven cheek seemed to be bruised. He coughed too much. Each cough clearly pained him.

‘Fever?’ asked Swan, whispering, which was pointless, because the close room was absolutely silent.

The doctor shook his head. ‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘I don’t think the blade cut his guts. If it did?’ He shrugged. The shrug was a death sentence.

‘I can hear every word,’ Di Brachio muttered. ‘By the crucified Christ – talk to me, Englishman. I’m so bored I might die.’

Swan pushed into the room and leaned over the bed.

‘Jesus, you look like hell,’ Di Brachio said. ‘Don’t tell me that Violetta did that to you.’

‘An Orsini bastard with a chair,’ Swan said.

‘And you killed him?’ Di Brachio asked softly.

‘No,’ said Swan.

‘What? Are you getting soft?’ Di Brachio murmured. ‘Listen, the doctor tells me you are taking the mission to Chios.’

Swan paused. ‘To Rhodos and Cos,’ he said.

‘He didn’t tell you more than that?’ Di Brachio said. ‘Did you make him angry?’

‘Not particularly,’ Swan said. He was shocked by how bad his friend looked. ‘I’m going to be made a Donat of the order.’

Di Brachio raised his hand, where a red stone burned like an eye in a small gold ring. He muttered something, and Swan leaned close.

‘He’s tired. You need to let him sleep,’ the doctor said.

‘I am a Donat of the order,’ Di Brachio said. ‘I was going to go … on crusade. For my … sins.’

‘I’ll do enough for both of us,’ Swan said, trying to keep the conversation light.

‘I thought you were supposed to keep me from getting killed – eh, English?’ Di Brachio made a clawing motion with his hand. ‘Heh – stay safe, boy.’

Swan kissed the Venetian on the cheek. ‘Live!’ he said.

‘Heh – I plan to. Hell is waiting for me,’ Di Brachio said. ‘I just keep asking myself …’

‘What?’ Swan asked.

‘How I let that cocksucker get his blade under my guard,’ Di Brachio said.

Swan changed into his new velvet doublet and silk hose and walked to the Priory of Rome with a dozen of Bessarion’s swordsmen as his retinue. The Frenchman was one of them, looking a little less polished.

The prior was a young man – as young as Swan himself. He kissed the Pope’s order reverently, and read through Swan’s genealogy, nodding. ‘Your grandfather was the King of England?’ he asked. He was obviously impressed, and trying to hide it.