The Brotherhood Of The Holy Shroud (28 page)

Later, in the stone church that still, somehow, remained standing, beside the cross, surrounded by priests and the most faithful of the Christians, the bishop of Edessa swore-and they swore with him- that the Mandylion would one day be recovered, though it cost them their lives to do it.

Ana moaned in her sleep. She sat up with tears streaming down her face, racked with anguish.

She went to the minibar for water and opened the window to let in some cool air.

Cavafy's poem seemed to have come true, and the voices of the dead had stormed her sleep. So real had the dream been that she felt that what she had seen and heard as she slept had actually happened. She was sure that the events had unfolded just that way.

After a shower she felt better. She wasn't hungry, so she stayed awhile in her room looking through the books she'd bought for information on Balduino de Courtenay, the emperor gone begging. There was little to be found, so she went online, even though she didn't always trust what she discovered on the Internet. She was looking for information on the Templars, too, and to her surprise she came across a page supposedly posted by the Order of Knights Templar itself-an order that no longer existed. It was well known that it had been eradicated by the king of France in the fourteenth century. She called the head of IT at her newspaper and explained what she needed.

A half hour later the IT man called her back. The Web site server was in London-and the site was perfectly registered, perfectly legitimate.

My lord, a messenger has just arrived from
your uncle." The emperor of Byzantium stirred at the sound of his servant's voice and then sat up slowly, blinking sleepily. As he came fully awake and realized Louis's long-awaited response was at last at hand, Balduino leapt out of bed and ordered his manservant to send the messenger in.

"You should dress, my lord," murmured Balduino's chief adviser, who had also entered the chamber. "You are the emperor, and the envoy is a nobleman from the court of France."

"Pascal, if you did not remind me, I would happily forget that I am emperor. Help me, then. Is there an ermine cape I've not yet sold or pawned?"

Pascal de Molesmes, himself a noble sent by the king of France to serve the king's disgraced nephew, remained silent.

Indeed, however, there was no ermine cape. Not long ago the emperor of Byzantium had even ordered the lead stripped from the roof tiles of his palace in order to sell it off to the Venetians, who were making enormous profits off Balduino's financial straits.

By the time the emperor was seated in the throne room, his courtiers were whispering nervously as they awaited the news from the French king.

Robert de Dijon touched his knee to the floor and bowed his head before the emperor. Balduino gestured for him to rise.

"So, my lord, what news bring you from my uncle?"

"His Majesty the king is in fierce battle in the Holy Land, attempting to liberate the sepulcher of our Lord. I bring you the good news of the conquest of Damietta. The king advances and shall conquer the lands of the Nile on his way to Jerusalem. Thus at present he cannot aid you as he would wish, for the cost of his expedition far exceeds the Crown's annual levies. He recommends that you have patience and faith in the Lord. Soon you will be called to his side as the faithful and most beloved nephew that you are, and he will aid you then in overcoming the tribulations that you now suffer."

Balduino's eyes filled with tears at the devastating message. A harsh look from Pascal de Molesmes steadied him.

"I have also brought you a letter from His Majesty."

Dijon took from his belt a document bearing the seal of the king and held it out to the emperor, who took it limply and passed it to de Molesmes. Balduino then extended his hand to the noble messenger, who bowed once more and kissed the emperor's ring. "Shall there be a reply to His Majesty's letter?" "You are returning to the Holy Land?" "First I am to journey to the court of Blanca de Castilla; I am taking her a letter from her son, my good King Louis. One of the knights who accompanies me is burning to return to the king's side to battle the infidels, and he shall bear whatever message Your Majesty might wish to send your uncle."

Balduino nodded and stood up. He left the throne room without looking back.

"What am I to do now, Pascal?" he cried to de Molesmes when they were alone.

"What you have done on other occasions, my lord." "Go to the courts of my relatives, who seem unable to grasp how vital it is that Constantinople be saved for Christianity? I do not ask these things for myself! We are the last Christian bastion between them and the Muslims-but the Venetians are an avaricious people, who are forging an alliance with the Ottomans behind my back; all the Genovese care about is the profits from their trade; and my cousins in Flanders complain of not having enough resources to help me. Lies! Am I to prostrate myself again before those princelings, beg them to help me preserve the empire? Do you think God will forgive me for pawning the crown of thorns worn by His crucified son?

"I have no money to pay the soldiers, or the people of the castle, or my nobles. I have nothing, nothing. From the moment I became emperor at twenty-one, I have dreamed of restoring the empire's splendor, recovering the lands it has lost, and what have I done? Nothing! Since the Crusaders divided the empire and sacked Constantinople, I have barely been able to maintain the kingdom, and good Pope Innocent is deaf to my pleas."

"Calm yourself, my lord. Your uncle will not abandon you."

"Did you not hear the message?"

"Yes, and in it he tells you that he will send for you when he defeats the Saracens."

The majestic chair in which the emperor was seated had been stripped of its gold leaf some time ago. Balduino stroked his beard reflectively, his left foot beating a nervous staccato on the tiles.

"My lord, you must read the king's letter."

De Molesmes handed Balduino the sealed scroll Dijon had presented.

'Ah! Yes, my uncle no doubt recommends that I be a good Christian and not lose faith in our Lord."

Breaking the king's scarlet seal, the emperor scanned the missive, a look of growing astonishment suffusing his face.

"My God! My uncle does not know what he is asking for!"

"The king makes a demand of you, my lord?"

"Louis assures me that despite the difficulties he is experiencing with the cost of the Crusade, he is willing to advance me a certain amount of gold if I deliver the Mandylion to him. He dreams of showing it to his mother, the most Christian lady Doiia Blanca. He bids me sell him the relic or allow him to hold it for a number of years. He says that he has met a man who assures him that the Mandylion has miraculous qualities, that it has already healed a king of Edessa of leprosy, and that the man who possesses it shall never suffer. He says that if I agree to his request, I can negotiate the details with the Comte de Dijon."

'And what will you do?"

"What a question, Pascal! You know that the Mandylion is not mine to give. Even if I wanted to deliver it over to my uncle, I could not. It belongs to the Church."

"My lord, the Mandylion is all that remains to bargain with. If you could convince the bishop to give it into your keeping-"

"Impossible! He will never do that.".

"Have you asked?"

"He guards it most zealously. The shroud miraculously survived the Crusaders' sacking of the city. It was entrusted to the bishop by his predecessor, and he swore to protect it with his life."

"You are the emperor."

'And he is the bishop."

"He is your subject. If he fails to obey, there are measures you can take. He would not wish to lose his ears or his nose."

"My God, Pascal!"

"You will lose the empire. The cloth is sacred; the man who possesses it has nothing to fear. Try."

The emperor wrung his hands. He feared a confrontation with the bishop. What could he tell him that would convince him to turn over the Mandylion?

"Very well, speak with the bishop," he said at last. "Tell him you go in my name."

"I will, my lord, but he will not treat with me about this. You must speak with him yourself."

Balduino took a sip of pomegranate-colored wine, and then with a wave of his hand he shooed de Molesmes from the room. He needed to think.

The knight walked along the beach, his mind and spirit lulled by the washing of the waves against the pebbles on the shore. His horse stood by patiently, un-tethered, like the faithful friend it had been in so many battles.

The evening light illuminated the Bosphorus, and Bartolome dos Capelos felt in the beauty of the moment the breath of God.

His horse whinnied and pricked up its ears, and Bartolome turned to see a figure on horseback approaching through the dust of the road. He put his hand on his sword, a gesture more instinctive than defensive, and waited to see whether the man riding toward him was the person he was expecting.

The rider clambered awkwardly from his horse and strode swiftly along the shoreline to where the Portuguese knight stood waiting.

"You are late," said dos Capelos.

"I was attending the emperor until he dined. It was only then that I could slip out of the palace."

"Very well. What is it you have to tell me, and why here?"

The olive-skinned man was short and stocky. His rat's eyes weighed the Templar knight. He had to tread carefully with this one.

"Sire, the emperor is going to ask the bishop to turn the Mandylion over to him."

Bartolome dos Capelos didn't move a muscle, as though the information meant nothing to him.

'And how did you come to know this?"

"I overheard the emperor talking with de Molesmes."

"What would the emperor do with the Mandylion?"

"It is the last valuable relic remaining to him; he will pawn it. You know that the empire has no money. He will sell it to his uncle, the king of France."

'And what more have you heard?" the knight asked.

"Nothing, sire."

"Very well. Here. Now begone."

Dos Capelos put a few coins into the outstretched palm of the man, who rode off congratulating himself on his good fortune. The knight had paid him well for the information.

For several years he had been spying in the palace for the Templars. He knew that the knights of the red cross had other spies in the palace, but he did not know who they were. The Templars were the only ones in the impoverished empire who had good hard coin and there were many, even noblemen, who lent them their services.

The Portuguese knight had shown no emotion when he'd told him that the emperor was planning to sell or pawn the Mandylion. It might be, he thought, that the Templars already had the news from another of their spies. But no matter. It was not his problem. He patted the gold in his pouch.

Bartolome dos Capelos rode to the chapter house the Templars kept in Constantinople, a walled castle near the sea, where more than fifty knights lived with their servants and the grooms for their horses.

He made his way to the chapter hall, where at that hour his brothers would be praying. Andre de Saint-Remy, their superior, made a sign to him to join the prayers. It was not until an hour after his arrival that Saint-Remy sent for him. By then, the superior was in his study.

"Have a seat, my brother. Tell me what the emperor's cupbearer has told you."

"He confirms the information from the captain of the royal guard: The emperor wishes to pawn the Mandylion."

"The shroud of Christ…"

"He has already pawned the crown of thorns."

"There are so many false relics… But the Mandylion is not false. On that cloth is the blood of Christ, the true visage of the Savior. I await permission from the Grand Master, Guillaume de Sonnac, to purchase it. Weeks ago I sent a message explaining that the Mandylion is now the only true relic that remains in Constantinople, and the most precious. We must get hold of it, to protect it."

"But what if the Grand Master's reply does not come in time?"

"Then I shall make the decision and hope that he will accept it."

"What about the bishop?"

"We know that Pascal de Molesmes has been to see him and asked him to turn it over. The bishop refused. The emperor will now go in person to make his request."

"When?"

"Within the week. We will ask to meet with the bishop, and I will go to see the emperor. Tomorrow I will give you your instructions. For now, go and rest."

The sun had not yet risen when the knights completed their first prayers of the day. Andre de Saint-Remy was absorbed in a letter he was writing to the emperor, requesting an audience.

The Eastern Orthodox empire was in its death throes. Balduino de Courtenay II was the emperor of Constantinople and the surrounding lands, but little else, and the Templars' relationship with him, the balance of power in the empire, was sometimes difficult, given his frequent demands for credit. The superior had managed the delicate relationship with skill. He was an austere man who had kept himself untainted by the glitter of decadent Constantinople and prevented any concupiscence or comfort from penetrating the walls of the fortress chapter.

Saint-Rimy had not finished putting away his writing instruments when one of the brother knights, Guy de Beaujeu, rushed into the room.

"My lord, there is a Muslim here asking to speak with you. Three others are with him…"

The Templar superior's expression did not change.

He finished putting away his pen and ink and the documents he had written.

"Do we know them?"

"I know not, my lord; his face is covered, and the knights guarding the entrance have preferred not to ask him to reveal himself. He has given them this arrow, made from the branch of a tree, and he says that with these notches you will recognize him."