The Long Sword(176)

            In the difficult silence, Fra William bowed stiffly – or perhaps, roundly – and squeezed past me. ‘I’m sure the legate would like to brief you alone,’ he said. ‘When he has finished with you, perhaps you would be as kind as to come to my closet and I will assign you a cell.’

            He was perfectly pleasant, although I could see his irritation. He walked out of the oak door and closed it behind him.

            Father Pierre rested his head in his hands. ‘Why does the Pope want a crusade – an armed attack – on men half the Inner Sea view as allies?’

            Sometimes men ask rhetorical questions. They don’t want answers. But in this case, I felt that it was worth a try. ‘The Pope has declared crusades against Milan and even Naples,’ I said.

            Father Pierre sat back. ‘I do not like my role here. Enough of that – you are too young to share my burdens, and it is unfair of me even to mention them. You have won a great victory.’

            I shrugged. ‘My lord, we all won a victory.’

            He nodded. ‘And the Venetians? They came willingly?’

            I shrugged again. ‘My lord, they are here.’

            He laughed. ‘Sir William, you sound more like an Italian every day. Your friends – my friends – they prosper?’

            I nodded. ‘None of us took a bad wound,’ I said.

            ‘By the grace of God,’ added the priest, and I bowed my head.

            Then I told him most of the expedition, leaving out almost everything Admiral Contarini had said. He nodded.

            ‘The Venetians are the best sailors on the face of the inner sea,’ he said. ‘But they turn their God-given talents to the service of greed and not God. The Genoese beat them here.’

            ‘The Genoese were not present when we faced the Turks,’ I said.

            Father Pierre nodded. ‘The Genoese say that by fighting the Turks, we provoke a naval reaction that may threaten the entire Crusade,’ he said. He raised a hand as I began to protest. ‘Spare me, spare me! I know. The Genoese serve only their own city.’

            I leaned forward. ‘Have you chosen our … goal?’ I asked softly.

            For the first time in my life, I saw Father Pierre be evasive. He was a very poor liar. ‘No,’ he said.

            I knelt and confessed myself of my amorous thoughts. My confessor laughed. ‘Chastity sits heavily on you, my son,’ he said. ‘Be careful. Be … wise.’

            ‘Wise?’ I asked.

            He shook his head. ‘I have said too much. For your penance, you may find all your friends billets in this city and then join me for dinner. Lord Grey celebrates his birthday and he is eager to see his nephew. How was Master Stapleton?’

            ‘He was brilliant in arms and a good man throughout.’ I waved towards the closed door. ‘He is the last man among us unknighted.’

            ‘You would recommend him for knighthood?’ Father Pierre asked, his hands steepled in his accustomed way.

            ‘Without hesitation. He will be a better knight than I am.’ I bowed.

            Father Pierre shook his head. ‘I doubt that,’ he said, the best compliment he ever paid me. His praise was given sparingly, and often to third parties so this was very sweet, despite being so brief. He waved me away in dismissal. ‘I’ll speak to Lord Grey,’ he said.

            As I closed the oak door – it might have been imported from England, it was that heavy – I thought that in the past few months, my beloved Father Pierre had begun to act more like a prince of the church. He was not spoiled. It was merely that his new dignity shrouded his enthusiasm and his genuine friendliness.