As I was now deep inside the castle, I was more scared than I had been in the courtyard. They had my sword and my dagger, and my armour was not going to keep me alive very long against a dozen trained adversaries. Men whose master was, as I say, a lunatic.
‘The Bishop of Geneva?’ I asked.
‘The Green Count and Bishop Robert have always been a friends of this city,’ della Scala said. ‘He sent me a letter from Avignon …’
I understood. Pardon, gentles. Now that it has all happened, it seems obvious – that Bishop Robert was our enemy. But at the time I scarcely knew him, and I had no notion that a bishop, a virtual prince of the church, would attempt to undermine a crusade.
‘My lord, I can only promise you that if the weather is fair, we will quit your gates tomorrow on our way to Venice, the city of Saint Mark.’
The mad tyrant of Verona shrugged. ‘I suppose,’ he said. ‘Cavalli, have all their papers prepared.’ He turned to me. ‘There, my English bravo. Is that enough for you?’
I bowed.
‘And how exactly shall I punish you for the lese majeste of attacking my person?’ he asked suddenly.
My hand went to the empty space over my hip where my arming sword should have been.
He shrugged again and turned away. ‘We will see,’ he said.
We made it back to the convent by riding quickly on the main streets with our helmets on and our visors closed. I dismounted in the yard, gave my horse to one of Nerio’s pages, and ran, fully armed, for Father Pierre and Fra Peter. I found them at prayer.
I had never interrupted a priest at prayer but I cleared my throat a few times, and eventually Fra Peter and two of his knights turned to look at me, and he saw it in my posture and my face and came to the back of the chapel, scattering nuns and lay sisters as he came.
‘I have the papers, but della Scala means us harm, I’d swear to it. He claims a bishop, Robert of Geneva …’ I paused.
Fra Peter let slip a nasty word.
Father Pierre’s head came up.
Well, we’re all merely mortals.
‘If it were up to me, I’d take the legate and ride right now,’ I said. ‘Somehow the populace has been convinced that we are Guelfs and the guilds are arming under their banners.’
Ser Niccolò Accaioulo took a deep breath. ‘Of course, we are Guelfs. Famous ones, too.’ He shrugged elaborately. ‘Whether this is planned or happenstance, our presence is making it worse.’
I shook my head. ‘Begging your pardon, messire, but Nerio’s presence gave della Scala a little pause. It might have been what saved us. We rode into a trap.’
Father Pierre, clad only in his Carmelite robes, strode down the nave of the chapel to join us.
‘You men of blood,’ he said. He was angry. ‘What have you done?’
I was more than a little crushed, I can tell you, to have my spiritual father assume I was to blame.
Fra Peter raised his hand. ‘Your Excellency, this is apparently brought on by your brother in Christ, Robert of Geneva.’
The legate narrowed his eyes.
‘They will use the Accaioulo as an excuse to attack us,’ Fra Peter said.
‘They would provoke war with the Pope, with Venice, and with Florence,’ Ser Niccolò said. He pulled at his beard. ‘Someone has told them otherwise, eh, messires?’