The Sacred Scroll Read Free

gone AWOL. Well, he’d had his ten weeks. We’d been here the best part of two years, in this weird country, all hand-kissing and smells of strange spices; the unblinking sun in summer, the vicious cold and clinging damp in winter; all that silk and gold. Well, it was our turn now.
     
     
    ‘Take that out,’ said Dandolo.
    Leporo nodded, and went on reading.
     
We were not such fools as to risk losing ourselves in the labyrinth of streets that connected the main squares and the palaces. We took up quarters on the Petrion Hill. We could see all around from there, and we smashed down a few of the wooden defence turrets the Greeks had built on top of the towers, just to let off steam. Evening by then. The officers told the men to bivouac: ‘Busy day tomorrow!’ But I couldn’t rest. I kept looking out over the city. Like a sea it was, twinkling lights of fires here and there, moon drenching it in a greyish light. Looked like an open oyster – all you had to do was find the pearl.
We’d all heard tales of the treasures the city held – andthe Holy Relics too. Just a few of them ought to buy us our Christianity back all right, when we got home.
     
All that loot! Once we were done, we’d have more than enough not only to pay off our debt to Dandolo but to feather our own nests for life.
     
And in two weeks, we’ll celebrate Easter here.
Our
Easter. Not theirs.
     
And then, the great Pilgrimage – to Jerusalem!
     
     
    Leporo paused. He looked at Dandolo, brooding in his chair, and brooded himself about the hidden power the old doge had, and how long it might be before he, Leporo, could be master of it. But he took care to veil his thoughts. Who could be sure that Dandolo wasn’t able to read them?
    ‘Take out that stuff about Jerusalem,’ said the old man.
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because these Crusaders will never get there.’
    Leporo wet his lips, not quite believing what he had heard, and not daring either to question or contradict. Instead, seeing his master’s eyes flicker, he said, ‘The looting and destruction have stopped.’
    ‘Good.’
    ‘It’s as if the Pilgrims of Christ just ran out of breath, or suddenly realized what a steaming slaughterhouse they’d created – and that they were destroying things which could be of value to them. Now we have the business of restoring order and getting a new, Roman Catholic, truly Christian emperor on the throne. No more of this Eastern Church mumbo-jumbo.’
    ‘
That
ought to shut the pope up. After all, that waswhat Innocent wanted, all along. In the meantime, we have some history to rewrite. We must remove any unfavourable descriptions of the sack of the city that are appearing.’
    ‘Do you want me to read any more of this?’ he asked.
    ‘Who wrote it, did you say?’
    ‘One of the minor knights, as I told you. Bohun de Treillis. Not a man of importance.’ The monk hesitated. ‘And don’t worry. He can’t read or write himself. He dictated it to one of their French priests. His memoirs. Wanted to get them down while the memory was fresh. But the priest is also one of our spies. What do you want me to do with it?’
    ‘How much more has he written?’
    Leporo riffled pages. ‘There’s more about what we did after that first day.’
    ‘About what the Pilgrims of the Cross did,’ Dandolo corrected him. ‘We Venetians did nothing.’
    ‘We didn’t destroy much, that’s true. All we did was loot.’
    Dandolo made an irritable gesture. ‘Sometimes I wish you’d forget your Christianity.’
    ‘I left it behind a long time ago. Perhaps that will be to my cost. But I am your loyal follower, as the years have proved.’
    Dandolo ignored that. ‘I wish I could see just well enough to read properly,’ he murmured. Self-pity wasn’t in Dandolo’s nature, and Leporo, knowing this, eyed him keenly. After all these years, he still couldn’t trust himself to fathom his master’s darkest thoughts.
    But it wasn’t a ploy. Leporo knew what remained