THREE OF THE FRENCH ENVOYS WHO WENT TO SEE the Pope to explain why we laid siege to Zara have returned safely. But the fourth, Robert de Boves, broke his oath. He disappeared in Venice, and went aboard a merchant ship and sailed for Syria.
At midday all the church bells in Zara began to ring, and criers walked through the city announcing that the Holy Father greets each of us, and well understands we only laid siege to Zara to hold our great army together. He lifts his sentence of excommunication and absolves us all.
Everyone was so joyful. The same French and Venetians who tried to kill each other embraced and wept. People cheered. The streets bubbled.
But what the criers were shouting out wasn’t true! Not even almost true. Lord Stephen has told me on the strict understanding that I don’t tell anyone else.
“Milon has shown me the Holy Father’s letter,” Lord Stephen said grimly. “Firstly, the Pope says he can scarcely believe his ears. How can we have attacked a Christian city with crucifixes hanging from the walls? He accepts, however, that we did so with great reluctance and only because it was the lesser of two evils.”
“That’s true, isn’t it?” I asked. “Otherwise, the Doge would have stopped us from using his ships.”
“But the Holy Father is angry that the Doge and his councillors have not asked for his forgiveness.”
“In Saint Mark’s,” I said, “the Doge told us it was his right to recapture Zara.”
“The Pope says he has no wish at all to damage our crusade and so he will absolve us—”
“God be praised!” I cried.
“—subject to certain conditions and undertakings,” Lord Stephen continued. “But he will not absolve the Venetians.”
“But that’s not what the criers said,” I exclaimed.
“No,” Lord Stephen replied. “Not only have our leaders chosen to suppress the Pope’s letter. They’ve invented a new one.”
“But why?”
“Fear, I suppose. If people knew the truth, they’d be even more discontent. This gives them hope. But there’s another thing,” Lord Stephen told me. “In his letter, the Holy Father also said he had received a letter from the Emperor in Constantinople, and he strictly warns the crusaders against becoming involved. He knows we’ll need supplies and has written to the Emperor requiring him in the name of Christ to provide them for us.”
“What’s going to happen?” I asked.
“Heaven knows!” Lord Stephen replied. “The envoys have been waiting for more than three weeks, and we still haven’t made up our minds. Why should our leaders bother to heed the Pope’s warning, unless it happens to suit them? They’ve ignored his letter about the siege of Zara.”
“It’s all so muddy,” I said.
“It is,” Lord Stephen replied. “Each day that passes, this crusade is getting into deeper water.”
In the blue hour, Lord Stephen and I walked along the walls, and he began to talk about Holt again. The peacocks. And Wilf clutching and catching the harvest ewe, and falling over backwards. And whether he should have brought in more men from Wigmore to protect the castle while we are away.
I didn’t say much at all. I don’t think he really wanted me to. He just wanted my company.
But then Lord Stephen turned to me and asked me what I thought I’d learned from him.…
He’s more thoughtful, more troubled than he was on Saint Nicholas. He keeps looking back.