Tom Swan and the Head of St. George Part Four: Rome Read Online Free PDF Page B

in double handfuls to the others – to Giannis, to Peter, to the archers on the ship. Di Brachio shrugged and disclaimed all responsibility.
    ‘The English did it all,’ he said. ‘None of the rest of us could even leave the quarter. He and his man did the work.’
    Bessarion blessed every one of them in the yard, even though they all had to move carefully because the pair of two-wheeled carts filled the whole space. He helped carry scrolls up into his library, where he saw to their installation in his own network of pigeonholes.
    ‘This one for the Pope,’ he said. ‘This one – the Cicero – for my friend Aneas Piccolomini. A great man in the Church. And a great lover of Cicero.’
    He flirted with Irene and Andromache, chatted amicably with Giannis, and repeatedly wrung Nikephorus’s hands, but when he’d seen his fellow Greeks situated in comfortable rooms, he finally took Swan and Di Brachio to his inner sanctum and closed the door.
    ‘Well,’ he said. He sat back on an old leather chair from the last century and put his booted feet up on his great work table. ‘The bishop has sung your praises and Master Swan’s to the Pope and to the College of Cardinals. But I can’t help but think that the head of Saint George might have been …’ He shrugged. ‘Better left at the bottom of the sewers, perhaps?’ He looked at Di Brachio. ‘Ten Jews have been executed – crucified. And forty Greeks. Mehmed II has forbidden the Pisans or the Florentines to maintain posts in the city, and he’s made other threats.’
    Di Brachio shrugged. ‘We didn’t steal the head, Excellency. Your servants did that.’ He glanced at Swan. ‘Servants you didn’t see fit to mention to us.’
    Bessarion shrugged. ‘I can’t …’ he began. Then he shrugged. ‘Gentlemen, I owe you some apology, and yet, I cannot let you – even you, Alessandro – know all my little secrets.’ He glowered at Swan. ‘And you, my lying Englishman. I gather that it is to you I owe the head’s recovery – and the chaos in Christian affairs in Constantinople!’
    But his tone was more jesting than solemn or admonitory, and Swan failed to hide his grin of triumph.
    ‘There are interests in this town that received a sharp rap on the knuckles owing to your actions. But – you were there and I was not, and on balance, you have saved some wonderful books, and brought back some people I value strongly – the insides of Master Nikephorus’s head hold more books than my library, if I can find a scribe to write for him – and the head will buy me a great deal of influence somewhere.’
    ‘You won’t keep it?’ asked Swan, suddenly and unaccountably devastated.
    Di Brachio nodded to his master. ‘Eminence, you really must see this thing to believe it.’
    Bessarion raised an eyebrow. ‘Gentlemen, I am a Greek, and a man of God. I have every faith that the head of Saint George is a wonderful relic.’ He steepled his fingers. ‘Anything you’d care to report to me?’ he asked.
    Di Brachio looked out of the small window by his shoulder at the wintry remnants of a Roman garden. ‘We touched at Monemvasia while English here was wounded,’ he said. ‘The Hospitaller officer there wants the Pope to take the town, or the even the Venetians.’ Di Brachio produced the letter.
    ‘We were paid three hundred ducats to carry this message,’ Swan added. ‘I had to leave my man there. I’d like … to go back. And retrieve him. If time allows.’
    Bessarion leaned back and stared at his star-studded ceiling while he played with his beard. ‘Monemvasia. The property of the Despot, I think. Demetrios.’ He shook his head. ‘There are rumours that Demetrios is threatening to turn to al-Islam.’ He sat up. ‘The Turks are readying a fleet for Lesvos and Chios.’
    ‘A priest in Monemvasia said to me that the monasteries on Lesvos and Chios might have old books,’ Swan said.
    Bessarion nodded. ‘Very likely. People on the islands are very