Race of Scorpions (20 page)

The young man let her finish, then turned back to Nicholas. He said, ‘All these things will be done. Then we shall speak.’

Nicholas stood, a thing he had not thought possible. The room blurred and wavered about him. The other rose swiftly, made to approach, then desisted. ‘Who are you?’ said Nicholas. How many more nephews, uncles, would he have to see?

The other man stood, his arms at his sides, like a soldier answering a charge. He said, ‘I am the man you should have met at Cape Gata. It is my fault, what has happened. It is for me to make amends, if amends should be possible. My name is James de Lusignan, King of Cyprus. You will hear me called Zacco.’

For a space, he could not think. Then he said,
‘Amends!
’ He sent it through the room like a curse.

Above the veil, the black eyes of the noseless woman were fixed on her son. Her son, James of Lusignan, usurping ruler of Cyprus, dropped a hand to the hilt of his sword. He drew it and rested it on his arm, pommel pointing to Nicholas. He said, ‘Do with it what you wish. There is my right hand.’

The woman moved, then. Behind her chair, her brother took a step forward, his heavy face flushed. The young man snapped, ‘Stay where you are.’ They both halted.

Nicholas stretched out his stained fingers and laid them on the grip of the sword. The goldwork on it was Arabic. He looked up. Unclouded and steady, the King’s eyes were on his, and the King’s right wrist was so held that one clean stroke could sever it. Behind it, unprotected, was his body. Nicholas let his eyes dwell on both, and then return to the sword and his fingers. He ran them over the gold, and lifted his hand from the weapon. He dropped his arm to his side. Nicholas said, ‘The weight, I believe, would be beyond me. Perhaps tomorrow?’

Become a little pale under its tan, the other face slowly warmed to a smile of untempered delight. The young man named Zacco said, ‘Tomorrow, all things will be possible.’

Later, wakening from his long, healing sleep in the monks’ deserted infirmary, Nicholas thought for a long time about what had happened. Questions brought him few answers from the nursing brethren. Those he received, in time, from the boy who saw to his dressings. Jorgin was the King’s own chamber servant and delighted to prattle.

‘How should you know who he was? The things he’s done, you’d never expect at that age. Four and twenty, he is. We call him Zacco. He might never have been born, you know. The last King and Queen, they never had more than a daughter. Carlotta. The one that’s blackening his name all over Europe. When Queen Helena found the King’s mistress was pregnant, you never heard such a row. That’s when the Queen bit off her pretty nose, to make her miscarry. But she didn’t, and when the boy was born and grew up handsome and brave, then the King couldn’t do enough for him. Made him Archbishop, but then children have got made into Popes, haven’t they?’

‘He killed his father’s chamberlain?’ Nicholas said.

‘For plotting against him. He wasn’t the only one who tried to bring him down, but Zacco always fought to defend himself, as was no more than right. A wild lot, the Lusignans, but they needed to be. And they married wild women, too. Queen Helena was a Byzantine lady from the Morea, and the lady Marietta’s another Greek from Patras. Old King Peter, now, had a harem of mistresses, and
his
Queen tried to stop one of them carrying. Held her down, fixed a big marble slab on her belly, and pounded a measure of salt on it. Next, they ground flour on her, working a handmill. But she gave the King a live child just the same. That’s the stuff Zacco comes from. You were lucky to keep your left arm. What did they do to it?’

‘I don’t remember,’ said Nicholas. ‘How did the new clothes appear?’

‘The Venetians,’ said Jorgin. ‘My lord sent to the Venetians and they brought clothes that would fit. They’ve got a fine house. You will like it.… Why is Monseigneur laughing?’

‘Because there is nothing else left for Monseigneur to do,’ Nicholas said.

The young Usurper of Cyprus, who had nearly not been born, received him that evening on the first floor, in an apartment which Nicholas took to be his private chamber. Apart from the large curtained bed, it was not lavishly furnished, and could have seated few guests apart from the swarthy man already ensconced there. Nicholas saw a cast of face he had found among the Sicilians of King Ferrante’s army: lean and bold of feature, and alarming sometimes in its intensity of expression. This man could not be much over thirty but he was scarred like a fighter, and his dark eyes, watching Nicholas under the drapes of his chaperon, were unfriendly and searching. He looked like a mercenary, but one who had risen to hold office as well as a sword. Nicholas thought it interesting that, of all his court, the King had brought such a man to hear their first conversation. Nicholas bowed, and turned to look for his host.

The King had seated himself on a ledge by the window, which was glazed. Outside, Nicholas could see a balcony, and a glimpse of gardens that ran down to the river that formed a wide moat. James de Lusignan, changed into a pale brocade doublet, was fingering the cord of his shirt and gazing across the flat roofs and towers of the city as if deep in thought. In repose, he showed none of the volatile temperament of the Queen his half-sister. His father’s height, which she had missed, was carried with the strong, disciplined grace of a hunter, and he had his father’s long-boned, regular features. A tapping foot; an alertness about the eyes were all that might recall a brotherly likeness. His mother was not in the room. Nicholas said, ‘You sent for me, my lord.’

The young man turned his head quickly. He rose, and stepping down from the window, stood before Nicholas and examined him seriously. Then he said, ‘Good. You look better. You and I are to talk, but I have brought a knight of mine here to reassure you. The lord Rizzo di Marino leads my armies from time to time and advises me, on the field and at home. The advice I hear most often is that I must win the friendship of a genius called Niccolò, who performed miracles in Trebizond, who has made his company famous, who desires adventure and is esteemed by his friends and who suffers from the loss of a greatly-loved wife. Sit and tell me. This is so?’

Nicholas sat. ‘My suffering at the moment is of a different order,’ he said. ‘Suppose we first talk about that.’

‘It is my intention to do so,’ the young man said. He resumed his seat at the window, studying one swinging foot. When he looked up, his face and voice were both sober. ‘We are of an age, you and I, or near enough to make no matter. You have been brought to Cyprus without your consent. In Bologna, you refused to join Carlotta my sister – we know that; but it did not mean that you were willing to come to me, or would have listened had we tried to induce you. Indeed, you would not hear my envoys in Venice. Therefore we took the decision to bring you, and risk your rejection of us, because we thought that, once here, you would use your own judgement to form a conclusion. Will you let me tell you what I have to offer?’

‘Willingly,’ Nicholas said. ‘When you have given me back two months of my life, and Tzani-bey’s head in a pig trough.’

The young man Zacco said, ‘Our mothers think we are young and careless, and we do not disabuse them. If I were the child I might seem, I could never have kept friends like Rizzo, or have conquered three-quarters of Cyprus. To do more, I needed your help. I did not want to antagonise you. If I could have had you brought in any other way, I should have done. So far as money and honours can help, those you have. There is a fief in this country which is already paying its rents to your Bank in Venice. As for Tzani-bey, I will not deny it. I sent him to bring you. But do you think, do you imagine I would have him half kill you? That was none of my doing.’

‘Then he disobeyed you?’ Nicholas said. The Sicilian stirred.

‘What he did, he did without orders,’ said the young man.

‘And how do you punish him?’ Nicholas said. ‘For if he disobeys in the field, more than a captive, one supposes, will suffer. Your own power of authority, even, might be questioned.’

There was silence. Zacco said, ‘Of course. How would you punish him?’

Nicholas drew a long breath. He said, ‘Every army has its own
rules. In mine, he would be publicly flogged and turned off, and his superior degraded for failing to check disobedience.’

‘But you would ask his superior first if he had good reason?’ said Zacco.

‘If I were not the victim, I might do so,’ Nicholas said.

The swinging foot in the window had stopped. The young man Zacco held the edge of his seat and considered, the Sicilian knight silently watching him. He returned his gaze to Nicholas. He said, ‘You speak of army customs. But what you were offered was physical abuse and dishonour. Man to man, what does he merit?’

‘From me? Death,’ said Nicholas. ‘In fair fight, which he did not give me.’

A profound silence fell on the room. The Sicilian said nothing, his eyes on his leader. The young man by the window did not move, but Nicholas felt the weight of his eyes, and knew he was being studied and weighed, like the most precious of merchandise. Zacco said, ‘From me, too.’

Then, for the first time, the swarthy man spoke. ‘My lord King. You can’t do it.’

‘I thought not,’ said Nicholas.

A slam answered him, as Zacco stamped to his feet. ‘You are wrong, and I can.’

Nicholas said, ‘How many men has he?’

The man called Rizzo di Marino said, ‘Here, a hundred cavalry and a hundred fantassin. In Egypt, an army that could sweep us all into the sea.’

Nicholas said, ‘So why doesn’t it do it?’

The Sicilian looked at the King. The King said, ‘The Sultan Khushcadam is not secure on his throne among the Mamelukes. He has powerful Muslim neighbours – in Persia, the Turcoman prince Uzum Hasan; in Constantinople, the Sultan Mehmet, lord of the Ottoman Turks. Khushcadam parades his friendship for them, but in fact is afraid of them both. Cyprus serves at the moment as a place of exile for his more unruly subjects.’

Nicholas said, ‘Then who would care if Tzani-bey is punished as he deserves?’

The King sat down again. He said, ‘First, it would be an affront to Egypt which Egypt could not be seen at present to condone. Secondly, I need the Mamelukes. The Genoese still hold Famagusta. My sister Carlotta and her husband still have their court in Kyrenia. When Kyrenia and Famagusta both fall, the Mamelukes will get what they deserve.’

Nicholas said, ‘You think Venice will send you an army? Neutral Venice?’ He heard a sound, and saw the Sicilian had moved.

The King said, ‘I let the Venetians bring you. They have rich holdings here which they don’t want to see destroyed by the
Mamelukes, or the Turks, or the Genoese. The Venetians need you in Cyprus as much as I do. At the very least, they are at a loss for skilled managers to replace those who fled when Carlotta left. They want the Genoese driven out. They want the island strongly held against Constantinople, but held by Christians, even if those Christians have to pay tribute to keep Cairo neutral. You have the skills. You have the soldiers. Perhaps you have friends among the Genoese? I confess I do not. Eighty years ago, the Genoese invaded and ravaged this island, and hung its king, my great-grandfather, in a cage. His son had to pawn his crown jewels to pay them. They own Famagusta and rule there like lords. They chose Carlotta’s husband. The Bank of St George and the Knights of St John support Carlotta in all she does. But for the Mamelukes, Genoa would own all of Cyprus: we should be a vassal like Chios.’

‘Would you be worse off?’ Nicholas said.

Zacco said, ‘Ask me that again when I hold Famagusta and Kyrenia, and have ordered the Mamelukes from my shores. This island is rich. We need and cherish our traders. But there can only be one ruler, and that is the Lusignan.’

‘I see,’ Nicholas said. ‘But meantime, the Mamelukes may do as they please. Tzani-bey goes free, and you talk of giving me honour?’

‘This is not a court of chivalry,’ Zacco said. ‘This is a kingdom, fighting to live. Tzani-bey will be told that he has made a serious error. He will be asked, when next he meets you, to offer you public apology. If you fight for me, you will fight as his equal. As for the reparation: your time will come. Did the Venetians stop Tzani-bey?’

‘No more than you did,’ Nicholas said. ‘It is not a court of chivalry, that is certain. I am supposed to fight the Genoese single-handed, for the satisfaction of murdering Tzani-bey at the end?’

The young man smiled and glanced at his Sicilian commander, who leaned forward. ‘Not single-handed, Messer Niccolò. We have just received news. Your company is in Rhodes.’

‘Explain,’ said Nicholas. From head to foot, his body ached.

The man in the window said, ‘Why be angry? They found you missing after the great victory of Troia. It was natural that they should look to the coast, and find your ship gone. Venice gave all their assistance – Messer Martelli of the Medici; your own lawyer, Messer Gregorio. A galley was found, and your man Astorre took his soldiers on board, with all your chief officers. It has landed at Rhodes.’

Nicholas didn’t hurry to speak. Two hundred and forty miles to the west, Rhodes was the island home of the Knights of St John, the friends of Carlotta, of Genoa, of the Angevins. Now, it seemed, Astorre and all his army were there. Rushing off to the rescue, and sailing to the wrong place. For, of course, it was Carlotta who was
known to be pursuing his services; Thomas would have told Astorre and the rest about Silla. And Carlotta, scouring Europe for money, was as likely to come back to Rhodes as to Cyprus. Likelier, Astorre must have thought. In the end, Nicholas said only, ‘What will happen?’

The young man said, ‘You have forged a strong bond with your officers. They fear for you. Finding no news in Rhodes, they might well sail for Kyrenia or Famagusta, expecting to find you awaiting Carlotta in Cyprus. If they do, they will be intercepted and killed.’

‘By whom?’ Nicholas said.

‘By me,’ said the young man in the window. ‘Or of course, should they elude me, by Carlotta. She will know by then that you are in Nicosia with me, and that she cannot rely on them.’