Race of Scorpions (24 page)

‘Long enough,’ Nicholas said. ‘If there is time, why don’t we walk towards Limassol?’ He kept his voice free of anxiety, wishing, for several reasons, to hear if Vasquez would excuse himself. Instead the other man agreed, and made no counter-suggestions. The walk they took was not long, considering its repercussions. Nicholas was able, for example, to see what he had been curious to see. And as they went, he and the Portuguese chatted. The name of Senhor Tristão’s company, he learned, was St Pol & Vasquez. It had formed an interest in Madeira, developing vineyards and sugar fields there. It was a supplier to the Duchess Isabelle of Burgundy, whose brother Dom Henry had begun the Madeira plantations. And the Scottish lord Simon, brother of Senhor Tristão’s wife, was working personally with the company. ‘In Portugal?’ Nicholas asked. ‘Or do you both stay in Madeira?’

‘We have homes in both places,’ said Tristão Vasquez. ‘My wife prefers Portugal, as I think does the lady Katelina, the wife of her brother. It is more congenial, when we are both away, as at present.’

‘You sail with your own goods?’ Nicholas said. He wore his clown’s face, feeling it stiffening.

‘Sometimes,’ the Portuguese answered. ‘Sometimes, as now, we travel to test out a market for something new we plan to export. That is our purpose on this journey, although Simon has travelled ahead of me. If you are coming to Rhodes, you will meet him. You may even have heard of him. He is a famous jouster, in his own country of Scotland. Simon de St Pol, of a family estate called Kilmirren.’

‘I think I have heard of him,’ Nicholas said.

Re-entering the castle, he ached as if he had been abused again. He found his room, and lying down, attempted to think. Unless he did something quickly, disaster faced him both here and on Rhodes. Here, because John of Kinloch would warn the Vasquez of the vendetta between Simon and Nicholas, and advise the Knights that, pursuing it, Nicholas was unlikely to side with Carlotta. And on Rhodes, because Simon was waiting there. If Nicholas went to collect his army, he couldn’t avoid him. And Simon, too, would be sure that Nicholas had arrived for no other reason than to bring down both the Queen and St Pol & Vasquez.

He must go to Rhodes. Without clear direction, Astorre could fall prey to either party without him. It seemed to Nicholas that he could deal with Simon – perhaps – when he landed on Rhodes, for he had Primaflora, whose goodwill was becoming his greatest asset. On the other hand, he must silence the chaplain. He wondered with uncharacteristic bitterness why his game should be spoiled at the outset by the hand which, always, came over his shoulder and changed the pieces. Taking up the thread of his life, he had stumbled upon an amusement, an interest, even an absorption. He had abandoned Bruges, and Geneva, and Venice. But the past had risen up once more to frighten and plague him.

That night, rival of Diniz as he was not, he spent with Primaflora; and by morning, his stiffness had gone. By then, she knew all that he needed to tell her, except for one thing. He kept that till morning. Then he said, ‘The Portuguese.’

She was smoothing her own breast with his hand. ‘Yes?’ she said.

‘Their name is Vasquez.’

‘That is so. Tristão and Diniz. You know them?’

‘I know who they are. They don’t know me or my name, and it’s important they don’t find out any more about me. Unfortunately, John of Kinloch is in a position to tell them. If he does, it could spoil all our plans.’

‘How?’ She closed his fingers over the tip of her breast and watched the tip rise to fill them.

‘It relates to an old feud. It doesn’t matter. But it could lead both Master John and the Portuguese to deduce that I wasn’t interested in Carlotta or Madeira or Genoa. They might advise the Knights that I am probably working for Zacco. And the Knights might keep me from leaving.’

She said, ‘I thought you hadn’t decided yet who you were working for.’ This time, she had arranged his hand somewhere else, making him jerk. His concentration broke, for a moment.

‘After last night?’ Nicholas said. ‘I thought it was all too clear who I was working for. To the bone. This morning also, I notice. Christ Jesus. Unless you stop, Mass will take place without us.’

She said, ‘I have my own way of praying. So what can be done about Father John?’ She lay still.

‘Very little,’ Nicholas said, ‘without more help than we have at present.’ He gazed at her, lying still. He said, ‘Where is the
Doria
?’

She removed and laid down his hand and sat up with a sharpness of manner she rarely showed. ‘You have lost me my mood. The
Doria
? Probably in Episkopi Bay. Why? You want to kidnap poor Father John?’

He halted then, and said, ‘You’re right. This has nothing to do with you.’ But when he moved towards her, she stopped him.

‘I want all of your attention, not half of it. Go on. Go on. I am truly listening.’

So he smiled and, sitting too, said, ‘I prefer the sweet after the savoury. And it’s best that you know. It really would be inconvenient if Father John met me and spoke to the Vasquez. It would be an extremely gentle detention. If he doesn’t see me, he will never know who was responsible.’

She said, ‘The Knights might mention your name. Wouldn’t they miss him?’

‘He has arranged to be away for four days. Will they be concerned if he is absent for longer? I doubt,’ Nicholas said, ‘if Father John plays a formidable part in their routine. Or am I wrong?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘He pleases himself. But how could you do this alone?’

‘I wouldn’t. Crackbene would help me, or whoever the Venetians have left on the ship. Where is this place John of Kinloch has gone to?’

‘Kouklia. The royal sugarcane centre. The brothers Martini have the franchise …’ She stopped, her hair half-wound on her head. ‘No, they don’t.’

‘I have the franchise,’ he said. ‘Or the option to acquire it, if I bring my men back to Zacco. But how far off is Kouklia?’

‘Not far. You should get there and back in a day. You might
even find them all at the Martini warehouses at Episkopi. It’s where the Venetian sugar ship calls. The Knights send their sugar there, too.’

‘I’ve heard. The Martini act as their agents. I’ll go,’ Nicholas said. ‘Can you make some excuse? I’ll get a horse or a mule in the village.’

‘You might take me with you,’ she said. ‘I could show you Venus’s birthplace.’ She held both hands over her head, a strand of bright hair lifted between them. Her breasts were stretched cones made of satin.

However thoroughly he was engrossed, her body spoke to his, insistently, until, like this, it drew from him an answer. His mind, seduced outwards, told him what his unseeing eyes saw, and feeling returned to every surface that made him. Slowly extending an arm, Nicholas took one end of her hair and pulled it all out again. ‘I feel that would distract me,’ he said. ‘No. You stay here and let Diniz exhaust you. Unless, of course, someone has done that already.’ He took her two wrists in one hand and, holding them high, laid her back, arched and intent, on the pillows. ‘I thought you said I had lost you your mood,’ he said. ‘And look, you were absolutely mistaken.’

In the end, he needed to go no further than Episkopi for news of John of Kinloch. It took him two miles to the west in a direction he had not yet travelled. He found the road flat and easy, and, without Primaflora to distract him, laid his plans as he rode.

What Tristão and Diniz Vasquez meant in his life was not something he felt impelled to confide in the lovely woman who was now, he supposed, his accepted mistress. She had been curious already about Katelina. He hadn’t told her that Katelina van Borselen was married, or that the Portuguese she had just met was Katelina van Borselen’s brother-in-law. Seventeen years before, Tristão Vasquez had come to Bruges and met and married Lucia, whose brother Simon years later took Katelina to wife. John of Kinloch knew that. He knew of Simon’s past hatred of Nicholas. If Simon and Tristão Vasquez were partners in Portugal, and hence on the side of Genoa and Carlotta, John of Kinloch would be reasonably sure that, whatever he claimed, Nicholas intended working for Zacco. If that became known, Nicholas would not be allowed to join his army in Rhodes, and Carlotta would feel free to dispose of them. Then Zacco, lacking his help, could succumb to Carlotta.

Therefore Father John by some means must be silenced. And it seemed to Nicholas that he should point out to any Venetians he met that, in this instance, his aims were their own.

He knew no one at Episkopi, but walked his horse down to the
jetty where the warehouse doors stood open and carts and barrows squelched over the sand and the mud. Offshore, there were several ships waiting at anchor, but he could see no sign of the
Doria
, or of the fair bulk of his Master, Mick Crackbene. The sugar ship had not yet arrived. He left his horse, and found his way to where a number of officials were working. There he found and spoke to two men from the Corner plantation and one who worked for the Bishop of Limassol. They could tell him nothing of the movements of the chaplain John of Kinloch, but were more than ready to listen to him on other, extremely pertinent matters. He had finished his conversation and was returning to the larger warehouse and his horse when the warehouse owner stepped into his path. It was Luigi Martini.

In the monastery and on the
Doria
, Luigi Martini had looked like a man with a grievance, and he had not changed. His face, sallow and lined, was remarkable for its obstinate spade of a chin. Although made of good fabric, his brimmed cap and thick pleated doublet could have done with a pressing. He had the air of a man who was married to business, and who despised every other pursuit. He said now, ‘Messer Niccolò. Your beating, I hear, earned you a profit. You are to manage Kouklia for the King.’

Nicholas said, ‘Perhaps. You would still have the franchise for Kolossi. But I hope the King consulted you about it.’

‘I received a message,’ said the Venetian. ‘As the King was kind enough to remark, half my profit is still better than what I would have if Carlotta returned. You have not even made up your mind to accept the offer, I hear. How delightful to be young and carefree, and in a position to debate what to toy with, and what to throw aside as insignificant.’

Nicholas said, ‘Myself, I avoid such dilemmas. This one, I must remind you, was forced on me. I feel no compulsion, I’m afraid, to apologise.’

‘I didn’t expect it,’ said Luigi Martini. ‘You are here to command a vessel for Rhodes? Your own ship, I hear, has been dispatched on some errand.’

‘My own ship?’ Nicholas said. ‘I have no idea where my stolen vessel may be. I am not here to find her. I want to find and silence a man who could prevent me from bringing my army from Rhodes. He is connected with the Knights Hospitaller, and his name is John of Kinloch. Do you know him?’

‘I know him,’ said Martini. He stepped aside, calling to someone, then returned and stood, his hands on his hips. Sand swirled round them and stuck to their skins. He said, ‘What do you mean? The Knights believe you will fight for Carlotta. Why should they prevent your army from leaving for Cyprus? It is Cyprus she wants you to take for her.’

‘Because,’ said Nicholas, ‘this priest has reason to know that, whoever I fight for, it won’t be Carlotta. He will warn the Knights at Kolossi. He will tell her. And she will prevent my men from leaving. Do you know where he is?’

Luigi Martini surveyed him. ‘You won’t fight for Carlotta?’

‘As it happens, no,’ Nicholas said. ‘I may not fight for James of Lusignan either, but that choice is still open. Meanwhile, where is the fellow?’

The Venetian didn’t immediately answer. His face, full of distrust, had turned thoughtful. Nicholas hoped he was a student of logic. If he refused to help Nicholas, he would incur Zacco’s displeasure. If he agreed to help Nicholas, the plan might still fail and Nicholas be prevented from coming to Zacco, in which case, Luigi Martini would retain the Kouklia franchise. Luigi Martini said, ‘You have missed the chaplain you want. He is on his way back to Kolossi. With a good horse, you might overtake him.’

Nicholas said, ‘I should need more than a good horse. I don’t want to be recognised. I need a man who knows John of Kinloch by sight, and who would help catch him for me, and keep him until I’ve got clear of Rhodes. I don’t mean the priest harm, and I should accept any blame that resulted. No one need know your share except, of course, Zacco. Will you help?’

It was hard to remain calm, and talk quietly. There were only two miles to cover, and the priest had already set out. Had there been more time, he would have added another inducement. He had made sure Martini would hear of it afterwards. Then the Venetian said, ‘Yes. I will help you. There is a man who knows Father John, but is not known by him. This horse is fast: he can take it. Tell him what you want as you go. You will remember that the Knights are my employers.’

‘The deed is mine. You know nothing about it. Thank you,’ said Nicholas. He mounted as he spoke, and waited as Martini’s man trotted up, looking puzzled, and then set off up the road. Ahead somewhere was John of Kinloch. And he had to reach him before he got to Kolossi.

He might have managed it, if the priest had kept to the road. Nicholas never discovered why Father John chose to diverge. He only knew that he and his companion raced all the way to Kolossi without catching sight of him. Across the drawbridge, the first person Nicholas met was Primaflora. She stopped. ‘The priest? Didn’t you find him?’

‘He isn’t here?’ Nicholas said. Then, as she shook her head, ‘He set off to come back. I’ve overshot him. We’ll have to go back and hunt.’

‘No, you won’t,’ said Primaflora. ‘Your problem is solved. A ship of the Order is coming to load the Commanderie’s wine. It’s
sailing to Rhodes. It will take you and me and both the Portuguese Vasquez, and you will be away from Kolossi before John de Kinloch can meet you.’

Her voice, ending, sounded annoyed because he was looking over her shoulder. ‘What do you wager?’ said Nicholas. ‘There is John of Kinloch, riding up to the drawbridge this moment. And coming in. And dismounting. He’s seen me. Where are the Portuguese? Indoors? Go and talk to them. Have congress with them individually, if you like, on the floor of the Hall, but keep them indoors and happy. You, come with me.’