Race of Scorpions (45 page)

‘We expected no less. It is not a post we should choose, these coming months. We are doing you no great service in telling you that, upon certain considerations, you will be allowed to return to it. You are a prisoner, Messer Napoleone, and the convention is that prisoners should pay for their freedom. We require to receive from you or your Republic a sum equal to twice the purchase price of a fit, well-trained Mameluke. The lord emir will be able to tell us the current rate. On payment of that, you will be free to go where you please, including the city of Famagusta. Is this agreeable?’

The captain of Famagusta had flushed. He said, ‘The lord king is generous. I accept, with gratitude.’

‘Are we generous?’ said the King. ‘We think you will come to doubt it. Now, another matter. You see here Messer Niccolò and his men?’

‘I do,’ said Lomellini. He frowned.

The young man on the throne settled himself, as if in enjoyment. ‘Messer Niccolò and his army have been in Rhodes. When found, they were on their way to Kyrenia to fight for our sister. This is true?’

‘It is true,’ said Lomellini.

‘You murmur,’ said the King. ‘Is it true?’

‘Yes, it is so,’ said Lomellini. He kept his eyes on the King.

‘And,’ said the King, ‘they entered the service of the lady Carlotta of their own accord, and without outside compulsion?’

Lomellini’s face was still flushed, but his square jaw was firm. He said, ‘The man Niccolò received a knighthood and swore an oath of loyalty to Queen Carlotta. There was no compulsion. Ask your emir. He was in no doubt which side this army would fight on.’

‘We are asking our emir,’ said James de Lusignan. ‘My lord Tzani-bey, you may stand.’

The Mameluke rose, not quite hiding his stiffness, and divided his black stare between the King and the Genoese. He said, ‘I made pretence of dealing harshly with the Fleming, my lord King. I admit to causing some injury. It was necessary. As you see, any suspicion of leniency would have been dangerous.’

The eyes of the Genoese switched from the King to the emir, and then rested on Nicholas. He said, ‘This man is the Queen’s. I have told you. If you think anything else, you are mistaken.’

Zacco smiled. ‘We are so often mistaken. We are fortunate in having men around us to tell us the truth. At times, even a half-truth may content us for the moment. My lord emir, we think we have detained you long enough. We have heard what you have to say. We suggest that on another occasion, you heed our instructions more carefully. You may leave us.’

The Mameluke bowed, stepping backwards; and again; and again; before he turned and left the hall. But as he passed Nicholas, he sought his eyes and, for a moment, held them boldly with something in them not far short of derision. The door closed at his back, and men stirred.

On the throne, the King had also moved. With the robe discarded behind him, he stood on the dais for a moment, and then ran down the steps like an athlete. Before he reached the carpet, Nicholas knelt. The King stopped and touched his shoulder, keeping him there. Then he turned his head to Lomellini. ‘Ser Napoleone, you serve your Republic as best you can, and we do not blame you for the lies you have told. But it happens that we know of the oath sworn to our sister, and the circumstances which forced Ser Niccolò and his army to leave Rhodes to sail to Kyrenia. We know because a message was sent us by Ser Niccolò himself assuring us of his loyalty and asking our help to bring him to us.’

‘This we have done.’ He looked down, and spoke directly to Nicholas. ‘We made a mistake, sending the emir. He was officious. He was afraid, for your own sake, to appear as your friend. So you were not told that the Florentine ship had arrived with your letter; or that Rizzo here has been haunting the Rhodes seas awaiting you. If you cannot forgive the lord emir, I trust you will accept our apologies.’

Nicholas smiled, his eyes on the ground. He said, ‘With all my heart, my lord King. It was, at the same time, an unforgettable journey.’

‘A fearful one, we can see. For, of course,’ the King said, ‘had you truly set out for Kyrenia, we should have sent to kill you all. As it is, you may stand.’

Nicholas stood. Of the two, he was slightly taller. He felt he had no advantage. ‘As it is,’ Zacco repeated, ‘you have presented us with a ship full of merchandise, which we shall certainly take. Of arms, which we shall be glad of. There are merchants, we believe, with their ladies, and officers of my sister’s whom we have a mind to free and have taken, under suitable escort, to enter the gates of Kyrenia or of Famagusta, as they may wish. And, since we respect the Order, and the guard it keeps on the seas, we shall send their ship back to Rhodes, with its master, its soldiers, its seamen. Do these provisions seem fair?’

‘They seem generous, lord,’ Nicholas said. ‘And the ladies?’

The clear eyes did not alter. ‘The lady Primaflora is behind you,’ James de Lusignan said. ‘We have spoken to her. We have sent word also to the sick woman, Katelina van Borselen, who lies at St Lazarus. We have decreed that the lady Primaflora be returned to join her mistress our sister at Rhodes. The demoiselle from Flanders will stay.’

Zacco, the unreadable, the chameleon. Nicholas stood, every muscle relaxed, every sense as alert as if hunting a boar. Behind him, moving slowly, as in regal procession, Primaflora came to stand at his side: he smelled her scent and saw her face, paler than ever, with a line between her brows. She said in a low voice, ‘You have deceived me. You let me agonise over your fate, and you knew Zacco would stand your friend, for you had warned him. I cannot forgive you.’

‘The lady berates you,’ said the King. He looked amused. ‘Indeed, she deserved your confidence if, as she says, she had given up all to leave our sister and join her fate to yours. Fortunately, our sister does not know of her true defection, and will welcome her back.’

‘My lord, the lady Primaflora has my confidence,’ Nicholas said. ‘I believed that my dispatch to the King had been lost. The behaviour of the emir confirmed it. I saw no point in raising false hopes. We have had a voyage of despair, in which the lady has suffered greatly. I hope to obtain her forgiveness. If I have been less than well treated, I could imagine no better recompense than to have the lady stay with me, as she intended.’

The intelligent eyes almost smiled. ‘What is this we hear? You beg that both of your gentle conquests may stay? We think that would be greed.’

Nicholas said, ‘The lady here has long been my companion, but the other belongs to the west, to her husband. Perhaps the lord King would think it a kindness to send Katelina van Borselen home, along with her nephew.’

‘Perhaps. Eventually,’ James de Lusignan said. ‘We see a time may come when we may refuse you little. In this instance, however, we have decided to dismiss the lady Primaflora, and she will sail immediately for Rhodes. As for the boy and the lady, we have it in mind to hold them for ransom. Until it comes, the matron Katelina van Borselen will remain in Cyprus, well protected and honoured, you may be sure. As for the boy, he shall be our page. Or yours, if you wish it. He is charming.’

‘I am no one’s page,’ said Diniz Vasquez.

The King looked at him. He lifted a finger and the boy was pushed forward and stood. Zacco tilted his head. At length, ‘No,’ he said. ‘You are no one’s page. You are a prisoner. That being so, you bear yourself as a gentleman should, and expect and receive, I trust, courtesy in return. Do not be afraid. I do not shame those in my charge.’ He turned his head. ‘And now, I think we should see the Grand Commander.’

The boy, flushed, was pulled back. Primaflora, making to speak, suddenly made a small gesture and gave way to the attendant who, gently but firmly, took her arm to remove her. Nicholas took a step
after and felt, light and warm, the King’s touch on one of his shoulders. It hardened. ‘You will wait,’ Zacco said. A moment later a grey-haired man, robed and hatted in black, was being ushered in, with a shadow behind him.

The King turned, dropping his arm. Nicholas remained where he was, in the full view of the newcomer whose eyes narrowed in angry suspicion. Primaflora had gone. The King said, ‘My lord Commander of Cyprus. You thought to bring an army to the lady our sister. Instead, as you see, a brave and able man has tricked’ you into fetching us the soldiers we need. You have nothing with which to reproach yourself. Your vessel and all of your company are to be taken unharmed where they wish. We brought you here to say more. It is not our intention to make war on the Order, or on the brethren of the Order who live and work here in Cyprus. If you wish to pass to Kolossi, you are free to do so; and we ourselves shall give you an escort of honour. Tonight, you will feast as our guest. Tomorrow, you have only to make your wishes known. Does this please you?’

‘My lord is generous,’ said Louis de Magnac. He spoke the words to the King, but Nicholas felt the heat of his gaze. De Magnac muttered, ‘Knave and mountebank! Murderer!’

‘I am a mercenary,’ Nicholas said. ‘You gave me, once, a good servant.’

De Magnac bared his teeth. ‘He told me your every move, boy,’ he said.

‘I know just what he told you,’ said Nicholas. ‘And I think it is time he came back.’

The Grand Commander, consumed with serious anger, detected some impertinence, but brushed it aside with a snort. His African servant said, ‘Sir?’

The fellow had stepped out from behind the Commander. A magnificent negro, the best he’d ever had, and wearing a doublet from the Queen’s tailor. The Grand Commander barked ‘Lopez?’

‘Sir?’ said the negro again. He had walked in front of de Magnac. And the question was directed at Nicholas.

Nicholas smiled. He said to Zacco, ‘Our private spy with the Order. His own idea. It was he who lodged my message to you with the Florentine ship calling at Rhodes. May I present the major domo of my household? And the rest of my officers are unknown to you. And one hundred more, waiting outside.’

‘We shall meet them all,’ Zacco said. ‘But we have not told you yet what we think of you. Come.’

He put out both hands. His fingers round those of Nicholas were warm and hard and threateningly strong. He leaned forward and Nicholas felt the press of his lips on either cheek and then, deep and hot, on his brow. The King tightened his clasp at arm’s length.

‘Sweet Niccolò, welcome,’ he said. ‘You have brought us your mind, and your loyalty. Accept in return the heart and soul of a friend.’

Five pairs of eyes watched that, with choler. Six, if you counted those of Diniz, the boy. Restraint had to be observed among the shareholders and partners of the House of Niccolò until, after a supper that did indeed deserve the title of feast, they were relinquished unprotected, unguarded, unwatched in the palatial room which was their new sleeping apartment.

Nicholas was not present.

‘Is anyone astonished?’ commented Tobie. He rounded on le Grant. ‘You knew about Zacco, you snake. You never said he was young. Nor did Nicholas. I’m company doctor to Cupid.’

‘I knew,’ said Astorre. He had taken his clothes off, and was admiring them. ‘Stood to reason. Our boy doesn’t want another woman to answer to. Our boy wants some fun.’

‘Well, he’s lost the woman he had,’ said John le Grant. ‘Primaflora’s on her way back to Carlotta. He has his own way, has Zacco, with the competition.’

‘Good riddance,’ said Thomas.

‘Well, that depends,’ Tobie said. ‘Have I got it right? Following some artful footwork between the eighth and ninth courses, it’s been agreed that the dazzling Diniz is no longer to be anyone’s page, but will be found an occupation, until ransomed, in Nicosia. Likewise the gentle Katelina, whom the King will confide to his very own mother. Meanwhile, you and I and the rest of us start earning our keep as the saviours of Cyprus. What I want to know is, shall we be accompanied by Zacco and Nicholas?’

‘In spirit, I’m sure,’ said the engineer. ‘I’d rather know, to tell the truth, where Tzani-bey al-Ablak will be. That dressing-down our emir got from the King? I don’t believe it. You look at what happened. No one told us Loppe’s message got through, and the Mamelukes treated us as if it hadn’t. Damn them, they wanted us scared.’

‘What?’ said Astorre.

Tobie said, ‘I recognised the quotation. The King had an informer at Salines.’

‘At Salines?’ said le Grant with some grimness. ‘I’ll give you a wager that, from the moment our ship was waylaid, that same King was behind all that happened. That bullying wasn’t planned by the Mamelukes. It’s your bonny Zacco’s trick. Fear as a weapon.’

‘And love,’ Tobie said. ‘An arsenal to beware of. Do you think Nicholas has seen through it? Or is bewitched? Or isn’t bewitched, and will yearn after Primaflora and arrange, with ingenious traps,
to bring about the deaths of Diniz and his much-hated aunt Katelina?’

‘Nonsense,’ said Astorre. He was under his blanket. ‘We’re here to fight. He likes fighting.’

‘I think,’ said John le Grant, ‘that that is what Tobie is saying. And we ought none of us to forget. He likes meddling in business as well. Whatever is selling in Cyprus, you can expect Nicholas to corner it soon.’

Tobie grunted, and rolled into bed. ‘It looks to me,’ said the doctor, ‘as if Nicholas has been offered it free. But I’m damned sure it’s not a monopoly.’

Chapter 23

T
O BE ALONE
and sick among enemies wouldn’t trouble a man: it should not trouble, therefore, a woman of twenty-two years with a bastard son and a profligate husband. Nevertheless Katelina van Borselen came to consciousness to lie, her eyes closed, struggling with a remembrance of fear. Fear, and an enemy’s voice saying, ‘We are not far away.’ The voice of Nicholas. Claes.

Where had she heard it? On board ship, she supposed. Even here, in her cabin, since she had never left it. She recalled the storm on leaving Rhodes, and some of the subsequent misery. She remembered the small shock of finding herself in the care of the courtesan Primaflora whose attentions, unhesitating and detached, might (conceivably) have been those of a humane-minded mistress of Nicholas, or (if Fortune were kind) those of a spy of the Queen, concerned for the health of an ally. Katelina knew that Nicholas was being sent, heavily monitored, to fight for Carlotta. She understood, but at the time hardly cared, that there had been a sea battle. She didn’t know what had resulted. But she was presently awake, and in bed, and unmolested. So, whatever the outcome, the ship was proceeding calmly enough on its way, and she was recovering. And if Nicholas was near, she would, somehow, protect herself. She dozed. Her hearing brought her the slight, rumpled beat of a moth, and the kindred fizzings of sound that suggested that it was night, and that candles were burning. Or lamps. On a ship, as a rule, there were lamps.