Race of Scorpions by Dorothy Dunnett
Louis de Magnac had arrived. He said, ‘And that is all we wish for you also, Messer Niccolò. I am sure your loyalty to the Queen is unquestioned. So soon as the Queen herself is convinced, you may join them.’
‘The Queen is here?’ Nicholas said.
‘Yes,’ said the Grand Commander of Cyprus. ‘And awaiting you now, at the Palace.’
‘I see,’ Nicholas said. ‘I am honoured. I shall, of course, attend her presently. But you will forgive me none the less if I keep to my original plan. I should like first to establish the lady, our servants and our luggage in some suitable tavern. We are not dressed for court.’
Louis de Magnac could never be hearty, but his manner came close to it. ‘Will the Queen complain?’ he said. ‘Far from it. But you are right. A tavern it shall be. We shall send your servants there, and your luggage and the lady’s. If you need them, they will be sent for. But now, we must not keep the Queen waiting. Will you walk? Or does the lady wish to be carried?’
Nicholas said, ‘The Queen is too amiable. As the future leader of the Queen’s auxiliary army, I would not demean her by appearing less than honourably. I shall accept, with pleasure, an escort to the tavern. Your men may wait to lead us to the palace. And it might be appropriate, and quicker, to supply the lady and myself with horses of reasonable quality. As you see, I have none of my own.’
Never had Katelina van Borselen heard Claes speak to a man of birth as an equal before, far less present an ultimatum. Overrule me, and you will have to arrest me, and lose the chance of my army. She saw the Grand Commander decide to concede. The inn could be guarded; communication with others prevented. ‘But of course,’ said Louis de Magnac. ‘Provided you do not try her grace’s patience too far. She is a woman. She does not like to be kept overlong waiting.’
‘It seems a pity, in that case,’ Nicholas said, ‘that you committed me before first consulting me. Now, where do we go?’
They were taken to a large inn which was not in the Chora of the Castello, the lower part of the walled city in which the merchants, the Jews, the Latins had their trading centre, and the Knights whatever private dwellings they could afford. Uphill from the Chora was the fortified town of the Knights, in which they consulted and ate in the Gothic residences of their Langues, the clubhouses of their national groupings. There also were their church and hospital of St John, and the fortress of the Grand Master. There too were the palaces built or lent for the use of the diplomats, the envoys, the guests of the Knights. The hospice to which Nicholas and Primaflora were taken was one of these. And a long and safe distance from it, as Primaflora was able to tell him, was the palace of Carlotta and Luis of Cyprus, where he was later expected.
It was the only communication he and Primaflora were allowed on the short journey through the thick turreted gates and up the straight, classical streets cluttered with Levantine, non-classical buildings. They had parted from Katelina and her kinsmen on the jetty. Nicholas carried with him the black, furious gaze of the boy Diniz. Well: he had known that was going to happen. Tristão Vasquez had said nothing more, but he owed Vasquez something for what intervention he had made. He would make none in the future, that was certain. And Katelina? She had been nineteen when they first met; fresh from breaking out of an unwanted betrothal; at odds with her parents; at odds with the masculine world. Now she was Simon’s wife and a mother, but only three years had passed. What had been abrasive, forthright, childishly vain should not have changed so quickly into a bitter, angular spirit; a face of original beauty now full of repression. Walking down the jetty, Primaflora had said, ‘That is the wife of the beautiful Simon?’
And he had said, ‘She has competition, as you may imagine,’ and left it at that. Primaflora must realise he had no interest in Katelina. It was quite important, indeed, that she should.
At the guest house, he and the girl were placed in separate chambers with an attendant outside each door. Primaflora was allowed her own woman, but he was given only the services of the footman from the Grand Commander’s own household. The attentive services: the negro followed him in with the baggage and then closed and locked the chamber door on the inside. He turned. But for themselves, the chamber was empty. Nicholas said, ‘I can’t believe it. You’d do anything for money.’ He punched the other man’s shoulder, and then stood holding him at arms’ length while they grinned at each other.
The negro called Loppe said, ‘You’ve got to beat M. de Magnac’s prices. What kept you?’
Nicholas pushed him into a seat and himself dropped to the floor, stretching his arms luxuriantly over his head. ‘Never mind what kept me,’ he said. ‘How did you get here? Where are the rest? And what’s happening?’
From slave to friend to major domo of the fondaco at Trebizond, the man called Loppe had grown into the core of the Charetty company; had still been with it when Nicholas had last seen him in Tilde de Charetty’s office in Bruges. From Bruges, it now seemed he had travelled to Venice. And then, keeping apart from Astorre, he had found employment with Louis de Magnac of Cyprus, to whom all news of Cyprus must come. Here, no one who mattered either knew or would remember him: even Katelina van Borselen. Nicholas said, ‘You took a risk, all the same. And porter’s work! You know how you drop things.’ He paused. ‘Did you tell them in Bruges where you were going?’
Loppe rocked his clasped thumbs. ‘I didn’t know where I was going. I asked Master Julius to let me join Master Gregorio’s business in Venice. He didn’t mind. He had enough on his hands with the two girls. Not trouble – they do very well, and Father Godscalc keeps them right, and Ser Adorne.’
‘And Gregorio?’ Nicholas said. Loppe always knew by instinct what he wanted to know.
‘Has set up his Bank, which is going well. Your Bank. He was a trifle anxious. We all were. We didn’t want to be responsible for all your debts.’
‘Then you shouldn’t have taken shares,’ said Nicholas absently. The misfortunes of his arrival had already receded, to be replaced by a twinge of excitement. He said, ‘What you are saying is that I ought to be improving the balance. Well, I shan’t deny I’ve been giving some thought to it. I’ll need some help, unless you’re proposing to porter for life. What do you call yourself?’
The other smiled. ‘Lopez. If you remember, I had Portuguese owners. I don’t expect to serve very long. I may give you orders, later.’
‘Try it,’ said Nicholas. He stretched his legs on the floor. ‘All right. Tell me. About Astorre, Katelina, and the company.’
Loppe said, ‘You did expect her.’
‘I expected Simon,’ he said. ‘But we don’t always get what we want. How did Astorre get into trouble?’
‘Through the lady,’ Loppe said. ‘Captain Astorre was adroit. He came here to seek you, while apparently touting for business. You were not here; he waited; he stayed too long. By the time the demoiselle Katelina arrived, it was known that you had left Italy before Astorre did. So the demoiselle warned the Queen that you may never have intended to join her. And that if you came to Astorre, it might be to lead him to Zacco.’
He waited. Nicholas smiled, but said nothing. Loppe resumed, with some patience. ‘That was when the army was put under restraint. The excuse was reasonable. Mercenaries lacking employment are a danger in any society. Either Astorre signed a contract, or submitted. The captain has maintained his position: they are awaiting your arrival; they intend to fight for the Knights or the Queen. They are in the old Hospital, and locked in at night, although the Order allows them to work for their keep in the daytime. Le Grant has transformed the defences.’
‘Le Grant?’ Nicholas said. Once, John le Grant and he had blown up half Trebizond. But then the Scot had gone back to Bruges, and had been thrown out, as he had, by Marian’s daughters.
Loppe said, ‘Your former engineer. He came from Venice at the same time as I did. He said life was getting too easy without you.’
Astorre and Le Grant. Thomas, Tobie and Loppe. From being alone, he was part of a
‘The Queen? The Knights curse her, but give her what she wants. She is a fighter: she might attract help for Rhodes as well as for Cyprus. She is threatened by Constantinople as well as by Zacco her brother. She needs Astorre and his men, just as the Knights do. But rather than have them go to her brother, she’d kill them.’
Nicholas said, ‘And the lady I brought with me? Does she speak of her?’
Loppe’s face barely changed. He said, ‘The lady Primaflora was sent to make sure you would join the Queen’s party. Her absence, like your own, caused some comment. That is all I was told.’
Nicholas said, ‘I have met Zacco. He has invited me to join him, with Astorre or without him. The lady Primaflora will go where I go.’
Loppe spoke slowly. ‘He invited you, but did not keep you?’
Nicholas said, ‘He is a man of my age, or yours, and full of confidence. A woman would have learned caution.’
There was a silence. Loppe said, ‘And your lady is prepared to support the Bastard’s side, too, if you choose it?’
Nicholas said, ‘She is not my lady, any more than he is my lord. Primaflora had no wish to return to the Queen. If she does so now, it is only for form’s sake. She will leave as soon as she can.’
‘She is your strongest card with the Queen,’ Loppe remarked.
He sounded like Tilde. Nicholas laughed. He said, ‘Oh, don’t worry. She is enough of my lady to give the Queen all the reassurance she needs. Primaflora was sent to bring me back, and used every weapon, if for the opposite reason.’
Loppe said, ‘I am glad,’ and went on quickly, ‘I hear horses. What more can I tell you?’
‘Nothing more,’ Nicholas said. He got up and started to strip, while Loppe unfastened a box and began pulling out clothes.
Loppe straightened, a pourpoint in his hands. He said, ‘So?’
Nicholas clawed on a fresh shirt and took the pourpoint. ‘So what?’
Loppe gave a snort. ‘The Queen, the Genoese, the Order? The Bastard Zacco? Or home?’
Nicholas dragged on hose and tied knots. ‘You want to go back to Guinea?’
Loppe said, ‘I want to know what I’ve been waiting for. So does Astorre.’
Nicholas buttoned his doublet, took a brush, and reduced his hair to a bumpy brown mound which immediately crimped round his nape and his temples. He slapped on the fur hat. He said, ‘I thought you were waiting for me? I’ll tell you when I’ve seen Queen Carlotta.’
Loppe said, ‘You may not get the chance.’
Nicholas was ready. He smiled. ‘Oh, no,’ he said. ‘I’ll lay you a small wager I’ll be allowed back to the hospice for several days. I’ll see you. I’ll see Astorre. I may not be allowed to see the lady Primaflora, but I shall have to put up with that. Meantime, there are two things you can do for me. One is to carry a packet. The other is to find out what you can about what the demoiselle Katelina may do, and also her nephew Diniz and his father. You saw them on the pier.’
‘I know them,’ said Loppe. ‘You wish to cause them some trouble?’
‘On the contrary,’ Nicholas said. ‘I have a great respect for them all. I just want to know, all the time, where they are. Can you do that?’
‘They have servants,’ said Loppe. ‘I can do that. What are you expecting to happen?’
‘What I’m expecting to happen doesn’t worry me,’ Nicholas said. ‘It’s what I’m not expecting that’s the devil. And don’t think, if you let me down, that you and John le Grant can do the whole thing yourselves because you most certainly can’t.’
‘Do what?’ said Loppe, his eyes whitely innocent.
‘What do you think? John’s an engineer. In your Portuguese days, you didn’t waste your time, did you? I’m only surprised Lorenzo Strozzi didn’t come with you.’
‘We asked him,’ said Loppe. ‘But he was leaving for Naples.’ He weighed the pack in his hand in a conjecturing way. ‘But of course, his mother’s in Florence, with your horses.’ He paused. ‘It’s another game. I am right? You are not going home?’
‘Of course I’m not going home,’ Nicholas said. ‘Any more than you are. As for the game, wait and see. After I’ve had my audience with Queen Carlotta.’
Astorre was next to hear of his owner’s arrival. It propelled him on a tour of his officers. John le Grant, about his business on the heights of the half-built St Nicholas tower, was annoyed to be summoned by shouts from below. When he heard Astorre actually climbing the stonework he exclaimed, ‘Oh Christ,’ and thrust his lever at someone to hold for him. From there, he leaned out from the scaffold and shouted, ‘If you come one step nearer, I’ll mince you.’
Astorre glared back at him, but remained where he was. It was raining. The air vibrated with the clack of the windmills. Astorre looked up at the fortress and sneered. ‘That’s supposed to make a Turk stop? They’ll blow it down through the gaps in their teeth. I just thought you might be interested in your future. The young fellow’s turned up.’
John le Grant gripped the uprights on either side of him and swung down to the plank just below. Without touching it with his feet, he performed a couple of somersaults and then let himself swing back and forth, his legs in their muddy boots held straight out in front of him. He said, ‘Catch me,’ and dropped. Astorre, nearly overturned into the sea, staggered, caught him, and slammed him down on the paving before him. He said, ‘If they’ve got any sense, they’ll brick you up in that thing. Did you hear what I said? Nicholas has come in from Kolossi. With a woman.’
‘I didn’t hear you say that,’ John le Grant said. ‘Well, good for Nicholas. Where is he?’
‘With Carlotta. That bitch Simon’s wife was waiting for him with Louis de Magnac. Suave and sweet to his face, but he’s under guard.’
‘You don’t look worried,’ said the engineer. He took off his felt cap and wrung it out.
‘He came. There’s nothing to worry about,’ said Astorre. His puckered eye gleamed through the scar, and his beard broadened its base. ‘The woman’s the one Thomas trailed all over Italy. Thomas got all upset when Loppe told him.’
‘Lopez,’ said John le Grant. ‘He’s with Nicholas?’
‘That’s who told me,’ said Captain Astorre. ‘And I’ve news. Loppe thinks it’s Cyprus we’re going for.’
John le Grant put on his cap. He said, ‘That’s all I needed: a death sentence. Come on. If I’m not going to build it, I don’t see why I need to get wet.’
Captain Astorre looked up at the tower and the scaffolding. He said, ‘What did you say to that fellow? To hold something?’
The engineer followed his eye, swore, and yelled up an instruction. The man, scowling, dropped what he had been holding. It slithered down, bringing a course of stone with it. A block dropped at his feet. ‘Wall you up, if you’re not careful. I told you. I thought you’d be interested,’ said Astorre. He climbed down to ground level. ‘Not that I got much from Loppe.’
‘Lopez,’ said le Grant.
‘Lopez. He had to go down to the harbour.’
‘Why?’ said the engineer. He wiped his hands on his hide coat and opened the door of the hut where his flask was.
‘I don’t know,’ said Astorre. ‘But I saw him down by the Florentine ship. The one from Constantinople. It had some alum on board.’
‘I didn’t know we’d left any,’ John le Grant said. He wiped his mouth and passed the wine to the other.
‘We didn’t leave much,’ Astorre said. ‘But it’s good, heh? He came. Now we’ll see something.’
Chapter 15
IN A SNOWY farmyard south of Bologna, the Queen of Cyprus had recommended her cause to Nicholas, and had sent Primaflora to persuade him. That had been a y
It wound among forges and bread ovens, and up streets thick with the sawdust of woodcarvers, or lined with the trestles and kiln-fires of potters. It passed innumerable shrines, and many small churches. It rode through gusts of heat, and air heavy with yeast and goat dung, mutton and incense, lemons and carobs and blood. It traversed streets sloping upwards, downwards and sideways and the only streets it never climbed and never crossed were the streets of the Knights, built of marble, which, he had been told, lined the height to the Grand Master’s Castle. He wondered why.
They stopped only twice. Once, a line of horsemen in black appeared at a far-distant junction, and the Queen’s cavalcade paused until they had vanished. The second time, their way was impeded by a stationary mule at a junction. Low in its saddle, sandalled feet semaphored, rode a bulky man in a cloak. Below it, he wore the white-girdled gown of a Franciscan.
Nicholas recognised him, with a groan, as belonging to the same snowy battle at Siila. He remembered a curt conversation, during which he claimed to have escaped from Carlotta. He remembered the derision in the monk’s ferocious eyes. It was there again now. The man looked up, and the rain beat upon his blue bristled tonsure and jowls.
‘Brother Ludovico da Bologna,’ Nicholas said with resignation.
The friar turned from the captain, approached Nicholas and, as the cavalcade moved, put the mule to a trot at his instep. ‘Not precisely. You may say Father,’ he said. ‘Or Monseigneur, of course.’ His voice was earthy, and rumbled. ‘The Venetians made me a priest. You’re not surprised?’