Race of Scorpions by Dorothy Dunnett
They left the sea, and the ride became much more unpleasant. There was a blustering wind from the north, and splattered mud dashed in their faces. Other men joined them, and before they had gone very far, one or two of the Knights came up quickly. One of them, Scougal, was a Scottish Hospitaller whom Tobie knew. Tobie said, as they rode, ‘What do you think has happened?’
The Knight heard him, but threw an uneasy glance at Katelina. She said, ‘You might as well tell us. I’ve heard the party’s dogs came back, injured, but the horses haven’t been found?’
The Knight said, ‘The gentleman and his son seem to have been deliberately sent where riding is difficult. They had with them two guides who have disappeared too. And if they found their way to the shore from the mountains, they might have run into a raiding party. Without guides, it is a dangerous island.’
‘A raiding party. Of Turks?’ Tobie asked. He was taken aback.
The Knight said, ‘You haven’t seen the burned houses and ruined fields by the shore? The coast of Asia Minor is only seven miles away. The pirates make a quick landing, and pillage and destroy what they can. If someone wished the demoiselle’s family ill, it wouldn’t be hard to snatch them and hold them to ransom. I hear Tristão Vasquez is highly valued. And Muslims esteem handsome boys.’
Tobie said, ‘That’s enough. They’re more than likely just wandering lost on the hills.’
But it was Astorre, not far away, who shook his head. ‘Rhodes is a small place. The first search party must have used dogs. If they didn’t find them, they’re either hurt, or concealed, or off the island.’
Guinevere removed a hank of hair from his teeth. ‘If I were a Turk, I doubt if I’d have heard of the Vasquez. If they were deliberately cut off, it wasn’t the work of a chance raiding party. Demoiselle? Who had a grudge against the Senhor and his son?’
‘You,’ she said. ‘And your men.’
‘But we were kept inside the City. So, business rivals? Who else?’
‘No one else,’ she said. Her knuckles bruised Tobie’s back.
‘That you know of. How were the dogs injured? Did the page say?’
‘He didn’t. They’ll be at Trianda: the stronghold; the monastery. The Knights are sending a servant to guide us. You could have paid someone to do it,’ said Katelina.
‘I could have paid someone to do it on shipboard, but I didn’t,’ Nicholas said. He didn’t sound frivolous, and the earrings looked less a conceit than an irrelevance. Ahead, Tobie saw the wooded height which must be Mount Phileremos with the fortress, the ruins, the monastery on its crown. A group of men, emerging from trees, was running towards them. Among them, leading them, was a hulking black figure he recognised. Tobie slackened his knees, and felt the weight shift behind as Simon’s wife peered round his shoulder.
Katelina van Borselen turned towards Nicholas. ‘I know that black man. He’s your servant.’
Tobie opened his mouth and then shut it. Astorre, still riding, said nothing, nor did le Grant or Thomas. Nicholas, spitting out hair, said, ‘You mean he’s the spy planted on me by the Grand Commander Louis de Magnac. I don’t mind. He’s good with a razor.’
‘Maybe too good with a razor,’ said John the Lion.
‘No. He’s called Lopez. He’s Portuguese, like the Vasquez,’ Nicholas said. ‘He wouldn’t harm them. Unless you think he’s got orders from Louis de Magnac? But the Knights at Kolossi were friendly.’
Loppe came up. Loppe, who – Tobie knew, Astorre knew – was indeed the servant of Nicholas, and would do whatever Nicholas wanted. Loppe went straight to Scougal with his black mantle and said, ‘Senhor, do you lead for the Knights? The horses have been found, and two of the four men. They are dead. I have to take you to where they lie. There are tracks, but they are confused. We need many men to follow them before it gets dark.’
It was not a mild emergency any more. The Knight said, ‘Sit behind me. Which men have died?’
‘I will run,’ said Loppe. ‘Not the foreigners. The men who died seem to be grooms. They were killed with arrows, like the dogs. You are all armed?’ He turned, scanning the rest of the party, and let his eyes widen.
Nicholas said, ‘You nicked my knees, but I forgive you. We’re all armed. We were on our way to a joust. Let’s go. There isn’t much daylight.’
Tobie stayed where he was. More, he grabbed Guinevere’s reins. He said, ‘That’s far enough for the women. It’ll be dark soon; it’s dangerous, and they’ll slow us.’
Primaflora said, ‘I don’t mind staying behind, if-’
‘I’m not stopping,’ said Katelina. ‘Get me a horse for myself.’
The courtesan smiled. ‘Then neither am I. Two horses.’
Tobie waited, expecting Nicholas to turn off the woman and leave her. Instead Nicholas pushed up the coils of his sleeves. ‘There’s no time. Half a horse each, as at present. Let’s go.’ He dug in his spurs. His burdened horse leaped and broke into a canter. Tobie hesitated. Behind him, his co-rider lifted both feet and kicked the flank of their mount which shied, collected itself, and began racing after the other. Astorre gave a short bark of appreciation and set off at speed, with the rest.
There was nothing to be done about Katelina. Of all people, Tobie couldn’t blame her for her aversion to Nicholas. None the less, it made him uncomfortable, or more uncomfortable than he already was. The Loathly Damsel’s dress was coated with mud, and it had begun to rain on his scalp. Tobie let his horse open up to a gallop, and cursed Nicholas and all his women.
It wasn’t far to the place where the dead servants lay. The negro, running ahead, stopped and waved. There were dark shapes among the thickets of broom, and a smearing of brown. Tobie drew rein, but the woman behind him neither spoke nor dismounted. Men were on the turf, bending over. He saw Loppe straighten, his eyes meeting those of Nicholas, although nothing was said. Tobie said, ‘Hell and damnation, what are they doing?’
Astorre answered him, mounted again. ‘Two dead men: the servants. They were killed by arrows, shot from a distance. They still had their swords at their sides. We’ve tracks from the two Vasquez horses, and a lot of footmarks, and a place over there where other horses were waiting.’
‘So someone’s got hold of the Portuguese?’ Tobie said.
Primaflora walked over. She had tied up the skirts of her gown, showing fine linen stockings full of holes and whiskered embroidery. Her hood had dropped back, and her hair fell treacle-gold in the wet. She said, ‘Messer Niccolò and the negro think not. They think they escaped on foot from the struggle, and the attackers set off to pursue them. The early searchers found horses’ tracks near Kalamonas, but most of the marks have been lost in the rain. It means casting wide in small groups, with only a short time before dark to do it. The Knights will give orders.’
‘Are you going on, madonna?’ said Tobie.
‘Why not?’ she said. She was not smiling. ‘It is quicker than going back.’ She said to Katelina, ‘Demoiselle, your kinsmen may have escaped. They may hear us, and come out of hiding.’
‘They may see us, and go into hiding,’ said Nicholas. ‘If you’re coming, get up.’
As she swung into the saddle, Tobie received a view of one arching limb, clean from ankle to garter to thigh. To white and gold glimmering thigh. He dropped a rein and, fumbling for it, cursed Nicholas all over again.
There were only seven now in their group. On horseback, Astorre and Tobie, Nicholas and one of Primaflora’s protectors, with the two women still riding pillion. On foot Loppe, known to all but his colleagues as Lopez. As the light left the sky, the party grew silent. Loppe, striding ahead, spoke or called in a low voice, and sometimes one of the men spoke to him, or to each other. Sometimes they stood still, the salty wind tugging their clothing, while two or three cast about on foot. Far off, others were doing the same. Above the blustering noise of the elements could be heard distant voices; but never the sound of the trumpet that would announce the end of the search.
It was an intol
They saw few such houses, for their task was to search the marshy areas, where men on foot might try to escape men on horseback. On rising land, they passed patches of ploughed ground, and put up hares, and smelled a plantation of carob trees. There were olives, some long stripped; some with their January windfalls half gathered. Twice, Loppe found deer slots. Then he found something else: the clear print of a spurred boot in the mud.
Its owner must have slipped sideways, and recovered himself. Further on, there was an impress of the same sole, overlaid this time by another. Nicholas dismounted, peered, and straightening, whipped off his wig by the plait and sent it whirling into the gloom like a pelican. Elation? No. Satisfaction, the doctor diagnosed. The satisfaction of an engineer, when the engine performs. The Lion said nothing but Captain Astorre said, ‘See? See, demoiselle? We’ll find them!’
The sky to the east had grown dark, and the sugarloaf mountain ahead was now dim. The Knights had provided pitch torches. Lighting their own, they saw where others jumped in the distance like woodsparks. Astorre said, ‘Will we call them?’
Nicholas said, ‘Numbers won’t make any difference. We’ll call when we’ve found something. Look. The prints lead to that dip.’
Primaflora’s protector said, ‘They hoped to get to the monastery, perhaps. They were making for Kalopetra, and were headed off. The dip is a ravine: half a mile of it, with hiding places in plenty. But the first search party passed this way earlier, and no one answered their call.’
Loppe said, ‘Here. They have come down the bank and followed the water to escape from the horses. One is hurt.’
He was speaking ostensibly to the soldier but always, Tobie felt, indirectly to Nicholas. They spread out, and the men dismounted. Here and there, in the light that was half flame and half twilight, Tobie could see the uneven track that Loppe had deciphered. One of the men was indeed injured. Tristão, who had married the sister of the hated Simon? Or Tristão’s son Diniz who – perhaps – Nicholas thought his first cousin?
That was why Loppe was speaking to Nicholas. Because of that, or because everything he said confirmed something Nicholas expected to hear. Death tended to come very often to kinsmen of Nicholas.
The ravine wound on, sometimes broadening to enclose trees and bushes and patches of meadow, sometimes narrowing to the extent of a footpath skirting a deep, tumbling pond. The rush of water shot back from the cliffs on either side and the groves of oak and pine masked the darkening sky with their tight-ravelled branches. There were other trees, smooth and leafless and eight times a man’s height, which Tobie had never seen before. A hail of objects dashed over his head. Katelina screamed in his ear. Her fists gripped Tobie’s sides, cloth and skin wrung together. The horse plunged, and Tobie whipped his sword from its scabbard. ‘Birds,’ said Nicholas.
Primaflora laid her cheek on his back, laughing breathlessly. Then she caught herself, and turned to Katelina. ‘It could have been dangerous. They looked like bolts, or arrows, or stones.’
There was a pause. Then Katelina said, ‘I thought they were insects.’
Astorre, plodding beside her, grunted without looking up. ‘Insects won’t kill you.’
‘No,’ said Katelina.
Tobie felt her heavy as lead at his back. She had been afraid, and Primaflora had reassured her. Indeed, they might have been sisters, so carefully had Primaflora been watching the other girl. Katelina, of course, was intent on Nicholas. But if she didn’t cultivate Primaflora, neither did she seem to avoid her. In the wet and the dark, Tobie thought about it. Then Nicholas suddenly spoke. ‘That’s Lopez. Listen. He’s shouting.’ He gave an answering call, and started forward. Leading Katelina’s horse by the reins, Tobie splashed after.
The noise of the swollen river increased. A roaring made itself heard. Turning a corner, Tobie saw before him another pool, white with foam, into which tumbled a cataract. The cliffs, high on either side, enclosed a dim sky streamered with cloud. Below it, Loppe’s torch burned steadily at the brink of the water.
On the ground at Loppe’s feet lay a still figure, half in and half out of the stream. Astorre joined Nicholas. Tobie dropped the reins and strode forward into the mud, leaving the soldier to tie up the horses. Primaflora stayed in the saddle, and Tobie took time to hope that she would stop Katelina dismounting. But as he knelt by the fallen man, he heard her footsteps stumbling towards him.
Before he touched him, he knew he was dead. The arrow that killed him lay broken beneath him and blood, already half washed away, lay black on the grass and mould by his body. His hunting cap had fallen aside, showing the thick dark hair, and the olive skin, and the calm, elegant profile. Tobie rose slowly to his feet as Katelina came up, her face marked by fear and by mud. He said plainly, in Flemish, ‘I am sorry, demoiselle. It is Ser Tristão, and he is dead.’
Chapter 18
THE RAIN BEAT into the ravine, and hissed into the water, and pattered unnoticed on the group of men and women and the dark-haired man at their feet. Nicholas, who had seemed to move, was now standing quite still. Astorre swore. The soldier stepped up as if to come to the support of Katelina, but she stood rigid, warning him off. Tobie said, ‘The arrow went clean through the heart. It would be quick.’
The soft, organ-voice of the negro said, ‘They killed him from a distance and then came to make sure. There are their footprints. Three men, if not four. He had his sword drawn.’
‘The boy?’ said Nicholas. His voice was so quiet, Tobie hardly heard it.
‘I have found a boot mark. Wait,’ the negro said. His torch moved off. The others remained, looking down. Watching the young woman, Tobie saw her eyes were dry, though her face was very pale. The dead man had been her husband’s new partner as well as his brother-in-law. Katelina must have come to know Tristão Vasquez a little; must sometimes have shared the same trading quarters, although perhaps no more than that. His death was clearly a shock rather than a matter of intimate bereavement. And a shock made no less by the fact that she had feared it. This would leave Simon’s sister a widow, and the boy fatherless, if he lived still. And what did it make Nicholas? Pleased, perhaps? Tobie cast about him aggressively.
Nicholas sat on his heels, gazing at the dead face. He had met the man at Kolossi, it appeared, and sailed with him from Cyprus. A short acquaintance, based on deception. His face at the moment was grave, his earrings motionless. There was mud to the knees of his white lawn, which had begun to smell strongly of horse sweat. The woman Katelina said, ‘Then the boy must also be dead.’
Nicholas rose slowly, and spoke as if thinking aloud. ‘He had drawn his sword. He may have been defending the boy. When he died, the boy may have fled.’ He turned his head suddenly.
Primaflora said, ‘I heard it, too.’ She urged her horse forward, and the smoke from her torch veiled her hair. ‘The killers may be still here, under the cliff, in the bushes.’
The soldier said, ‘Then that’s easily dealt with,’ and drew back his arm with the torch in it.
Nicholas grasped his shoulder. His face, streaked with mud and speckled with soot, seemed merely watchful. ‘I shouldn’t do that. The negro’s gone over there, and he doesn’t show up in the dark. Tobie?’
But Tobie had already started to run to the cliff, feeling for his sword hilt with slippery hands. He could hear Nicholas following. Nicholas said, ‘Lopez? Are you listening? Be careful. Tobie, don’t draw your sword. Astorre, stay with the women, and you, sir. Lopez!’ His voice on the one word was raucous.
Echoing, the negro’s voice answered him. ‘There’s a cave, senhor. There??
Someone screamed inside the cave. Nicholas said something wildly and shouldered past Tobie, whose torch lit only glistening cliff face and boulders. Then he saw the dark entrance and Nicholas disappearing into it, so that the mud of its ceiling turned rosy. He dashed to follow.
It was not a large cavity, but formed a passage of reasonable length, scoured by flood water and ejected boulders. At the far end a light silhouetted the curled head and broad shoulders of Loppe, crouched over something. He said in Portuguese, ‘Senhor, we are friends. The Knights have been looking for you. Your aunt the lady Katelina is outside. Are you hurt?’
The boy. Not his killer, but the boy himself. His neck bent, Tobie scrambled further in. His hair sizzled, and he laid down his torch. Nicholas, ahead of him, had come to a halt and was not advancing. Beyond him, he could see nothing for Loppe’s bulk, although he could hear the murmur of voices. He said, ‘Let me past. Is he hurt?’
‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘A sprained ankle. They shot at them both from above, and thought he’d run off when they came down to check. Four, he says.’
The boy’s voice, raised, said, ‘That is Senhor Niccolò.’
Loppe turned, giving Tobie a view. Diniz lay rigid on the rock floor, his mask of mud streaked by his tears. Loppe said, ‘He led the party that came to find you. And here is Master Tobie, his doctor, to help you.’
Tobie pushed forward. The boy did not move. He said, ‘My father is dead.’ His eyes were on Nicholas.
Nicholas said, ‘A nobleman’s death. I want to find who killed him.’
‘Why?’ said Diniz.
‘Why should they live?’ Nicholas said.
The boy was in shock. Tobie passed his hands over the swollen ankle and then leaned back. The boy said, ‘They are still close at hand. Two of them. Two others took fright and fled.’ He gulped and said, ‘There are snakes here. In the cave, and outside. My father trod on one. He cried out. The men heard him, and killed him.’