Race of Scorpions by Dorothy Dunnett
And now it came. Beside Nicholas, he could feel the gloom weighing like soot on the other four. Of all the things he had done, they had regarded this as most irresponsible when he had told them. Only John le Grant, who also lived by devices, had eyed him in silence. Nicholas, beginning with the easiest part, said, ‘My lord: I saved Queen Carlotta’s sugar two years ago. There was a fight south of Bologna. She will confirm it.’
The Chancellor looked round, but the finger was still tapping. ‘She has,’ said the Grand Master. ‘But I understand that, while professing to save it, you allowed the entire cargo to land in the river. But for her servants who had contrived a substitution, it would have been lost.’
‘You could put it that way,’ Nicholas said. ‘On the other hand, we alarmed the thieves and made them abandon it. I didn’t know it was sugar, and soluble. And the Queen was alive. I trust the Grand Master considers that of some importance.’
‘You think her life was under threat?’ said the Grand Master. ‘I conceived it was simply a matter of money. The Queen was raising funds to free Cyprus, and the Bastard Zacco wished to impede her. With your help, he might have succeeded.’
‘My lord,’ Nicholas said. ‘I am quite willing to concede that I may not have saved her from murder. I do affirm, however, that it was my intention to salvage her fortune.’ Incarcerated, he had not had his meeting with Primaflora. He knew how much she had wanted it, for he had wanted it for the same reason. So they had not talked. So he could not be sure of what she had said. So he had to invent. He continued, in the same reasonable voice, ‘The incident doesn’t seem to have shaken the faith of the lady who devised the subterfuge to save the sugar. It was she who travelled with me to Cyprus; and she who, as the Chancellor said, remained convinced I meant to join the Queen, and not Zacco.’
The Grand Master’s fingers disappeared inside his palm. The Chancellor spoke for him, drily. ‘The lady’s powers of judgement, we feel, may have been subject to some impairment. Without prejudice, you seem to have acted against the Queen’s interests.’
‘Without prejudice, the Queen herself did not think so,’ said Nicholas. ‘She subsequently asked me, on the most lavish terms, to join her faction. So did her brother in Venice. I refused both times. I was not ready.’
‘But,’ said the Chancellor, ‘You were ready when you sailed to Cyprus? You had made up your mind? You were going to offer yourself and your men to the Queen, or if not to the Queen, to the Order?’
‘That is so,’ Nicholas said.
‘Then why,’ said the Chancellor, ‘did you, sailing for Rhodes on a ship of the Order, bearing a cargo of sugar grown and milled by the Knights of the Order, pay a ship to intercept yours, to attack it, to board it and, having caused death and injury, to carry off all the goods of the Knights, to the damage of all who serve the Cross in the east?’
There was a rustle round the hall, under the chequers. They had not heard of that, most of them. Nicholas remembered the burgomaster of Bruges, replying to the latest accusation of Duke Philip’s Controller. His voice expressed hurt, as well as surprise. ‘I did? My lord, why should I waste money on such a thing? I remember the fighting, of course. I tried to protect the young Vasquez boy.’
‘You deny it?’ said the Grand Master.
‘Show me proof, my lord,’ Nicholas said. ‘Did the master of the attacking ship tell you? Where is the draft on my bankers that paid for it? What became of the sugar?’ Beside him, he could smell Tobie.
‘You want proof?’ said the Chancellor. ‘We did not trace the ship, but we traced the sugar. The Vatachino have many refineries: one in north Cyprus and one in Crete. The stolen sugar to the exact amount was sent to the Cretan refinery, and the man who sent it was Luigi Martini of Venice. Venice, the republic which, supposedly neutral, will do all it can to place the illegitimate Zacco on the Cypriot throne. You stole the sugar, and Zacco is your master.’
Nicholas waited. Then he said, ‘You are saying that, when this sugar was sold, the gold went to Zacco instead of the Order?’
The Grand Master, about to speak, was interrupted by his own Chancellor. The Chancellor said, ‘All we say is that the Order was deprived.’
‘But the money went to Zacco,’ said Nicholas.
This time, the Grand Master did not try to reply. The Chancellor said, ‘No. Not directly.’
‘Not directly?’ Nicholas said. He could hear the stir. He knew he did not need to ask the next question himself.
The Grand Master said, ‘Where did it go? Let us have it clear.’
The Chancellor said, ‘It went into the account of the Martini brothers in Venice.’
‘It did not go to the Bastard James de Lusignan?’
‘My lord, no.’
‘It did not go into the Bank of Messer Niccolò himself?’
‘My lord, no.’
‘And was there any withdrawal from Messer Niccolò’s Bank that might account for the hiring, which he denies, of this piratical ship?’
‘My lord, no,’ said the Chancellor meekly. He turned and looked at Nicholas, and Nicholas knew what he was going to say. ‘But,’ said the Chancellor, ‘there is, and has been since the autumn, a record of a considerable and generous payment being made at stated intervals into Messer Niccolò’s own Bank in Venice. The payments are to his personal account, and they come from the agents of James de Lusignan in respect of a fief outside the town of Nicosia. This fief, it seems, belongs to the Knight standing before you. To Niccolò vander Poele who says he does not know, and has not met, the Bastard Zacco.’
It was a perfect small coup. Even dispersed by the high timbered ceiling, the comber of comment and exclamation was louder than was respectful in this, the inner court of the Knights. Nicholas saw that beside him, le Grant and Tobie were displaying adequate alarm and surprise. Astorre had to be kicked. Nicholas said, ‘I was afraid of that. I was offered some such bribe by the Bastard’s envoys in Venice. Queen Carlotta proposed a fee equally generous, I gave both a refusal. Only the Bastard, it seems, began transmitting the money as a form of coercion. Did you discover that any of it had been withdrawn and sent to me?’
‘Such a thing would be hard to prove,’ the Chancellor said, ‘You have certainly drawn on your account.’
Nicholas said, ‘Did you discover that my agents had notified me of this?’
‘No. But your agents are singularly discreet, Messer Niccolò,’ said the Chancellor. He had begun, in the last little while, to address him formally. Nicholas enjoyed the sensation.
Nicholas said, ‘Then it is simply my word against your interpretation in this instance. I have told you that I did not hire the ship that intercepted yours. I don’t know who did. But surely, the hirer had much in his favour? Some might think he was performing an act of justice.’
‘Justice?’ said the Grand Master. The Chancellor looked at his slippers.
‘After all,’ Nicholas said, ‘the sugar belonged to the Martini brothers in the first place. They bought the crop in advance. They paid the Knights twenty-five ducats a quintal to have eight hundred quintals of crystal sugar cased and ready for shipping each year. They were waiting at that very moment for the arrival of the Venetian sugar ship to take on the cargo. And instead, the Knights, in error of course, freighted a ship of their own and seemed to wish to take the sugar to Rhodes and even sell it again. So,’ said Nicholas diffidently, ‘despite the unfortunate means, you might say that the Martini brothers only obtained their rights, and the Knights their deserts.’ He paused. ‘I believe the Queen performed the same trick … made the same error two years ago, when she took the Martini brothers’ sugar to Bologna. Of course, I may be mistaken.’
This time, no one spoke. The Grand Master, rather slowly, shifted his gaze from that of Nicholas to the face of his Chancellor. The Chancellor said, ‘My lord, I shall look into it.’
‘Do that,’ said the Grand Master, even more slowly. One hand left the arm of his chair and rose to sink into the beard under his chin. He sai
‘How could they know, my lord?’ Nicholas said. ‘No doubt, as has been said, they were merest pirates, and simply took whatever of value they found. The Martini would happily take it off their hands, for a price that would still leave them a profit. My lord, I have heard these accusations, and I have replied to them as well as I might. But if this is all the substance of the complaints against me, it seems that you are depriving your cause of my soldiers for reasons that are as doubtful as they are slight.’
He waited. With the old Grand Master, he would have had no chance: that he knew. He had been lucky. No. Luck didn’t enter into it, or should not. The pause stretched on, while the Grand Master, crooking his finger, brought the Chancellor to his side for an exchange. They muttered. Thomas, whose soldier’s French had a different vocabulary, suddenly appeared to come out of a dream, and belched concisely. Tobie made a sound which could have been anything. The Chancellor straightened and moved away, and the Grand Master sat up. He said, ’Messer Niccolò. You have heard the complaints. The integrity of both yourself and your company has been impugned. Proof is lacking on many counts, but on some the indictment is clear. You did seize and detain against his will a chaplain of this Order. You are and have been for many months a recipient of a fee from James, the bastard claimant of Cyprus. Your acts to date have been to the detriment of the Queen and the Order, rather than the reverse.
‘You say, and rightly, that our cause is in need of men, and you claim to wish to serve it. I cannot think that, great though our need is, we on this island can afford to maintain a company of such equivocal loyalty. You will therefore leave Rhodes. You will leave on a ship of the Order, which will ensure that wherever you go, it will not be to James of Lusignan, or to the infidels of Constantinople or Cairo. You will pay for your passage by work. And ahead of you, by means of the Order, we shall let it be known that this company, whatever its value as mercenaries, has shown itself suspect in other ways. This is our judgement. I will hear no appeal.’
He had lost. Had he lost? Someone was getting up; was coming forward from the stalls, his eyes on the Grand Master. ‘My lord.’
A tall, bluff man, with gold stuff all over his doublet, glinting under his robe. One of the Genoese. Who?
‘My lord,’ said the man. ‘Her excellence my mistress asks you to hear me.’
‘Sir Imperiale,’ said the Chancellor. The Grand Master looked irritated at the reminder, as well he might. Imperiale Doria, commander and seaman, was a luminary of both the Queen and the Order. Last autumn, his ship had encountered and hailed the Doria as she brought Nicholas on his enforced trip to Cyprus. Another Doria, but one whom he had never met.
The Grand Master said, ‘Yes?’
Nicholas stood still. No matter what you did, no matter what you planned, the unexpected happened. The gamester he didn’t know and wouldn’t acknowledge suddenly leaned over and picked up a card, or a lever, and everything changed, and had to be newly thought of, and accounted for. Sir Imperiale Doria, Genoese, said, ‘My lady the serene Queen of Cyprus has some pity for this young man. She believes that in the past he has indeed endeavoured to help her. She believes that he has been importuned, but has in the main resisted the advances of the Bastard Zacco. She believes him brilliant, but also unstable, so that his company cannot reach their full potential unless the young man himself is placed under restraint.’
He stopped, and turning looked closely at Nicholas, and then at the other men at his side. He said, ‘Rather than throw this gift back into the furnace, the Queen asks me to say that she is prepared, if your lordship agrees, to take it for a short term to Cyprus, under the most stringent safeguards, extending to the imprisonment of the young man himself. He is held in high regard by his company and they will not desert, she believes, while he is so held. At the first sign of defection, naturally, she would retaliate. Any who rebelled could expect a dishonoured death.’
The Grand Master prodded his chin through his beard. ‘Is the lady serious? She invites a Trojan horse, it may be.’
‘She is confident,’ said the commander.
The Grand Master thought. Beside him, the Chancellor caught his attention and nodded. The prince’s gaze sought that of Lomellini, and after a pause, the Treasurer nodded too. The Grand Master said, ‘Ser Niccolò. I have a choice. I can send you away, or I can release you into the custody of the Queen of Cyprus, with leave to do with you as she wishes. You have heard what the admiral has suggested. On my terms, you would be out of this country and free, although with your reputation diminished. On hers, you would have a chance to prove that what you have said is true. But if you fail her, the punishment must be death, for you, for your officers, and for your men, as if you were captured in war.’
He stopped. Nicholas slackened his hands, and hoped Thomas had lost the French again, and that Astorre could keep his temper for a moment – just a few moments longer. The Grand Master said, ‘You have been bold in your assertions: some might say too bold for a young man new to command, facing such an assembly. I have decided therefore that you shall be held to what you proclaim was to be your bond. You will be handed to Queen Carlotta of Cyprus, to send to Kyrenia or wherever on Cyprus she may choose, there to be held in constraint while your men fight for her cause, until such time as you have proved yourself loyal. In time, you may show yourself worthy of the Order you bear. Until then, it is for the head of that Order to decide whether or not you tarnish it by naming yourself one of its Knights. You may leave.’
The rumble of comment again ran round the hall. You could see, from faces mocking or puzzled, disappointed or thoughtful, the three factions whose unseen interests had moulded the outcome of what had just happened. Of course the Hospitallers were angry: they had had their lordly dismissal revoked by the Queen, and might have to watch this equivocal group of mercenaries rising to power and wealth by whatever means in Cyprus. The Genoese, warned by Katelina, must have been inclined to the Order’s belief that dismissal was the safest course, and were not wholly reconciled. Only the Queen’s officers, Nicholas saw, looked content.
Beside Nicholas, John le Grant eased his shoulders, but Astorre still stood like a poker. Thomas said, ‘Is it all right?’
‘Yes,’ said Tobie. ‘Of course it’s all right. We’re under a woman again, and she’s going to eat us for supper.’
They had to bow, retire and, turning, march between guards from the room. It would never do to look happy. Nicholas couldn’t feel entirely happy, in any case, until he knew the last piece of his plan was in place. He produced an expression which he hoped combined simplicity, dignity and reliability with a hint, maybe of penitence. He caught, by accident, the eye of Tomà Adorno and thought again about the Genoese. He had expected them to support the Order’s own view and reject him. He had thought Imperiale Doria, coming forward, had been about to do exactly that. Instead he, a Genoese, had put forward Queen Carlotta’s proposal, and had saved all his schemes from disaster.
He thought that curious, and forgot, for a moment, to look reliable.
Chapter 20
THE SHIP THAT was to deposit on Cyprus the mercenary broker Niccolò vander Poele and his company tossed with the rest in Mandraki Harbour, while the winds that had begun on the night of the killings howled themselves into a storm. In the trading haven, the cog carrying the embalmed body of Tristão Vasquez managed to leave before the gale reached its height, due no doubt to the supplications of the Patriarch of Antioch, who was keen to get back to Italy. From there the boy Diniz could take ship for Portugal, to find and comfort his mother.
From their latest place of confinement the four immediate colleagues of Nicholas could, if sufficiently curious, obtain a view of the ships in the harbour. Watching the sea blooming white along the rocks of the half-built new tower Tobias Beventini observed from his single barred window the fluttering process
Later still, the procession came back, wet and hurrying. The demoiselle and her maid returned with it. Beside the demoiselle, against all probabilities, walked again the slight, black-clad person of Diniz Vasquez.
The boy’s face was swollen with tears. With his medical eye, Tobie studied the young Portuguese, and was troubled. This gave way to an emotion less worthy. Tobie said, ‘And that wasn’t part of the plan.’
‘What?’ said Astorre. Surrounded by bits of a handgun, he was discussing something with John le Grant. Their hands were black, and so was the engineer’s nose, which he tended to pinch when expounding.
‘The boy didn’t sail. He was supposed to,’ Tobie said. ‘Nicholas expected the Borselen woman to stay. She’d want to see us disposed of. But the boy was to sail with the coffin.’ Tobie’s pink lips curled unkindly. ‘Nicholas is going to be cross.’
‘Wherever he is,’ said John le Grant.
They didn’t know where Nicholas was. He had been parted from them unexpectedly, at the gates of the Grand Master’s Palace, and immediately after their audience. Since Nicholas had been committed to the custody of Queen Carlotta it was reasonable, on reflection, that he should be given a guard of his own and marched straight from the audience to her residence, leaving his officers behind in the courtyard. They watched him go. He made no effort at resistance, and indeed, threw them a grimace in passing that implied complaisance, if not absolute joy. A moment later, an angry crowd had run upon him, and stones were being hurled.
It happened outside the gates and, surrounded by soldiers, Astorre and the other three officers could only shout, and try ineffectually to beat their way through to help him. From the language they could hear, the attackers appeared to be of Portuguese nationality. For a worrying interval, Nicholas seemed to disappear in the crowd, while the Grand Master’s soldiers stood back and did nothing. Then the noise came to an abrupt end, and before they could find out the reason, the escort arrived for Astorre and the rest, and tried to march them out in their turn. It was Astorre who planted his booted feet firmly in the Grand Master’s courtyard and refused to move until told what had happened.