Race of Scorpions (68 page)

‘Thanks to my physicians,’ Nicholas said. He stood, watching the Arab leave. A moment later, Markios walked out without speaking.

The King said, ‘Sit. What wine have you been drinking in Rhodes? What elixir? What do you seek that we cannot provide?’

Nicholas sat. He said, ‘My lord, you have daughters. Did it not please you, the begetting of them?’

The wine came. The servants retreated, all but the man attending the cups. Zacco said, ‘And the sugar plants, and the vines. They are dead?’

‘Yes. Other thieves and rivals will come,’ Nicholas said. ‘Plants will be taken again and your market will shrink, but not yet. And when the time does arrive, there are other harvests to find, perhaps even more bountiful. This is a fertile land. There is room for diversity.’

‘Is there?’ said Zacco. He cradled the cup in one hand, and with the other drew a finger down the cold, misted surface. He said, ‘It seemed to me that you might have found your harvest with Carlotta.’

‘No,’ Nicholas said. ‘She was anxious to kill me. You would then, of course, have been sure of my loyalty. I prefer to prove it as I promised: by giving you the rest of your kingdom.’

‘And after that?’ Zacco said. ‘You are free with your promises in some things. For the rest, you prevaricate like an Arab. I dislike it.’

It was what Katelina had said. It was what everyone said. ‘I am sorry,’ Nicholas answered slowly. ‘Perhaps it is prevarication; perhaps it is uncertainty; perhaps it is an attachment to freedom. To me, it is the essence of what lies between us. Should I give you plain answers, removing all doubts, all possibilities?’

For a long time, the King stared into his wine. Then he drank it quickly, and dragging the cloth from his neck, flung it and his cup to the wine-server standing ladle in hand by the tent-wall. The fine clammy scarf fell; the servant, starting, caught the cup and poured a great measure. As he brought it, Zacco pulled the cup from Nicholas also and tossed it to the man. He said, ‘When I want such an answer, I will require it of you, and evasion will not serve you then. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, my lord King,’ Nicholas said. The cup he had been given was full to the brim.

‘Good,’ said Zacco. ‘Now you will remain here with me, drinking measure by measure until one of us falls. Whoever comes to your bed this night, my amorous Niccolò, will lose the profit of their labours: I promise you that.’

Some considerable time later, Tobie said, ‘Well, well. He’s coming.’ He turned into Astorre’s tent, where a collation for four had long since taken place and Thomas, in particular, was comatose. John, stripped to the waist, was sitting on a pallet drawing something with silent concentration. Astorre, who had relished his meal, was cleaning his sword: a task he reserved for himself. Tobie, irritated and restless, had been to the doorway a dozen times since news of the drinking-bout spread.

Astorre said, ‘Our young bridegroom, you say? Not the King?’

‘Not the King. Nearly not Nicholas, by the look of him. He’s not coming here.’

‘Well, he should,’ said the captain, annoyed. ‘I’ve got to be out half the night. I could have slept. Thomas, go and see what he’s doing.’

Thomas disappeared, not unwillingly, and came back looking shaken. He said, ‘He’s there streaming wet by the water-tub, spewing up with a finger to help him. The King too. The King got tired of drinking, and wants to take the leopards out hunting. The Arab quack’s trying to stop them.’

‘I should hope he is,’ Tobie said. He ran from Astorre’s tent the considerable distance to his own, picked up a box and ran out again, pouring sweat in the sun. The leopards passed, in a stink of urine and a flash of spotted chrome fur, running on their thick chains.

Abul Ismail appeared in front of him and said, ‘Ah, you too. Be at rest. Your lord had the sense, at least, to accept my advice, and
persuaded the King. They are weak as fawns, but half sober at least.’ He sighed. ‘What it is to minister to young men of high temperament. They are mounted. There they go.’

In fury, Tobie saw the hunt assemble and begin to stream past. By the King’s side was Nicholas. He was pallid and glistening and hatless but there was a smile melon-wide on his face; and that of Zacco, turned to him, revealed the same nausea, the same determination, the same perverse, reckless delight. Tobie changed his hold on his box, which was paining him, and tramped back to Astorre with a declaration. ‘He’s mad. He’s not worth bothering over. I’m going to bed. If he wants us, he can get us tomorrow.’

‘He can get you tomorrow,’ said Astorre. ‘If they’re going hunting, I’m going with them. Man, we’ll see some sport.’

‘They’re all mad,’ said John le Grant placidly, looking after him. ‘That’s what you get, when you follow an army. And the craziest person of all is any woman who lets herself get mixed up with them.’

That night Astorre, as befitted his position, took his turn with his men among the besiegers, having seen the kill distributed, and both Nicholas and the King to their tents. Later, as he walked between the quiet ranks, someone gave him a friendly slap on the arm and he found to his surprise that, drunk or sober, Nicholas had elected to join him. They walked together, at first in silence; then climbing from place to place as Astorre launched into his personal account of the siege. He described gun positions and skirmishes; pointed out damage, detailed the garrison’s efforts. He grew rosy expounding; he became vehement answering questions. He had trained this fellow. No one else of his age grasped a situation with that sort of speed, or understood him so well. In an hour, whoever else didn’t, Astorre received all his reward for his labours.

Towards the end, they climbed the rise and stood on the spot from which they had started. In the distance the castle lay, black against the sea in a night without moon. There were no lights to be seen; no animated guard on the wall-walks. Astorre nodded over. ‘They’re near to surrendering now. Every day or two, we get someone trying to give themselves up. We got the women out, although not till last week. Don’t you want to sit down?’

‘You mean you think I’m tired?’ Nicholas said. He dropped with a thud on the spent grass. ‘Where did you put them?’

‘The women? Where you said, in one of the convents. Are ye staying?’ His beard stuck up in the air.

‘Astorre?’ Nicholas said. ‘I know you like lording it everywhere, but I don’t. Primaflora doesn’t want to be received anywhere and neither do I. Yes, I’m staying. We’re all staying until Famagusta goes. What ships have tried to get in?’

‘Not many,’ Astorre said. ‘The whole Venetian fleet’s on the rampage – they tried to take Lesbos and failed: the stupid fools think they can get back the Morea. And your damned Order –’

‘Not mine,’ Nicholas said. ‘The Pope’s dear children, you mean. I heard in Rhodes. They’ve got enough trouble guarding themselves; and the Genoese can’t afford the ships or the money. You don’t see a Crusade coming to rescue Carlotta?’

‘Not this year,’ Astorre said. ‘Mind, the wars over there seem to be slackening. The Pope’s free of Malatesta. If he got Burgundy to send more than money, they might collect an armed fleet for next summer.’

‘But James will have all Cyprus by then,’ Nicholas said. ‘Or do you have doubts?’

Astorre shook his head. ‘We promised him Cyprus and, by God he’ll have it. But Famagusta: that’s going to be a bad one. Worse than this. I doubt if we’ll take it before winter.’

Nicholas said, ‘I was beginning to think that. Supply problems, then. This plain turns to mud. I’ll have to divide my time between there and Kouklia. And Zacco’ll get bored.’

‘Will he?’ said Astorre.

Nicholas chuckled. ‘So isn’t it lucky I’m married? What does Thomas say?’

‘I told you,’ said Astorre. ‘He’s soft on her. See his eyes light up. That’s the sort of woman he fancies for a – for a –’

‘For an employer. Well, he’s out of luck: she isn’t going to be his employer,’ Nicholas said. ‘She has no share in the Bank, and she has no share in Catherine’s trust, or anything to do with Bruges. So spread that around.’

‘Ah!’ said Astorre. ‘Master Tobie’ll be relieved.’

‘Master Tobie would be relieved if he believed a word of it,’ said Tobie’s voice. He sat down and took off his helm and his cap, so that his bald head glimmered faintly. ‘You’re a damned fool,’ he said. ‘She wants the money.’

‘Maybe,’ said Nicholas mildly. ‘But she signed it away with the marriage contract. I have it. In Latin. She doesn’t get anything but my personal possessions. I got the document drawn up in spring by Gregorio.’

Two pairs of eyes gleamed at him in the dark. ‘In case?’ Tobie said.

‘In case,’ agreed Nicholas.

‘In case you married which one? It seems to me,’ Tobie said, ‘that you’ve had every woman in the Levant just recently. What about Katelina and Queen Carlotta?’

‘In the same bed,’ Nicholas said. ‘I don’t know. I had a feeling someone was going to marry me, and I knew what a fuss you’d all make if I didn’t make sure of your futures.’

‘And Zacco?’ said Tobie.

‘He’s accepted the situation, pending a scanning by Cropnose. Who do you think will win that one?’

‘I think,’ said Tobie slowly, ‘that your new lady wife will be permitted to stay. You bastard.’

‘Young devil,’ said Astorre heartily. He was grinning.

Tobie was not. Nicholas said, ‘Oh come on. We’re keeping Astorre awake. I’m going back to bed.’

‘You do that,’ said Astorre. ‘But don’t wake me tomorrow. Did you get much of a catch?’

‘Depends what you’re talking about,’ said Tobie sourly.

He walked back with Nicholas, pausing when Nicholas paused, which was often, to speak to someone. At the tent, someone ran to help him undress, but he dismissed them. He said to Tobie. ‘Well, since you must, come in and say it.’

‘I’ve said it,’ said Tobie. ‘You bastard.’ He stepped into the gloom, sneezed, and stood uneasily watching Nicholas peel off his clothes. He added, ‘You’ve collected a few scars since I saw you last.’ He sneezed again.

‘I’ve been to Rhodes and back since you saw me last. The snake in its dust-hole, the cloud wandering over the sky.’ He sat down, stripped to his body linen, and said, ‘I didn’t harm Katelina, or she me. The boy had gone to Portugal, and she’s following him. Now Simon won’t trouble us. Nor, without the plants, will he flourish much. I’m sorry I had to leave you, but things had to be done, and they’re done.’

‘Yes, they are, aren’t they?’ Tobie said. ‘That’s what I meant. I can think of three reasons why you might want to marry this Primaflora, and all of them frighten me.’ He hesitated. ‘Is it the child? She could rear Katelina’s son if you got him?’

‘No,’ Nicholas said. ‘I’m not that much of a bastard.’

‘Then I don’t like the other reasons,’ Tobie said.

‘Try the simplest. She’s been my mistress, on and off, since September. She is, you will agree, rather exceptional. You’re pea-green envious; that’s all that’s wrong with you.’

‘I think,’ said Tobie, ‘that I want you to tell me she’s pregnant. Because if she isn’t, you’re playing some game again. A game I can’t understand. A damned, deep, devious game that’s going to hurt a lot of people. You are, aren’t you?’ He sneezed, with terrible emphasis.

‘She isn’t pregnant,’ said Nicholas. ‘Tobie, shall I put the flowers out, or will you now shift yourself out of my tent and let me get some damned, deep, devious sleep?’

He was mad, and not worth troubling over. Tobie went off dismayed, in a volley of sneezes.

Chapter 34

A
TTRITION, BRIBERY
and plain common sense brought about the fall of Kyrenia a few weeks after Nicholas returned there, and although Carlotta, kept in ignorance, might have been devastated by the news, it held no surprises for the people of Cyprus. The Savoyard knights and their companions marched out, and Zacco and his army crossed the drawbridge and took possession of the castle. There was a banquet, shared by all his captains, when gold plate, money and villages were freely dispensed and no man, Mameluke or white, was favoured over the other. Having garrisoned the citadel, Zacco left. The town outside was long since ruined and empty, and he preferred St Hilarion in the heat of the day. He would admit, when brought to it, that the bulldog policies of this Niccolò had achieved what he himself, had he cared, could have brought about several years ago, with some small application. At any rate, it had been accomplished. The last private nest of the Lusignan Queen had been raided, and Carlotta had no home to return to. Now, in all Cyprus, there remained only Famagusta to recover.

Nicholas, presented with the problem of capitulated Kyrenia, adopted his best bulldog stance and based himself, perforce, in the north in the weeks after his marriage. It was during that time the lady Primaflora was summoned to the Palace at Nicosia to be scrutinised by the King’s mother.

Despite the siege, Nicholas had made the short journey many times to sleep at his villa. While there, he naturally spent time at the dyeworks; and twice, he had made the longer journey to Kouklia. Nevertheless, as Primaflora was immoderately aware, he would not have come for these alone, with no heed for the heat of the day. Since Rhodes she had known (since he told her) how he had met the Flemish woman in Lindos; and had equally known (although he had not told her) that Katelina van Borselen had somehow been persuaded or forced into commerce with him.
Whatever had happened, nevertheless, he had not brought the girl back, but had turned her off to go home to her husband. Whatever had happened, the experience had disturbed him. She knew him well enough now to see through some of the camouflage – perhaps all of it. The effects of this unease she found entirely rewarding.

Then Kyrenia surrendered, and he was away, inescapably, for some time. The prisons filled. Atrocity stories filtered through, of the Mamelukes bursting into the citadel; of the destruction, the rampage; the plundering. It would take time to set that to rights, and make of Carlotta’s old home a palace fit for her brother to live in. Meantime, Primaflora amused herself perfecting her household, an art in which she had long experience. She made it her business to get on well with the steward, and her pleasure to keep Bartolomeo Zorzi dancing to an almost inaudible tune. She liked to preserve an edge on her training.