Authors: Dorothy Dunnett
‘And you think the Ottoman Turks under Sultan Mehmet will leave Cyprus alone? Certainly, the Sultan of Cairo regards Mehmet
as an ally. Perhaps the Ottomans might prove less an ally than a predator. By taking Cyprus out of Egyptian hands, the Sultan Mehmet would gain an income from tribute and trade. And if he were to throw out the Mamelukes and rule, he might prefer to keep the Venetians to deal with. He did when he took Constantinople.’
Doria looked at the Treasurer. The Treasurer said, ‘Whatever the Ottoman sultan wants, he will be too busy to attack us this summer. We have this summer to free Cyprus of Zacco and his Egyptians. And if the alliance between Cairo and Constantinople should break, what can it bring us but good? In that event, the Ottoman sultan won’t interfere when we drive out the Cairo sultan’s Egyptian forces. At best, a Christian fleet may then set out from the west to defeat Sultan Mehmet before he can attack us. At worst, Sultan Mehmet in Cyprus might well be an overlord – a temporary overlord – whose exigencies are tempered by distance. Cairo is near, but Constantinople is not. The Queen has given thought to these things. The Queen has already sent an envoy to Constantinople offering tribute and land in return for Sultan Mehmet’s forbearance.’
Nicholas said, ‘The Count of Jaffa. I heard.’ He added apologetically, ‘I thought the Sultan sawed him in half.’
Tomà Adorno looked away, not quite in time. Imperiale Doria remained impassive. The Treasurer said, ‘A killing because of some private feud. It doesn’t weaken our hopes of the Ottoman Turks. When matters settle, the fortunes of Famagusta will be the fortunes of Cyprus.’
‘But,’ said Nicholas, ‘I am bound to go to Kyrenia. Literally, I understand.’
‘Your army is so bound,’ said Imperiale Doria. ‘You yourself will be held not in Kyrenia, but in the Genoese city of Famagusta, which we here believe will be the Bastard’s prime target.’
Nicholas was silent. Then he said, ‘You must realise that my army won’t fight unless they know I’m alive. Famagusta is under strict siege, and starving.’
The man from the Bank of St George remarked, ‘Rubbish. The town is well supplied by Sir Imperiale and the ships of the Order. The siege is a farce, interrupted as often as it continues. There is no danger of starving. In any case, the choice is not yours.’
Nicholas said, ‘The choice, I supposed, was the Queen’s.’
‘Indeed. But the men who will be travelling with you are servants of King Luis,’ said Doria. ‘And the King owes his position to Genoa.’
‘So I have heard. But the King,’ Nicholas said, ‘does not control my army. You may kill them, of course, but you need them. As a hostage in Kyrenia, I might direct them from prison. As a hostage in Famagusta I am worth nothing to you, unless they fight in
Famagusta as well. They are skilled men. They would join the garrison in Famagusta, if I required it. But to submit myself and them to the extra danger without the compensation of an income from trade? The Queen would not ask it.’
‘The Queen,’ said Imperiale Doria, ‘does not control the sugar trade of Madeira.’
Nicholas had always been a good actor, a good mimic, but it took all his skill to disguise his amusement at that. Far away, off the African coast, the island of Madeira was a Portuguese colony in which Genoa had many interests. Barred from trade with Venice and Zacco, he was being offered business instead with the island home of St Pol & Vasquez. Nicholas wondered, with part of his mind, what the stone-throwing Portuguese would have made of this offer. He remembered it had crossed his mind, once, that the stone-throwing had been a feint. He said, ‘I should be interested. You offer me property on Madeira?’
Imperiale Doria said, ‘It is not in my power. But you see here several men who have influence on the island, and who are willing to find you some sort of concession once, that is, your period of probation, shall we say, has been served. Once you have shown yourself loyal to …’
‘King Luis,’ Nicholas supplied helpfully. ‘And in Cyprus: the sugar fields in the south, once the Bastard has left?’
‘Naturally,’ said Imperiale Doria, ‘all previous contracts would be null, and the King and Queen would be free to allot them differently. You may expect to be among those so favoured. The extent of the franchise will be in direct proportion to the speed with which you help free Famagusta. Do you understand me?’
‘I am honoured,’ Nicholas said. ‘We understand one another. I shall do what I can. I take it we sail when we have weather?’
Doria rose. ‘Ah, here are the Queen’s men to fetch you. You are impatient to leave? The wind has set in a bad quarter. I give it a week. Yes, a week.’
The others rose, but only the Treasurer spoke. ‘Time for leisure,’ he said. ‘Time to reflect. Time to eat, if that is your pleasure.’ He smiled, for the first time. It was not an improvement.
By contrast, the Queen of Cyprus received him formally immediately on his arrival at the Palace. As before, her consort was with her, and they were again in their chamber of audience. This time, of course, Nicholas was her prisoner as well as her employee. No one presented him with a gold-embroidered blue mantle to take the place of his own abused cloak, and he was introduced into the chamber by an official less exalted than the Marshal of Cyprus. His bruised face attracted neither comment nor sympathy and did nothing, he supposed, to enhance his present diminished standing.
Outside the room there were soldiers, but no trumpeter. Inside, there were more men-at-arms, but few others except for pages and counsellors. Primaflora was not to be seen.
Since the ride back from the ravine he had been locked up, and she had had no chance, it seemed, to send him a message, so the meeting they had both wanted had not been possible. Meantime, she was free to take what pleasure she chose, and he supposed she would do so. He had no such freedom. The boy in Bruges had never gone hungry, but took girls for joy when he needed them. During the weeks with Primaflora, he had lived like that again, and was being made to regret it. As he should. There was a difference between satisfaction and gluttony.
He was not here to think about Primaflora. He was here to remove his army safely from Rhodes. Before him sat the Queen and her consort, subtly changed from the time of his previous audience. The gaze of Luis this time was belligerent. The Queen’s manner was brisk, but also in some way uneasy. She did not want, at the start, to hear excuses about his supposed crimes (he did not make any) or to recall that last time they met she had been investing him with the honours of knighthood. She merely wished to confirm (she said) that his company was to fight for her in Kyrenia. They would be under Captain Astorre, and so long as they fought well and remained loyal, they would receive their fee and all else they could wish. Until they had proved themselves, and Messer Niccolò had shown himself faithful, Messer Niccolò would be in the care of Napoleone Lomellini, captain of Famagusta.
Famagusta, again. He must pick his way carefully. Above all, he had to contrive that he was not landed in a different place from his army. Nicholas thought of Madeira, and further thought that it would do no special harm to give Imperiale Doria a present. He said, ‘Madonna, my company will fight as I tell them. If they do not see me, or hear from me, or know how I am being treated, there is no incentive for them to be loyal. If you place me in Famagusta, you must put my men in Famagusta as well. If they are to be in Kyrenia, then give me to the Marshal there as hostage.’
Queen Carlotta opened her mouth. Then she shut it and looked at her consort. The sandy jaws moved. The King said, ‘You claim to have loyal followers. It is for them to fight all the harder, so that Zacco is driven to lift both his sieges and abandon his efforts. If your men are not moved to strive and Famagusta falls while you are there, it will be, of course, your misfortune.’
So Luis was hedging. The Queen broke in, speaking faster than usual. ‘And you will tell them, your men. If they defect, they are dead. I will see to it. I have given orders. You know this man James? The Bastard de Lusignan? Zacco?’
‘I have heard of him,’ Nicholas said.
‘And the noseless bawd, his unmarried mother. You will hear,’ said Carlotta, ‘that Zacco has charm. He knows the sinful longings of men; he encourages avarice. There have been men who have been tempted, and joined him. He thought Sor de Naves was one. Sor de Naves of Sicily.’
‘He brought you from your visit to Savoy,’ said Nicholas.
The Queen sat still, her hands loose on her lap, her bright eyes on Nicholas. ‘James de Lusignan thought to seduce him. He persuaded Sor de Naves to leave us; to cross to Syria and bring back troops and munitions. Signor de Naves did indeed bring back troops. He also brought arms, and gunpowder, and bombards. He sailed with them to Cyprus. But he gave the bombards to the Genoese instead of to Zacco, and sailed with the rest to us at Kyrenia.’
Nicholas bowed his head in an edified way. He knew the story. The brother of Sor de Naves had long since deserted the Queen and now served, a rich man, under Zacco. But Sor had kept faith with Carlotta, even though his brother with Zacco might pay for it. Perhaps the brothers were rivals. But no, that was naïve. Many families halved the risk by supporting different sides: Marco and Andrea Corner, for example. As a policy, it was not always successful; but the more skilled the operator, the more likely he was to be cherished. By Zacco, who charmed, or by Carlotta, who did not recognise charm. Nicholas kept his gaze lowered, and tried to look useful.
The Queen said, ‘We made you a member of an Order of Chivalry, and we have not rescinded it. We promised you land, and a title. The land we do not yet have: it has to be fought for. But we keep our word. We offer no blandishments. We rely on our rightful claim, and the princes of Christendom who support us. We know the day will come when you will take your place, as our Knight, in Nicosia. We hold your pledge. You have only to prove yourself.’
‘In Famagusta,’ said Nicholas.
She looked coldly upon him. ‘You are a Knight, and this is your trial.’
‘And my marriage?’ said Nicholas tentatively.
The Queen looked impatient. She said, ‘That, of course, cannot take place. Primaflora is required here on Rhodes to attend us. Ask for her hand, if you wish, when Zacco is dead or vanquished.’
Nicholas said, ‘I see. So your serene excellencies are staying on Rhodes?’
She had come to the end of all she intended to tell him. She said, ‘How else can we reach the free world, and capture its conscience? You will go as soon as the weather allows. You have an oath to keep.’
He had forgotten that. He had forgotten his bruised face for the moment as well. He was thinking that he had recently received a number of very good offers although, of course, they were no more than he expected. You didn’t go into the game without having worked out, at least, what the prizes were.
Before the storm had blown itself out, the company of Niccolò the banker left Rhodes on a round ship commanded by Louis de Magnac, the Grand Commander of Cyprus, with the best seamen of the Order serving under him. Marching down to Mandraki Harbour, the hundred picked soldiers tramped in a dazzle of cuirass and helmet. In front, Astorre and Thomas were shaken by wind-battered plumes, and even John le Grant, walking with scarlet-clad Tobie, glistened in his suit of tooled German armour that Thomas, privately, had tried to buy from him twice. Behind came their clerks, their grooms and their servants, and behind that, the well-packed wagons with their arms and their baggage.
Nicholas was missing still. It was presumed that the head of the Bank of Niccolò had spent the week locked in the Palace of Cyprus. The mercenaries who fought for him tended to believe, on the other hand, that the lucky bastard was in bed with the blonde, and would be found spent on board when they got there. Astorre had done nothing to destroy this conviction, which might even be sound. It surprised him, the regard in which the young fellow was held by his army. It was natural enough, he supposed. The boy had a brain. He was friendly. He made money. He’d come a long way since Bruges, that was certain.
On board, there was still no sign of Nicholas, nor any news of him that they could gather. The ship, they found, was heavily loaded, although the only other passengers in evidence were some three dozen soldiers, armed as they were not. Their own weapons, armour and harness were locked away as soon as they arrived, and the hundred men of their company equally bestowed under lock and key in a different part of the hold. The four officers of the House of Niccolò were given a cabin. Travelling with them, they gathered, were officials bound for the royal garrison at Kyrenia, some merchants, and a Genoese called Tomà Adorno, at whose name Tobie brightened. Attending this assortment of voyagers was a full complement of servants and some women, who might or might not have been wives. These shared the space below deck with a full cargo of arms and gunpowder and food, destined for the Queen’s remaining strongholds on Cyprus. Also aboard, but presently confined with his shipmaster, was Louis de Magnac, who was to command the voyage. With him, they fervently hoped, was his useful black servant called Lopez.
They had proceeded so far with the inventory when a sequence
of thuds from above indicated that the time of departure was now close. It was John le Grant who asked for, and received, permission for the four to take the air on deck until sailing-time, a privilege no one else begged since the rain at the time was horizontal. They stood by the deck-rail and gazed all about them. Rhodes, for four months their prison, was about to relinquish them at last. They should have been joyful. The wind screamed and the sea surged, slate and white to the misty horizon. There was a sequence of celestial mutters, and a white vertical crack appeared between heavens and sea, followed by a thorough-going crash. Astorre’s eyelashes shook in the downpour like groundsel. Astorre said, ‘So where is the madman?’
It was the urgent question in all their minds. If Nicholas was already on board, no one would admit to it. If he was not on board, then something was seriously wrong, and no one except Astorre wanted to think of it. In silence, therefore, they watched the wharf, the pier, and all the distant traffic out of the city. In rigid silence they observed, through the rain, a detachment of soldiers progressing smartly out of the gates and marching the length of the jetty. They arrived at the foot of the gangplank and two of them came aboard, with a man in a heavy cloak following.