Authors: Dorothy Dunnett
She had become very still. ‘They are under siege at Famagusta. Who is sending you there?’
‘The Genoese,’ he said. ‘And King Luis. The Queen was forced to agree. Napoleone Lomellini is captain of Famagusta: that’s why he’s here. After they land me there, you must go with Astorre and the rest to Kyrenia. There is food in Famagusta. I’ll come to no harm, and shall join you as soon as I can. It’s only a way of compelling Astorre to fight hard.’
‘Then he must,’ she said. After a moment she said, ‘If that’s how they want to test your allegiance, then accept it. You would prosper under the Genoese if they win. They must have made promises.’
‘They have,’ Nicholas said.
‘Then stay in Famagusta,’ she said. ‘If you don’t, the Genoese or the Queen’s men will slaughter you all. And Katelina will encourage them.’
‘I’ve said I shall,’ Nicholas said. ‘Until Kyrenia is taken, at any rate. Then, surely, they’ll free me to join you.’
There was a look she had, that he had learned to know. She wore a scent he knew also, as he knew every fold in her body. She said, ‘But I shall be with you already. If you go to Famagusta, so do I.’
‘No,’ said Nicholas.
‘Why not?’ she said. ‘If there’s no hardship?’
Above the smile, her eyes searched his face. Nicholas said, ‘Where is the large house you wanted to run, and the fine clothes to choose from?’
‘They will come,’ she said. ‘But not if you flout everyone by trying to reach me. I will come with you to Famagusta. That is a promise.’
The ship rose into the waves and crashed, shuddering before rising and rolling again. One of the soldiers suddenly opened the door and went out. The other grinned. Primaflora, her eyes intent, showed no distress at all. Indeed, perhaps reading some change in his face, she seemed heartened. He said, ‘I shall now make an admission. I want you in Famagusta. And here.’
‘The soldier would complain,’ said Primaflora. Her colour had risen again.
‘Would he? He could report that you were testing my loyalty. Primaflora, what will the Queen do about this? She’s bound to make it known you’ve defected. Would they let you stay with me then?’
‘I shall be in Famagusta by then,’ she said. ‘If they want you to fight well, then they must, surely, allow you suitable solace? I don’t think they would send me away. Is that your last objection?’
‘I think so. I give in very easily,’ Nicholas said.
‘I have noticed. I should go, then. Niccolino, you will have a care? Katelina is resolved to bring you down somehow.’
‘I know. Katelina thinks I seduce women,’ Nicholas said. ‘She doesn’t know it’s the other way round.’
She turned then, and spoke in French to the soldier, and soon she was ushered out, and he was alone, and aware for the first time of the hideous motion of the ship. He hadn’t asked after his men and his officers, although she might have been able to bring him news of them. On his side, there were several things he had spared her.
There was no need for her to know, as his company knew, that he and they might never be allowed to set foot on Kyrenia, or to see Famagusta alive. James de Lusignan had brought him a captive to Cyprus, and had set him free on the starkest of conditions: Nicholas must either take his force home, or return to help Zacco drive out his sister.
Your officers might well sail for Kyrenia or Famagusta
, the King had suggested.
If they do, they will be intercepted and killed
.
Nicholas had been well warned not to do what he was doing.
The third day passed. Once, he was allowed briefly on deck, and glimpsed Astorre and Tobie, exercising likewise. They waved without speaking. Against the wind, it would have been necessary to scream. He knew, without being told, that they must be as much on edge as he was. Two days to go, or maybe three, to his arrival in Famagusta, a prisoner. But perhaps before that, the masts of a ship would appear above the horizon, and the guns of James de Lusignan would bear down on them, and on him. He had taken one precaution. He didn’t know if it was sufficient.
Later, returning with his guard to the cabin he had caught sight of another face he knew. Half-concealed by the mast, Diniz Vasquez stood watching him. The boy looked tired. Nicholas stopped, and resisted when the soldier tried to pull him on. He said, ‘Diniz? Is the demoiselle better?’
The young Portuguese looked taken aback. After a moment he said, ‘She is sick. But for you, she wouldn’t be here.’
The soldier tugged again, and Nicholas laid a hand on his arm while he spoke quickly to Tristão’s son. ‘Listen a moment. I want you to remember this, and try to believe it. I had nothing to do with your father’s death. If I can, I will help you find out who killed him. But if you don’t trust me, speak to the doctor. You remember him. Talk to him. Ask him what you want. And if you need help, go to him.’
‘I have spoken to him,’ said the boy. ‘He doesn’t know whether you had him murdered or not. He has offered help, and I’ve accepted it.’
‘He is a good man,’ Nicholas brought himself to answer. The
soldier put pressure on his arm and he let himself be escorted away. The boy looked after him, circles under his eyes. Nicholas wondered how often he had had cause to damn Tobie, and also to be in his debt. Tobie’s doubts had led Diniz to trust him. Katelina, of course, trusted nobody. Katelina would take his life if he let her; and if it hadn’t been accomplished already by the rather more powerful parties who were now, all of them, ranged up against him.
He went to bed that night half dressed under his blanket as always, and slept as soundly as he usually did, waking early to find that the crash and heave of the vessel had moderated. The ship they had been given was old, and of clumsy design; and this was the first night that de Magnac had not risen at least once to check with the shipmaster. The Grand Commander was fast asleep now, although the grey light showed it was dawn. Nicholas lay where he was, judging the weather from what he could hear and feel. As on the voyage from Italy, he found he longed to lay his hands, too, on the sheets, on the helm. He had discovered some time ago a passion for sailing; for navigation; for the arithmetic of the sky.
He had been afraid, once or twice, of being trapped by his own fascination, as he was afraid of being trapped by progressions of sound. One should school such emotions. He had discovered as much in Byzantine Trebizond. Primaflora, although not Byzantine, had with her courtesan’s detachment reminded him again of the virtues of self-restraint – which was not the same, thank God, as celibacy. With the mind in control, there was no need to be at the mercy of anything. He noticed, with slight irritation, that with or without the mind in control he was thinking again of Primaflora. There came, at that exact moment, an imperative knocking on the cabin door. The voice of Napoleone Lomellini said, ‘My lord?’
The servants jumped up. De Magnac’s white-capped head moved, and he lifted himself on one elbow and nodded. The door was opened. Since he had come aboard, Nicholas had seen nothing more of the captain of Famagusta, or of Tomà Adorno, the other Genoese. His segregation, he had begun to think, was not accidental. Now, Lomellini’s sharp eyes under the thick brows went first to himself, before they rested on Louis de Magnac. Instead of an expensive furred mantle, the Genoese captain was wearing a cuirass. He said, ‘I am sorry to wake you. The shipmaster says there are two galleys approaching.’
‘Of what kind?’ said the Grand Commander. He swung his feet to the floor and laid his hand on the jerkin that went under his armour. A servant, tumbling, knelt with his boots.
‘Saracen,’ said Napoleone Lomellini. He glanced at Nicholas again, while speaking to de Magnac. ‘We have fifty sailors, two dozen soldiers – it won’t be enough if they board us. Perhaps we should free Messer Niccolò and his men?’
‘Not yet,’ said the Grand Commander. ‘Board a round ship? Let them try. Come with me.’ He looked back from the door, his servants already jacketed and beside him. ‘Lock him up,’ he said; and the door shut, leaving Nicholas alone and staring at it.
Saracens. Who? Not Sultan Mehmet; his crescent flags would proclaim him. So, Egyptian marauders? Corsairs from a Syrian or Turcoman port? It barely mattered. All that mattered was that it was not James de Lusignan, come to accost a young man he thought he had befriended. Nicholas found and put on the sword-less belt, the boots and the leather tunic that was all he had to wear over his shirt and hose. His cuirass and weapons were packed below, along with those of his army. He thought of them, and of the merchants, and the Kyrenia high officials, and the women. Especially the women: Katelina sick, and Primaflora immured with her. And, of course the boy, whom Muslims found so appealing.
The ship lurched. He heard the thud of feet on timbers, and the sound of orders, then drumming and trumpets. Nicholas sat erect on his mattress and listened. More orders. The thud of many feet, heavily shod this time. And soon, the jingle and clash of metal harness, and men’s voices raised in command. The ship’s soldiers were on deck, and armed. Well, thank God for that. How close were the enemy? Two ships, they said. And galleys, so they would be low, and manoeuvrable. He knew what he would do in their place.
The door opened again. It was Louis de Magnac, and someone else whom he glimpsed, and who then stepped out of sight. Loppe. De Magnac said, ‘We are being attacked by Mameluke ships. Do what you like. The door is unlocked. I have freed your officers also.’
Nicholas said, ‘Release my men. A hundred will make all the difference.’
‘You are right,’ said the Grand Commander. ‘If they panic; if they surrender. If we sink, I shall free them. Not before.’ He made to leave.
Nicholas grasped his arm in supplication, half turning him round. ‘They are Christians. They run the same risks as you. Let them save you.’
The Grand Commander lifted his elbow to thrust him aside. He said, ‘Not now.’ He stood, looking at Nicholas, surprise on his face. As he fell forward, Nicholas caught him.
Loppe, entering, closed the door while Nicholas lowered the Knight to the floor. Loppe said, ‘He has the key. Here it is.’ He knelt by the side of the unconscious man. ‘I tried not to hit him hard. Do you want him tied up?’ He looked up as Nicholas hesitated. ‘He’ll put you in chains.’
‘Not once the fighting has started. No. We’ll lock the door on
him for the moment, and let him out presently. He’s an experienced man. We all need him.’ In the doorway he stopped. ‘The ships have Mameluke crews?’
Loppe said, ‘Yes. They’re not corsairs. They could be from Egypt, or Cyprus.’ His voice was quite steady. He said, ‘I saw the message was taken aboard. There is no way of telling whether it arrived or not.’
Nicholas said, ‘You did all you could. It either works or it doesn’t. Anyway, if those galleys come from Egypt or Syria, they’re out to destroy a Christian ship, and it’s nothing to do with James de Lusignan. If they’re from Cyprus, Zacco sent them. So I can’t tell you what to do, except to prepare for the worst. Can we get at the hackbuts?’
‘Not with a key; the master has it,’ said Loppe. ‘I might break in: there’s no one with time to watch now.’ The ship lurched, and spray fell with a clatter. He said, ‘They are aiming better.’
Nicholas said, ‘Yes. Free the men. If it’s Zacco, bent on destroying us, at least they can put up a fight for themselves. Get them armed if you can, but keep them below. I’ll send Astorre and talk some sense into somebody.’ He staggered, and so did Loppe.
Loppe said, ‘The cog’s guns are mounted too high. Master John has gone to see what he can do. Captain Astorre is waiting outside the door. I’m going.’
He opened the door and disappeared. After a few moments, Nicholas followed, locking the door behind him. The wind buffeted him, its twanging voice part of a cacophony. The sails were down and the oars were out and dipping, keeping the ship in its place, its guns trained. The deck shook as another gun fired. Astorre rose up before him and said something. After a moment his ears cleared, and he heard what it was.
‘Mameluke ships, there and there. Fired five times into the sea. Bigger oar power. Lower freeboard, hard to hit. Blocking the only way we could sail.’
Nicholas said, ‘Where’s Diniz?’
‘Who?’ said Astorre. ‘Oh, him. He’s with John le Grant in the bows.’ His face had turned ruddy with battle-elation. He began to laugh. ‘That woman!’
‘I’ve sent Loppe to unlock the men and break open the weapon store. Bring them up when they’re ready. I’ll see that Lomellini and the shipmaster are prepared for them. What woman?’
‘That Primaflora,’ said Astorre. ‘Got all the women into one cabin and locked it. She was the one who told Loppe where the key was.’
‘Good. Go,’ said Nicholas. He saw the two war galleys now. The seas were so big that sometimes one or other would be lost to sight for a moment, but mostly they were in view, as the cog was so
high. They glittered with helmets and chain mail, shields and the crooked swords of the East, and their oarsmen worked like the slaves they certainly were. The ship to the north of them had its bows elaborately picked out in leaf gold. It was the nearer of the two. On his way to Lomellini, Nicholas swung himself up to a better vantage point and looked at it, screwing his eyes against the spray and the wind, his shirt sleeves snapping.
Lomellini’s voice said, ‘Do you want a spear in your chest? What are you doing here?’ More than ever, he looked like a soldier, about soldier’s business.
Nicholas slid down and steadied himself. He said, ‘The Grand Commander changed his mind. He freed me, and sent for my men. We need their handguns, or the galleys will come up too close.’
The Genoese gazed, his black brows lowered. His armour was dented, and not very bright, as if it had seen long and hard service. He said, ‘Where is the Grand Commander?’
He had guessed. Nicholas said, ‘He is unhurt.’
Lomellini still stared at him. He said, ‘In five minutes, I shall send a servant to look for him. Make yourself scarce.’
‘No need,’ Nicholas said. ‘In a few minutes, there will be only one thing to think of. Or – no –
Get down!
’
They were hardly in time. As they rolled on the deck, a ball from the enemy ship smashed into the rail of the forecastle, leaving a prodigious hole, and sending timber and iron flying. One of the bombards had gone. Among the dust and smoke, suddenly, there was a flicker of fire. As Nicholas scrambled upright, he heard John le Grant’s voice, swearing, and he began to breathe again. Before he could run, a dozen men were already there, and the fire was out. The men were his own, armed and efficient. Nicholas turned and found Lomellini, flushed, on his feet. Nicholas said, ‘We could beat them.’