Authors: Dorothy Dunnett
‘The Grand Commander still doubts me,’ said Nicholas. ‘Diniz, you are not safe up here.’
‘Why?’ said a voice, speaking in Arabic. ‘A spent catamite of
yours would hardly excite me. Although he is pretty. Has he African ways?’
The emir had climbed the steps and stood on deck before them all. His smile was broad, the black moustache spreading, the dark eyes liquid. Nicholas said, ‘Excuse him. He has only two legs.’
The emir’s face hardly changed. It was the man behind him who stepped forward and swung his powerful mace. Although Nicholas flung his arm up, it brought him down to one knee. He rose, and replaced his innocuous smile. His hand, at his side, gripped Astorre’s arm. Thomas growled. The emir stood, his head on one side. Then he said, ‘Perhaps that is sufficient, for the moment. For serious intercourse, I prefer a wider audience, and land underfoot. Which is the fool who commands? This dotard? Ah, I remember him.’ And switching to accented French, he began to list his demands.
He was obeyed. Officers and men unbuckled their armour and laid down their weapons. John le Grant in silence watched the guns deprived one by one of their ammunition and saw all their defences taken away. At the end, Tzani-bey came again and stood before the Grand Commander. ‘And now I wish to see your cargo, and your passengers. The Genoese will come with me. You, my lord Napoleone. And our sorry young Fleming. The mace has opened your head. Does it pain you? Soon, I will cause you to forget it.’
‘I am to come with you?’ said Nicholas. He kept to Arabic.
Tzani-bey looked surprised. ‘Of course. Don’t you have women on board? I should like to see them.’
It was Primaflora, of course, whom he wanted to see. Katelina, on her sickbed, he hardly looked at. The merchants’ women screamed when he entered the cabin: he took one by her bodice, pulled her close to examine her, and then flung her away. Primaflora he saw last of all, because she was seated behind all the rest, and hadn’t stirred. The emir pushed the others aside and stood before her.
She looked up. Nicholas saw her eyes turn to himself, and then move and rest, with supreme boredom, on the emir. She was exquisitely gowned, and had a little pillow of lace on her lap. She said, ‘Ah, the Mameluke who fingers women. May I undress for you? I should prefer not to have my gown torn.’
The smile left his face. The mace-holder stirred. Tzani-bey said, ‘No. I do not require it. I have seen the goods.’ And he passed on.
Napoleone Lomellini, pulled in his wake, dragged himself free and bowed, deeply and deliberately, to all the women. Nicholas, walking as slowly as he could, found Primaflora at his side. She said hastily, using Italian, ‘What will they do?’
‘Nothing to you, or the other passengers, or the ship. They’ll
take the cargo, and me and my company,’ Nicholas said. ‘From their point of view, I was on my way to fight for the Queen.’
‘But you had no choice; you were under compulsion!’ she said. ‘Tell them! Tell them! The Usurper needs you more than the Queen does.’
‘I don’t think,’ Nicholas said, ‘that I could bring Tzani-bey to believe it. And if I did, the Order and the Genoese would never, I’m afraid, see that I stepped off this ship. You are here because of me, and I am so sorry. Go back to the Queen. She will forgive you. There will be someone courteous and wealthy waiting somewhere to be made happy.’
He smiled at her, even as they were roughly separated and he was hustled back to his place by the emir. Looking round once, he saw her standing still in the doorway to the women’s chamber. Her face looked austere, and even frightened.
No one else urged him to save himself by crossing to Zacco. If they thought it likely he could, neither the Order nor the Genoese would let him or his company get to Salines alive, as he had told Primaflora. On the other hand, their execution would be quick, compared with anything Tzani-bey had in mind. He began to think as he walked. Salines. How could he extricate himself and the others at Salines? Or would the emir keep them at Salines? An audience, he had said. A public audience for what was to happen. Well, they would see.
The tour ended. Lomellini was removed, and Nicholas had time to wonder why the Genoese had been forced to be present and not, for example, the Grand Commander. But Zacco and the Order at Kolossi had some kind of working association, while the Genoese at Famagusta were Zacco’s implacable enemies. The emir would enjoy displaying his power to Lomellini. Perhaps he would allow himself to go further. Lomellini doubtless suspected as much. He showed no fear, however, on parting from Nicholas but, again, gave his punctilious bow. ‘Famagusta would have been the better for your assistance. I regret what has happened. I shall report, in my turn, how you bore yourself.’
‘I hope you have a chance to do so, Ser Napoleone,’ Nicholas said. Then he, in his turn, was taken off.
And now, at least he was among friends, for they threw him into the windowless apartment in the hold where they had already imprisoned Astorre and all the rest of his company. He had to guess as much from the voices, for lamps and candles were missing, and the only light came from the cracks round the locked door. ‘Well, well,’ said Tobie. ‘They took away all the lights in case we burned the ship down, otherwise you’d be able to see how happy we are. What was all that about taking precautions?’
‘This is just a test,’ Nicholas said. ‘They give us two days to
learn the Koran, Loppe gets made a muezzin and they set us up with a harem apiece. Is there anything to eat?’ It was not bravado. Danger made him feel hungry.
‘Not yet,’ said Astorre. ‘Well, let’s put our heads together. You told Zacco you’d serve him or nobody. Zacco said if you brought us to fight for the Queen, he would make sure that he stopped you and killed us. You thought that he mightn’t. It seems that he will.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Nicholas.
‘You suppose, man? He’s intercepted us and the Queen’s men all right. He’s sent the Mamelukes to fire their damned guns at us. He’s sent this emir, who’s not your greatest admirer. And we’ve had threats and abuse and manhandling in private as well as in public. So all in all, we have to reach one conclusion. King Zacco is out for our blood. Yours and everybody’s. Am I right?’
‘I think you are,’ Tobie said. ‘I’m not complaining. Or not more than usual. We knew the risks, and it was the only way to leave Rhodes. So what now? How long do we have here at sea?’
He was speaking quite loudly, against the thud and creak of the vessel, because this was something that all their men ought to hear. When about to wring Tobie’s neck, Nicholas always had to remember what a good doctor he was. Now Nicholas said, ‘A day. Not more than two. The harbour’s down in the south. After that, it depends whether the emir or Zacco wants to finish us off. The emir, as you see, is longing to indulge himself.’
‘A nasty piece. I’ve fought against plenty like him,’ said Captain Astorre. ‘You too, eh, Master John? Now, why don’t we break out and take the Mamelukes hostage? Or if we can’t, the Commander might think of it.’
‘I hope he doesn’t,’ Nicholas said. ‘The emir will have gone back to his own ship by now, and I’m sure he meant what he said. If we make a false move, the men in those two galleys will burn us down to the water, no matter who is on board. The emir’s soldiers go straight to Paradise, and the Celestial Court will also receive the captain of Famagusta and a number of Carlotta’s favourite officers, to King Zacco’s great sorrow.’
‘So we just walk ashore to our fate?’ Tobie said. ‘And the rest? The boy? They think he’s yours. That won’t save him.’
‘It depends,’ Nicholas said, ‘what you want to save him from. I wonder what Simon would say? Death before dishonour?’
‘I suppose he would,’ Tobie said, ‘if he got the chance. Myself, I’m considerably drawn to dishonour.’
‘You’re thirty-two years old,’ Nicholas said. ‘Senile, bald, and you talk too much. You’re past dishonour. Consider survival as an alternative. We land at Salines, and three possible things will then happen. Let’s discuss them.’
He could feel the rustle of hope. He tried to feel hopeful himself.
It was only a game. It was only a case of thinking out the next move. Of thinking what you might do if you hated anyone as much as Tzani-bey hated Niccolò vander Poele. And, of course, vice versa.
Chapter 22
T
WENTY-FOUR
hours later the company of Nicholas arrived, still with their skins whole, at the harbour of Salines in Cyprus. On the way, they had been given food but no light, and had spent the latter part of the journey for the most part in sleep. The Mamelukes who herded them up into the stormy, dazzling daylight carried maces, and would answer no questions. There was no sign of the women, or the merchants. On the other hand, there was no sign either of distress or confusion. The Rhodian shipmaster, still under guard at the poop, looked relieved at the sight of Nicholas, and made a slight sign which seemed to convey that so far, nothing worse had occurred. Then Nicholas with Astorre, the men and his officers were ranged by the deck-rail, and shivering, could see what they had come to.
The salt lake which gave Salines its name was not in view from this, the only south-eastern port left to Zacco. Below a line of unremarkable hills rose an abrupt, minor height with the remains of an acropolis on it. Beneath the hill stood the triple domes of the church, next to the low roofs of a primitive hospice and the ruined stones of a tower. A two-storey building some distance off could have been a tavern, or an office, or both. Beside it was a scatter of huts of the kind used by porters, or boatmen or fishermen. A track crossed the flat land patched with palms to the shore, where had been erected a couple of warehouses and a short timber jetty. A number of boats lay on coarse sand.
Since the Genoese had taken Famagusta, the bastard King had no real harbours but Salines and Limassol, and none at all where a ship could lie up in all winds. You would think, none the less, that he would have tried to improve what he had. John le Grant said, ‘The Saracens burned all these shores forty years ago, and they’ve seen plenty of landings since then. All the good houses and the market are over that hill at Aliki. Safer, you see, from marauders.’
He spoke, as he always did, in factual terms, and with an
engineer’s eye. John le Grant was familiar with Cyprus: the others knew less about it than Nicholas did. Yet they had volunteered, aware of the risk. The risk embodied in the two powerful galleys now at anchor beside them, from one of which a skiff had already put off for the shore. In the chill, clear air, Nicholas could see the brilliant clothes of the emir in the stern of the boat; and on shore, a cavalcade of armed men trotting forward to dismount and greet him. Astorre, of the single, far-sighted eye, said, ‘See that troop? That’s the Lusignan banner. A lean, swarthy fellow in front. Would that be the King?’
‘No,’ said Nicholas. He remembered the Sicilian Rizzo di Marino, and the King’s quiet bedchamber in Nicosia, and receiving news of his army in Rhodes. He had thought, then, that di Marino distrusted him. He said, ‘It might be a lord, bringing orders.’
‘Such as whether to tear our livers out here, or wait till suppertime?’ said Tobie.
‘Something like that,’ Nicholas said. He was listening to a flourish of trumpets from the shore. It had been a signal. Men ran. Almost immediately, their own ship’s boat was lowered and Nicholas and his officers were thrust down the boarding-steps into it. As their skiff set off for the land, a second boat in its turn took its place at the foot of the gangway, and Astorre’s soldiers could be seen preparing to file down and board it. Tobie said, ‘Well. He keeps his word, this bold robber king. He said he’d make us sorry if we fought for the Queen, and he didn’t mean just you and me. Where’s his lair? Nicosia?’
They were near the shore. On the jetty stood the emir Tzani-bey with a line of horses and metal-clad men; the knight Rizzo di Marino, if it had been he, was no longer present. John le Grant said, ‘They’ll take us somewhere nearer, to start with. Maybe to finish with. The Lusignan have a house at Aradippou. There’s the monastery of St George. Or there’s a half-ruined castle at Kiti which the Bastard filched from one of his sister’s supporters. We could spend the night there.’
‘I’d rather not,’ Tobie said. ‘And if this is Salines, I don’t want it on my next egg, I can tell you. What’s the church?’
‘It’s called after St Lazarus. He settled here when he rose from the dead.’
‘Good,’ said Tobie. ‘Did he leave any notes?’
Nicholas had never been to Salines before. He had never been anywhere on Cyprus except the Cape of the Cats, to which the Venetians had brought him, and the adjacent land and estates of Kolossi Castle. And, of course, Nicosia, where he had promised a young man called Zacco his service or his neutrality. Nicholas avoided John le Grant’s blue, naked stare. He suspected that John le Grant, of them all, knew what Zacco was like.
Then the skiff jounced at the jetty, and Nicholas met the different stare, equally appraising, of the emir. The Mameluke’s cloak boomed, and his helmet-brush panted like bellows. The emir said, ‘Did you think to meet death here? I am not greedy. One should savour a banquet. You ride with me to Kiti.’
‘And the men?’ Nicholas said. The jetty, when he gained it, seemed to sway like the sea.
‘They will march there,’ said the emir. ‘There is no haste for them. They will be taken care of quite simply.’ Below his cloak, he wore an Islamic coat over his brigandine. Beneath the playful threat of his manner there lay something both foreign and chilling.
Nicholas said, ‘I prefer to stay with my soldiers.’
The emir surveyed him. ‘We are stating preferences? It is a march of four miles to the castle. Your captain will make it on foot, with your one hundred men. We have mounts for you and your comrades. Your doctor. Your engineer. Your charming mistress. Your delectable catamite.’ Between the tongues of his helm, he was sneering.
Nicholas said, ‘Have I mistaken you? The merchants and ladies were to go free?’
‘Oh, they will,’ said Tzani-bey. ‘The merchants and their cattle will stay on board and disembark later. Only the chosen are invited to Kiti. You and your company, for reasons you know. And the rest as spectators. Every execution requires witnesses, does it not?’