Authors: Dorothy Dunnett
In Bruges, Tommaso Portinari was bent on making a name for himself and the Medici in the handling of alum. Anselm Adorne, discreet and wealthy as ever, was receiving few public offices under Duke Philip, for reasons unknown. He was, however, still on the friendliest terms with the Charetty company and the demoiselles Tilde and Catherine, about which notes from Julius were appended. Catherine, who had no stake in the company, was insisting stubbornly on attempting to supervise its every move. Tilde, older and swayed by other matters, vacillated between extreme interference and spending money on social pursuits. There were several young men –
‘It’s a pity about the Medici,’ John le Grant said.
There were several young men whom she favoured, and Julius –‘Yes?’ said Nicholas.
‘It says there. The company’s credit is over-extended. If Cosimo dies, his heirs will call on his debtors. That includes the Strozzi.’
And Julius was finding some trouble in fending them off. Godscalc was helping. They would be sorry to hear of the illness of Cosimo de’ Medici … ‘I don’t know why I bother to read it,’ Nicholas said, ‘if you’re going to tell me all of it. So the Strozzi will be short of capital. So we put through an order for barillo at a good favourable price when the time comes. Loppe, can you do that?’
Loppe said, ‘There’s a boat in from Alexandria today, someone said. They’ll have news from Florence. I’ll ask at Salines. Where do you want the barillo delivered?’
‘Venice,’ said Nicholas. John le Grant was glaring at him.
John le Grant said, ‘You madman, are you going ahead with that? Did Gregorio lease the island?’
‘I hope so,’ Nicholas said. ‘Didn’t you come across that in the letter? Or no, it was in code. Here it is. Gregorio has leased the island. He thinks I’m mad too. He says all anybody is thinking of is the war with the Turks, and I ought to be thinking of that too. If they take Cyprus, they’ve got all our sugar.’
‘But then, you have another business in Venice. It makes sense to me,’ said Loppe blandly.
Nicholas looked up smiling from what else the letter had said in code which was hardly personal either, but something for his eye, and not that of anyone else. Gregorio, his perfect lawyer, had written:
The Republic has received excellent news of your sugar prospects and those of the Corner estates, previously much disrupted by war. The market for Portuguese sugar is now as a result much depressed, the companies worst affected being those recently established and under-financed, such as St Pol & Vasquez. There is much distress over the death of Tristão Vasquez, and the lord Simon his wife’s brother publicly blames you for this, and for the detention of his wife and Tristão’s young son. Whether there is any truth in the accusation, you will know. But it is likely that, if he can find a ship and raise the money, Simon will either come to Cyprus or send there to make formal complaint. I do not need to tell you either that he regards your involvement with sugar as a direct attack on his livelihood
.
‘Oh, dear,’ said Nicholas aloud. He turned the paper over. There were another three lines.
Certain indications have come to my notice of abnormal business activity, not attributable to St Pol & Vasquez, which seems to be directed against the Bank, or against you in person. I shall watch; so should you
.
‘Oh dear what?’ John le Grant said.
‘Gregorio. He thinks the House of Niccolò has attracted subversive attention, but has no positive evidence. Is your skin crawling? He probably dreamed about Diniz and his axe.’
‘Did you tell him about Diniz and his axe?’ said Loppe with extreme smoothness.
Nicholas said, ‘No, I didn’t. Simon’s going to be annoyed if he turns up and finds he’s got a little blue nephew. Perhaps I’ll tell him then.’
‘Simon’s going to turn up?’ Loppe said, missing out all the courtesies.
John le Grant said, ‘Aye, wait a bit. There’s something contradictory there. I can see this lord Simon blaming you for the death of the Portuguese. But what’s this about your stopping the woman and the boy getting home? The story we got was that the grandfather wouldn’t ransom them, and Simon wasn’t interested.’
‘The story we got,’ Nicholas said, ‘was that Jordan de Ribérac temporarily couldn’t afford it, and Simon was abroad and didn’t know about it. Presumably he’s come home and found out.’
‘Well, like enough. But he can still hardly blame you if it was his father’s fault. Unless –’
‘Unless Jordan de Ribérac put the blame on me, as of course he has done. One day,’ Nicholas said, ‘I must introduce you to Jordan de Ribérac. No problem of tunnelling, sapping or metal-casting
will ever seem difficult to you again. Meanwhile, we have his son thinking of coming here. I think I really must find a way of getting rid of Katelina van Borselen soon. I can manage a war, a dyeworks and a sugar business, but with Simon as well, I’d have to work to a sand-glass.’ He stopped. His voice, it seemed to him, had grown a little shrill. He lowered it. ‘Right. I’d better tell Tobie I’m leaving, if I can find him. Whose piss is he drinking this morning?’
‘You put him on to it,’ John le Grant said. ‘Anyway, I’ve seen him already. Why didn’t you tell us about the Emperor David? We were in Trebizond too.’
‘I forgot,’ Nicholas said. He kept his voice resolutely down. ‘I thought you would be upset. I got confused after my wound. Zorzi begged me never to remind him of it.’
‘He remembered to bring out your camel,’ John le Grant said. ‘The Emperor might as well have stuck to his palace and fought on to the end. Or at the very least let Uzum Hasan and the White Sheep have Trebizond. That way, we could have stayed and gone on with the business.’
‘So we could,’ Nicholas said. ‘But that way, we should have missed Tzani-bey and Zacco and Cropnose and Valenza and Fiorenza and Katelina and Simon and Zorzi and laughter-loving Aphrodite herself. That black bloody cone out there, splitting its sides.’
They gazed at him like nurses. His head throbbing, Nicholas swore, and got to his feet, and went off to look at madder.
Four days later, he was at the opposite end of the island in the camp surrounding Kyrenia, engaged in long conciliatory sessions with Zacco inside his tent, and boisterous ones outside it, followed by other carefully orchestrated exchanges with Astorre and Thomas, Crackbene and Umfrid, and all his opposite numbers in the different sections of the army now investing Kyrenia.
The interviews with Zacco were not difficult: the King had quite enough intelligence to know that what John le Grant had told him was true. He merely wished to hear it from Nicholas, and to dispute with him, and perhaps frighten him, and then please him. Encounters with Zacco now took a certain pattern, with an occasional wild foray into the dangerous and the unexpected. Nicholas always enjoyed them.
Since the last occasion, however, he had had a taste of something he had almost forgotten. The day – the evening, the one rather full evening with the princesses of Naxos – had brought back, in its earlier part, the light, the swift, the allusive conversation of Trebizond where, among other luxuries, the Emperor had surrounded himself always with the best minds. Setting the black cone apart, Nicholas had long understood Urbino, who fought in order to buy
for his library. On the other hand, there was wisdom to be acquired outside books, as Zacco had shown him. By Urbino’s age, perhaps, he himself might have discovered a balance that satisfied him. He wondered if such an idea might pass for another purpose, and decided that it would not, and he had better go and do something practical, such as reminding his men that they were supposed to be colleagues of the emir Tzani-bey.
It was, when you came to think of it, a tribute to Zacco’s skill that after eight months, Tzani-bey and he were in the same encampment, on the same campaign together. Of course the emir remembered, as he did, what had happened at the monastery of the cats, and afterwards. Those (including Primaflora) who knew of it would be entitled, he supposed, to regard the present armistice with astonished contempt. Then, four months ago, boarding the Hospitallers’ ship, Tzani-bey had been given orders to convince the Genoese that Zacco was no friend of Nicholas; and had treated those orders with licence. That had been witnessed by his own men. So, too, had the emir’s brutal success of two months ago, when, without consultation or compunction, Tzani-bey had used Greek fire to force the fall of St Hilarion.
In all their commerce, then and since, the emir’s public behaviour had been otherwise wholly correct; his attitude one of smiling formality. Away from Zacco’s eyes, matters were slightly different. Food went astray; powder destined for Astorre was diverted; the requirements for ablutions, for prayer oddly occurred when least safe and least convenient to Astorre and his men. To deal with it, as to deal with everything, one had to put oneself in the other man’s place. Until he had defeated Carlotta, until the Ottoman danger was past, Zacco could not do without Mameluke help; could not risk offending Cairo.
In his turn, Tzani-bey knew that Cairo sent to Cyprus only her dissidents. If they fought well, they might return to acclaim. If they slipped, Cairo would cut them off without compunction. He had to keep the goodwill of Zacco until Zacco was King of Cyprus. Equally, he would be well advised to prevent Zacco replacing Egyptian with Western help which might – just might – end in sweeping Egypt from Cyprus. So Nicholas had given four months to educating Astorre to deal with the Mamelukes; to presenting to Tzani-bey the portrait of a young Flemish mercenary of modest ability with whom Tzani-bey could work without losing face or the slightest doubt of his own personal ascendancy. All this he continued to consolidate in the week or two it took to set up the cannon and begin, in a stolid way, to discharge it at the walls of Kyrenia. There would be time enough to deal with Tzani-bey. Time enough for the final protest that he had had planned, in loving detail, for a very long time. Cyprus, Island of Love. He thought of Katelina
van Borselen at Kouklia, and wondered if the spirits of vengeance were on good or bad terms with the spirits of spring and fertility. He suspected they teamed up with one another. It didn’t stop him, any more than he knew it had stopped Katelina.
April had moved into May, and soon May would turn into June and high summer. The flowers, once so aromatic and fresh, were retiring, leaving thorn and dry earth and trickles of mud where the rivers had been. The wine he planned for began to come, and the fodder for animals. He initiated games, at which each section of the army in turn had a chance to shine. He had learned his lesson from the Genoese; from all those he could find who remembered other sieges that had failed through boredom, and bad provisioning. He continued to fraternise with everybody, extending his endeavours even to the Arab physician whose murderous potions had so mortified Tobie. In that instance, as it happened, the first approach had not come from Nicholas but from Abul Ismail himself, when Zacco had made one of his regular visits to the field hospital, Nicholas following.
During any siege, there was little need for senior medical staff. The cases were mostly fever, or dysentery, or the occasional wound from an arrow. Zacco’s tour was soon done. He left, with his retinue. The physician had said, detaining Nicholas, ‘My lord. Your late injury does not trouble you?’
In the light clothes they all wore, Nicholas supposed its state was obvious enough. ‘No. I thank you,’ he said.
The lined, bearded face considered his. Abul Ismail said, ‘But you would not condescend to let me examine it? I feel responsible. Because of me, your own doctor prefers not to be present.’
‘Because of me, I rather think,’ Nicholas said. ‘Although you went to extremes which he would never contemplate, nor indeed should I. But that is past. No. He has experiments in the south which keep him occupied.’
‘The bodies drowning in sugar. We spoke of this once. We have had the same in Damascus. The question is, is it caused by the eating of sugar, or does sugar alleviate the disease? – You would not care to sit there, while we talk of it? It is my chamber, and private. The examination will take no more than a moment.’
It was, indeed, quick and deft. As he covered his shoulder, Abul Ismail said, ‘Such excellent suturing deserves better care than you have given it. You have been told, I am sure, how lucky you were. Also, you have escaped your marsh fever so far? This is an island that breeds these sad fits of palsy.’
‘I seem to bear a charmed life,’ Nicholas said. Now the King had gone, there was silence beyond the curtain, save for the steamy breathing of seething water, and the whisper of a brazier, heating irons. He said, ‘And now I must go.’
‘Without discussing what lies between us?’ said Abul Ismail. He turned from washing his hands and picked up a towel. His box stood beyond with trays of instruments in it: probes and tweezers, needles, syringes and scalpels. Beyond that stood a table like a refiner’s, pierced to hold slotted bowls. Except that the bowls contained blood and not sugar. Abul Ismail gathered his robes and sat down. He said, ‘I observe you. You owe your success to many things, but mostly to your gift for examining the thoughts of your fellow men. I spoke just now of books, and you were familiar with them. Master Tobie, before our estrangement, told of the manuscripts you brought from Trebizond, enshrining Arab science in the words of the Greeks. Here, I cure Muslim and Christian. At St Hilarion, I performed an action for the sake of the greater good of my nation, and this island and, indeed, the particular salvation of Master Tobie and yourself. I am not afraid to discuss these things. We are civilised. An interchange of views need not lead to abuse, mental or bodily.’
‘You could conceive that I might persuade you that your viewpoint is wrong?’ Nicholas said.
The Arab smiled. ‘You know well that we shall not change our stance by an iota. But I shall understand you, and you me. Will this not serve well for the future? We must live side by side for so long as the war lasts: perhaps longer, if you have your way. You have told no one, for example, that your sugar-master came from that great Turcoman prince, the lord Uzum Hasan?’