Authors: Dorothy Dunnett
They parted. He watched the gate close behind her and, turning his horse, set it at a slow, steady pace to his rendezvous. The country behind him was darkening, but ahead the sky flared with the lakes of evening and soon, topping a rise, he saw before him the sea, with the red disk of the sun sinking into it.
He had come to Lindos at dawn. It seemed a long time ago. Some way off, a donkey brayed; frogs were croaking, and the bushes around him were ghostly with moths. He picked up the reins, and rode downhill to the bay, and the boat, and the ship with Primaflora his wife waiting in it.
Chapter 33
T
HUS, FOR THE
second time in a far from long life Nicholas, returning to Cyprus, had to devise how to ingratiate himself following an unsuitable marriage. He ought to have been in practice; but the circles he was moving in now – and their relationships to him – were both different from the first time and more dangerous. He dealt with the problem, as usual, by maintaining a vast and docile calm in the face of all provocation.
In the fishing-vessel leased by his wife, he landed at Salines. There, he ensconced Primaflora briefly while he paid a swift visit to Kouklia to check progress, and to face Loppe, the first but by no means the easiest of his forthcoming confrontations. He broke the news of his marriage in private, after a round of sugarfield inspections and meetings which had ended with a convivial company meal in the courtyard where, once, they had entertained the family Corner. After the others had left, Loppe sat on with Nicholas under the stars, his light robe glimmering in the lamplight, and listened to the concise and truncated account which was all that Nicholas was prepared to give anybody. It did not, initially, mention Katelina at all, except to say that she would by now have left the island. It stated the bald fact that the plants were destroyed, but not how or where he had done it. Loppe, a patient audience, made no comment until the end. Then he eased his position and said, ‘It’s no surprise, after the letters you left. King James was much angered with his. What did you tell him?’
‘That he was going to lose all the value of his sugar revenues if cane plants of our quality were established in Madeira. That the woman who had taken them had also been spying, and it was in Zacco’s interest to have the plants destroyed and the woman induced to leave Rhodes as quickly as possible.’
‘By now, he will know you are back,’ Loppe said. He suddenly laughed. ‘You realise, the demoiselle Katelina was sent to Episkopi
by the King’s mother for your sake? If you had managed to alter her feelings for you, she would have ceased spying, or having designs on the plants, and your life would have been safe from her. Instead-’ He stopped himself. ‘Instead you bring back another woman, just as troublesome.’
It was not what he had been going to say, Nicholas recognised. Instead of making Katelina his mistress, he had performed that office for a princess of Naxos, and driven Katelina from the island. He had always suspected Loppe knew that. Loppe knew everything. Nicholas said, ‘You think Primaflora may still be serving the Queen? It hardly matters now, if the Queen is losing Kyrenia. If she is dangerous in any other way, it is for me to deal with.’
He waited. He would not get from Loppe, he knew, the kind of inquisition the others would subject him to. Direct questions, from Tobie. Indirect, from John. What, in due course, his more distant connections would make of it – Gregorio and Julius, Godscalc and Anselm Adorne and, most of all, Tilde and Catherine his step-daughters – was something he had had to forecast from the beginning. He was used to planning.
Loppe said, ‘There is no reason to be concerned. The King will appreciate that, having helped you to destroy the plants and see the demoiselle safely out of the island, the lady Primaflora could hardly be left to face the Queen’s anger.’ He paused again, and said, ‘The demoiselle Katelina set great store by the plants.’
It was as direct a question as Loppe would ever ask. Nicholas said, ‘I have met her, and she knows of the marriage. She is sailing home to her husband: Diniz will be there already. There will be no more trouble. No more trouble even from Simon, perhaps.’
He could hear Loppe’s even breathing. The lamps guttered. A glow from the courtyard of Venus told that the copper cauldrons were simmering, adding their heat to the clinging night air. Loppe said, ‘Yet she went?’
‘There was nothing else to be done,’ Nicholas said. He began methodically to rise from the table, but Loppe was first on his feet. ‘No,’ said Loppe. ‘Stay. In the dark, it is peaceful. I shall leave you.’
The rest of his itinerary brought severe trials to the head of the Bank of Niccolò, but by then his command of himself was unimpeachable. He rode back quickly to Salines where there now awaited an escort to take himself and his bride to Nicosia. Primaflora, beautiful in the heat as she had been in the snows of Bologna, welcomed him back.
He treated her welcome as the work of art it was. In marriage as in concubinage, she studied what he wanted, and gave him something more. If she denied him, as she had done at Lindos, it was for a purpose. He had had no need to tell her, joining her in the
fading sunset at Rhodes, that in denying him she had miscalculated; that what he had taken to Katelina had not been unwelcome. He had assured Primaflora the plants were destroyed. He had said no word to her or to anyone of the ravine at Kalopetra. On the first night on board out of Rhodes, she had salved the injuries from his climb and let him sleep without imposing wifely demands. Those came later, and were demanding in a way he had never experienced before, but were not wifely. He knew that in some way he pleased her beyond her expectations, and that sometimes this confused her. He thought perhaps he surprised her by seeking to serve her desires, which were not entirely bizarre and could be fathomed. He didn’t know to whom he might be playing traitor in doing all this. He only knew that there were some things that, meantime, he wanted to forget.
He spent a day establishing her in the villa at Nicosia, and introduced her to Galiot his steward, and to Bartolomeo Zorzi, the superintendent of his dyeworks. Galiot’s thoughts he could not quite decipher. Zorzi was insultingly impressed as by nothing else in their acquaintance: his bows had been espalier-supple. ‘My lady! Ah, Ser Niccolò: if you could win me such a bride from Rhodes!’
‘She has sisters,’ said Nicholas. ‘I have your report: fulfil the Karamanian order. You have replaced the boy Diniz?’
‘There is another already in training,’ said the dyemaster. ‘But what of the young man’s aunt? My brother Jacopo was enquiring. The charming Flemish lady?’
‘She is well, and returning to Portugal,’ Nicholas said. ‘Sadly, her vine and sugar cuttings did not survive. If you see Messer Erizzo, you might tell him.’
‘He will sympathise,’ said Bartolomeo Zorzi. ‘But in war, what can one expect? I only trust the lady will reach home and her dear husband safely.’
‘I hope she will,’ Nicholas said. ‘It is a matter of deep concern to my lady wife and myself. I would go so far as to say we both depend on it.’
Then he was on his own, and riding Chennaa at dawn in company with a short supply-train of camels to join the army and Zacco who, he knew very well, would have the news of his arrival, and the manner of it. In proof, he was welcomed by outposts and guards as soon as he entered the encampment and by Astorre’s distant shout, heard at the moment that he saw his own pavilion had been re-erected with his personal staff waiting outside.
Inside, it was full of flowers and the person of Tzani-bey al-Ablak, directing the placing of more. The emir turned, his eyes hazy with drugs above the hooked nose and arrogant black moustache. Outside the battlefield he wore a white turban, pinned with a wisp of jewel-set osprey, and his coat was of saffron damask. He
said, ‘Why, Pasha, your amiable presence delights us too soon. We prepare a welcome for you and the divine lady, your wife. The beloved comes in her litter?’
Behind him, Astorre had arrived at the tent. ‘You’re back! You’ve married the woman!’ he said. He looked round. ‘Someone’s dead?’
‘I think,’ Nicholas said, ‘that Allah’s sage disciple the emir is offering congratulations on my nuptials, blessed by God and by Allah, the Best Knower, the Satisfier of All Needs. My lord Tzani-bey, it is appreciated. Alas, the lady presently remains in Nicosia but later, I hope, you will knock at our door there. May I offer you a refreshment?’
‘There’s wine in my tent,’ Astorre said. ‘So what’s all this about?’
‘I think perhaps,’ Nicholas said, ‘the lord emir would prefer something different. What may I send for?’
The Mameluke smiled. ‘You are kind. But look, your officers bid you welcome; you are weary no doubt, and would prefer to drink wine in their company. In any case, I bear a message. Monseigneur the King bids you attend him.’
‘Where is he?’ Nicholas said.
‘In his tent. He is impatient. Perhaps your men will forgive you,’ said Tzani-bey, ‘if you present yourself first to your lord. He has not been pleased, I fear, with your absence. Such is the tyranny of generous friendship. Yet which of us would be without it? Friendship or womanly love?’
‘It depends on the friends,’ Nicholas said. ‘And the love. For these your good works, may Allah the Beneficent, the Merciful give you reward.’
He watched him leave and then spoke to Astorre, who was smirking. ‘I’d better go. Can you get everyone together? Perhaps your tent, not mine. Is there anything I should know?’
‘He’s angry,’ said Astorre. ‘Zacco. No worry anywhere else. They’re close to giving up now in Kyrenia. The blockade has done well: Crackbene’s moved his ships to Famagusta. Some illness, some deaths. Master Tobie and the Arab quack have got together again. John has spent as much time in Kouklia as he’s done here, but no one’s complained. Thomas says if you wanted the girl, why didn’t you keep her at Bruges?’
‘I thought I’d give Thomas first chance,’ Nicholas said. ‘This needs talking about. That’s why I want to see everyone. Meantime reassure them if you can. Nothing has gone wrong. Nothing is going to go wrong.’
‘And the lady?’ Astorre said. ‘My lord Simon’s wife?’
‘On her way back to Portugal,’ Nicholas said. ‘I must go.’
‘Good luck,’ said Astorre. ‘Not that you deserve it. You’ve got more than enough already, for a boy of your age.’
If Nicholas had qualms about that, walking to the royal pavilion, he found it simple enough to disguise them. He had taken time to change to fresh clothes, and brush his hair and pin the badge of his Order to his doublet. He saw, as soon as he met Zacco, that in Zacco’s eyes, he had taken too much time.
The King was sober. The tent was wholly in order, with servants at the door and within. Within also were Markios of Patras, the King’s uncle, and Abul Ismail, the King’s physician. Zacco, pacing between them, wore hose and a thin, belted tunic of flowered material, with his shoulders still swathed with the head-cloth from under his helmet. The large eyes and classical features were rose-brown with the sun, and his hair unevenly bleached in long, waving strands, stuck to his brow with the heat. He spun to face Nicholas the moment he darkened the doorway. ‘Well, harlot, thief, ungrateful liar!’
Nicholas knelt, his eyes on a piece of Persian carpeting. ‘My lord. What have I stolen?’
An extremely vicious grip closed on his arm and forced him upright. ‘Time,’ said James of Lusignan, his fingers tight. ‘Time I have paid for.’ He stood, breathing extremely hard, then let go and drew back the edge of his hand. His eyes took the measure of Nicholas, and of a particular place between his left shoulder and neck. Except for setting his teeth, Nicholas waited unmoving. A moment passed, then the blow came. It was sharp, but it fell on his face, turning it sideways. Nicholas let his breath go. James said, ‘You have nothing to say?’
‘He is spent with fornicating,’ said Markios of Patras. ‘Who marries a courtesan except for money, or because he has sold something? Whom or what have you sold?’
Nicholas resumed breathing quietly again. He said, ‘My lord King, I have given you full return for your silver. The campaign was planned when I left, and my men have helped execute it. I could have done no more had I been here. As for my wife –’
‘Wife!’ said James of Lusignan. ‘She is a whore.’
Nicholas kept his gaze open and lucid. He said, ‘Nevertheless you offered once, my lord King, to bring her to me. A man may love a concubine, and even marry her. It was not by my wish that the lady was sent off from Cyprus. If I have now brought her back it is because no man has jurisdiction over whom I may marry. And because I wished her beside me. And because it is not forbidden in Cyprus, surely, of all kingdoms on earth, to love a woman to whom fortune has denied formal rites in the past, and to wish to please her, being free, and to wish her to bear sons such as the one I now serve, brave and just and courageous.’
The King was silent. Markios looked at him. Out of the edge of his sight, Nicholas thought he saw the physician’s beard move, as if he were smiling. The King said, ‘Where is she? The concubine?’
‘The lady Primaflora is in Nicosia,’ said Nicholas.
‘Spying?’ he said.
Nicholas said, ‘Illustrious King, she has given up that allegiance. The lady Carlotta your sister would have her killed. Would Your Magnificence give her audience, and question her? She will answer freely.’
The look passed again between the King and his uncle. Then Zacco said, ‘The lady my mother will do that. Your marriage is, of course, your own affair. The introduction of a possible traitor is not. She has spent her life serving my sister.’
‘She has served many people,’ said Nicholas. ‘She has never before bound herself, as she and I are now bound. She wishes only to stay in Cyprus with me.’
The King said, ‘In any case, you cannot leave. Kyrenia has not fallen. Famagusta shows no sign of surrender. You have not done what you have been paid for.’
‘Rest assured, my lord King,’ said Nicholas. ‘I shall not leave until you have Cyprus. And perhaps my sons will serve you after me.’
The King sat. He looked at the physician, who bowed to him, and then conveyed to Nicholas an undoubted smile. Abul Ismail said, ‘You are plainly in health. The King wished to make sure.’