Authors: Dorothy Dunnett
Astorre sat back. ‘You’d think of it?’
‘I might not go with you, but I’d think of it. Unless you’d rather be on your own?’
‘I could. It comes expensive,’ said the captain.
‘The Bank would back you. It amounts to the same thing. You know the best wars, in any case. What is there?’
He got up in cautious stages and limped to the privy, and thought afterwards that Astorre had hardly noticed, in his enthusiasm, that he was barely within earshot. He dressed. ‘… Skanderbeg?’ Astorre was saying. ‘Doing fine. Paid by Venice to create diversions against Constantinople. Limited, of course. Asked the Pope to give him land in Italy in case he has to retreat. God-awful discipline and terrible sheepskins. I wouldn’t think of Skanderbeg, not at the moment.’
‘No,’ said Nicholas.
‘The Naples war’s finished. Ferrante holds all the kingdom except Ischia, where John of Calabria’s been stuck hoping, they say, for a fleet. He might get one ship, like the
Adorno
. I don’t think he’ll get even one ship. Naples is safe. Dripping roast. Hell of a pity. They don’t need an army.’
‘No,’ said Nicholas.
‘England and France have made peace, God damn them both. Scotland wasn’t included, although that Flemish Queen of theirs was supposed to back the Lancastrian Queen, the daughter of René of Anjou. But they say the Flemish Queen’s dying. D’you want to support the daughter of René of Anjou?’
’emphatically not,’ Nicholas said.
‘Oh? Well, there isn’t much else. The Malatesta war’s finished. He got beaten. You wouldn’t believe it, after all those years. Piccinino’s dropped John of Calabria and gone over to the Duke of Milan. The French King’s causing plenty of trouble – you knew him?’
‘Louis of France. Yes, I knew him.’
‘He’s trying to lord it over Savoy, and he’s persuaded that old fool of Burgundy to sell him back all his frontier towns. He’s going to cause trouble.’
‘Is that all?’ said Nicholas.
‘It’s not very good, is it?’ said Astorre in a depressed way. ‘There’s only the Crusade.’
‘The what?’ said Nicholas. He was dressed, and hunting a hairbrush. His bandages stuck, and someone had sutured his stomach.
‘Well, the what,’ said Astorre. ‘I know it’s not likely to happen. Louis keeps saying he’ll pour in money for warships, but he’s really milking the clergy to pay for the Somme towns, not a war. The Pope’s made a pact with the Duke of Burgundy and Venice, so they say, but the Duke of Burgundy’s old and ailing, and needs all his wits to watch France. Of course the Pope’s got all this money.’
‘From the alum mines,’ Nicholas said. ‘You reckon you ought to join the Pope?’
Astorre’s beard assumed several angles, and his sewn eye adopted a frown. He said, ‘I won’t say it’s not tempting. Direct war, and no sieges. You’d quite like it.’
Nicholas sat. He said, ‘We’re looking for something that suits you, not me.’
Astorre went red. He said, ‘It’s your money. But out of a poor lot, I’d take the Crusade.’
‘All right,’ said Nicholas, standing up. ‘Let’s go and put it to the others. But don’t let’s take too long. De Ribérac will be busy. And Zacco’s expecting me, I am told, at the Palace.’
He said that in self-defence but, when he and Astorre joined Tobie, Loppe and John le Grant at table, the next exchange was not as trying as he’d feared. From Loppe, by his wish, they already knew the truth about Primaflora as well as the course of the confrontation with Jordan de Ribérac. As a result, they greeted him with unnatural silence. Loppe rose when he entered and busied himself finding something bland he could swallow. John le Grant looked up, scrutinised him, and then went back to eating. Only Tobie spoke in a growl. ‘You need those bandages changed, or they’ll pull. I thought you knew all about medicine?’ His withering glare at Astorre was more in his usual manner.
Nicholas sat and said, ‘I have to see the King. I don’t know what mischief de Ribérac may be preparing, but perhaps we ought to clear our minds about what we want to do first. Should Diniz be here?’
John le Grant said, ‘He didn’t sleep in the villa. I hope he hasn’t gone to slaughter the Zorzi. Bartolomeo didn’t come to the yard as usual this morning.’
Remembering yesterday, Nicholas thought it unlikely that Diniz had gone off to quarrel with anyone, and could perfectly understand why the last person Diniz wanted to meet was himself. In his shoes, he would have spent the night drinking, and probably whoring. Whoring, very publicly, with a girl. He withdrew his mind from that particular happening and returned to what mattered
to all of them. He said, ‘Well, Mick Crackbene? Could someone fetch him with Umfrid this afternoon? Or is he at the Palace?’
‘In his own lodgings, so far as I know,’ Tobie said. ‘You really think we have to give up the villa?’
‘I really think I want to give up the villa,’ said Nicholas. ‘And I think I can dispense with the delights of the capital. I don’t know what you want to do. So far as I know, we have Kouklia still, or at least the royal licence to run it. There are sugar estates in other places, and these we could run on our own. One is linked with Sigouri, and that might mean keeping the army there. One is Palekythro, about eight miles to the north-east of this place. There are vineyards in the fiefs I’ve been given. But Astorre’s inclination is to look for a war somewhere else. That rather rules out Sigouri, but means we could settle for other estates, and I could run them, or put in a manager, or any or all of you could help me. On the other hand, Astorre will need a proper complement if he’s to go off again on his own. Cook, doctor, accountant, company priest.’
‘Engineer?’ said John le Grant.
‘If you want,’ said Astorre. He looked pleased. ‘You might waste yourself. It earns big money, the kind of work you do.’
John le Grant said, ‘Nobody wants to stay and defend Cyprus? Or Nicholas is giving up war for his shop-keeping?’
‘Something like that,’ Nicholas said. ‘Luckily, Astorre isn’t giving up war. The Bank will support him. He’s hankering at present after a full-scale seaborne attack against the Sultan Mehmet. On the other hand, there’s work here for engineers and for shipmasters. Famagusta has to be repaired, ships raised, the harbour made fit for business. What about anyone else? Tobie? Your experiments?’
Tobie still had his cap on. It made him look like a normal physician. He said, ‘Is this a choice? Go with the army or stay with the sugar? Or are you going to do anything new?’
‘There’s the Bank,’ Nicholas said. ‘I haven’t been in Venice since Gregorio really established it. There’s a house. I bought some land in the lagoon. There’s a galley at Venice, and some day we’ll part the King from our round ship. The sugar can manage quite well with a manager and some supervision. We’ve missed out on the refineries, but there might be something else we could develop further west. All we have is in the Levant, and it’s risky.’
‘Because of the Turks?’ Tobie said.
‘And other reasons,’ Nicholas said. ‘You remember Henry, the Duchess of Burgundy’s brother? He ran a school of navigation in Portugal. The idea was to find a spice route round about Africa. It’s a good idea. But whoever does it will ruin everyone who depends on the Eastern route including the merchants in Alexandria and Cyprus and the Venetian and Genoese colonies in the east.
Meanwhile, sugar’s beginning in Madeira already. The island is fertile, it can draw on slave labour, it could send scores of ships to Lisbon in season to feed the growing sweet tooth of Western Europe, and the price of sugar will drop. Combine that with a new route for importing spices, and you can see that the African coast is where trade will develop, and Venetian banks will feel the chill from it. I don’t want ours to be one of them.’
‘Africa? Portugal?’ Tobie said. He had flushed. Nicholas knew what, alone of them all, he was thinking of.
Nicholas said, ‘Simon’s there. I don’t want to stir him up. On the other hand, the vicomte seems to think he’s set on stopping us. He could, if we stayed in the East and he swamped Europe with sugar and spices.’
‘Diniz?’ said John le Grant, without looking up.
Nicholas said, ‘No, my dear John. I am not using him as a spy.’
‘All right,’ said Tobie. ‘But you’ve said nothing of Bruges. That’s your market. That’s where the Charetty company is, even though you’re no more than an observer.’
‘An interested observer. They’re my step-daughters,’ Nicholas said. ‘Tilde owns the Charetty company. I haven’t forgotten her or Catherine. Or Godscalc and Julius. They may have ideas what we should do. But the House of Niccolò isn’t in Bruges, it’s in Venice. If it’s anywhere. You may not want to continue with it. If you don’t, you can take what you’re owed. That won’t be a small amount, either. The rent of the casals and the ship, the fee for the army, the profit from all the sugar, the new land we’ve been given amounts to a very greal deal.’
‘Do you want us?’ said John le Grant. He sat back, his arms folded, and regarded Nicolas from his freckled face with its shock of roaring red hair. He said, ‘No. I’ll say that in a different way. I could stay with the Bank, but do my work independently. Tobie could stay with the army, or at Kouklia, or hire himself out as a doctor, and still remain on your strength. Loppe could stay and manage the sugar, or the fiefs, or join Gregorio in Venice, or partner you in Spain or Portugal or Africa or wherever your lunatic ideas will take you. Crackbene could run a fleet here, or operate a ship for you anywhere there is a cargo you wanted to carry. I think we all want to stay with the Bank, although I can’t speak for Julius and Godscalc. But do you want to be alone?’
It was, of course, the question he should have been asking himself, and the question he had avoided. It was linked with Bruges and the Venetians; with the insidious princesses of Trebizond, with Primaflora and Katelina and the Mamelukes and most of all, with the warring Lusignans. No, not most of all. Most of all, with Famagusta.
Nicholas said, ‘There’s what I want, and there’s what is best for
the company. I may think I’ve seen all I want to of war, but I can’t walk away from it. Someone said it’s no fun any more, now that it’s not a sport but a profession. It never was a sport. It happens, and someone has to deal with it. Because Astorre’s good, he does what he has to do cleanly and as well as he can. But the decisions are made by his masters: by Urbino or Malatesta or Ferrante or France or Milan. If the masters are at odds with one another, or self-seeking, or ineffective or just young and learning the business, you get a Famagusta. If you have the money and power to control wars, you can put in good management. Men will follow that.’
‘You’re talking about standing armies,’ said John le Grant. ‘Tell that to the burghers of Bruges, and see what they say.’
‘Not necessarily,’ Nicholas said.
‘A White Company?’ Tobie said. ‘A really big mercenary troop that can virtually win wars on its own? Have you thought what that means?’
‘He hasn’t thought about anything,’ said John le Grant. ‘Except that after that bitch Primaflora he doesn’t want to take orders from a Lusignan any more, and that means he must find his own money if he wants to move in circles of power. Am I right?’
He was insolent. He was wrong. Whether or not Nicholas wished to work with and under Zacco, the link had been severed, and would never now be restored. Or not in a way that would serve any purpose. Rizzo di Marino, Sor de Naves, William Goneme would guide Zacco into the future and, although his business might well stay and flourish, he would have a passing friendship at best, and not the deep-dyed and constant companionship that was the way to the King’s heart and mind. Nicholas said, ‘If you keep talking, I’ll probably believe you. We’re too close to events. We don’t know yet what Zacco will do. We don’t know what Jordan de Ribérac may threaten him with. We have to set our own ideas in order. We’ll meet and talk it over again. But think of this. We should consider Gregorio. When we can, we should gather in Venice.’
‘And visit your island. You had barillo sent there. What,’ said Tobie with sudden irritation, ‘what in God’s name do you make with barillo?’
‘Ask Alessandra Macinghi negli Strozzi and her sons,’ remarked Loppe. ‘Master Nicholas? You knew the King wished to see you? He has sent a precise command. You have an audience with him at noon.’
Once, he saw the King whenever he pleased. Once, he was married to Primaflora. ‘I shall be there,’ Nicholas said.
Chapter 47
N
ICHOLAS RODE
from his villa on Chennaa, who was in love with him again, and walked alone into Zacco’s Palace to greet the servants he knew, and be led to the royal apartments, which were full of light and sunshine and noise and eager faces. He remembered most of them from days of celebration rather than days of fighting: some were new to him. It was strange, still, to see clean, well-fed bodies with springing hair and fresh clothes and no smell anywhere but the usual kind, and a good deal of scent.
He was here to receive the intimation that his marriage was to be set aside whether he wished it or not, and his wife Primaflora installed as what she already was: the permanent mistress of James, King of Cyprus. He recognised without joy that of those before him, a number must know why he was here, and he wondered if the boy Diniz had been told, in whatever retreat he had found; and if the news had made him feel better, or worse. The boy was so young and had so little, unless you counted a slow-growing trust in himself, tarnished now by de Ribérac’s calumny. Diniz had wanted to stay in his company. Now, Nicholas could not imagine what the boy felt, except that he must somehow need help. As soon as he could, he would find him.
Meanwhile, here was rejoicing. Circumspectly triumphant, of course, the Venetians. Paul Erizzo, the Venetian Bailie. The Martini brothers. The bulky presence of the great Marco Corner and his skilful colleague Giovanni Loredano, whose beautiful wives had returned to their Venetian palaces. The Venetians had brought him to Cyprus to please James of Lusignan and for their own profit, and as a result of it, Carlotta and Genoa had been defeated, the Mamelukes disposed of, and James and the Venetians remained. In return for his services Nicholas had received land and money, both of which he would be permitted, he thought, to retain. He had been allowed to enjoy the favour of Zacco, now tempered. He
had received from Zacco, not the Venetians, the valuable franchise of the dyeworks, but there, as he had half expected, the Venetians had annexed back the gift. The royal sugar estates were still his to control, but he had no doubt that both the Corner and the Martini were laying plans to regain them. In which case, they would have to reckon with the other plans he had in mind to prevent that. Nicholas bestowed his wide, dimpled smile on Erizzo, Corner and the rest, and they smiled and bowed in return.