‘Nerio was watching,’ Nicholas said. ‘So I made my best efforts. I am supposed to be a whore and a turd?’ He found he was following Zacco into a lit room containing two people. One was the black-eyed veiled person of Marietta of Patras, the King’s mother. The other was the man he had just had supper with, Hadji Mehmet, the Persian envoy.
Nicholas knelt at the lady’s feet and kissed her hand, meeting the considering gaze. He rose and spoke to the envoy in resigned Greek. ‘What did they expect you to do?’
The man was smiling. ‘Fortunately, I am not required to live in the villa, my entourage is too large. It was simple to leave. I left the note in your room.’
‘Enough,’ said Marietta of Patras. She pointed to a seat at her side, and Nicholas sat. Even in age, and a woman, she dominated the room, as she had pushed, beguiled and dominated her son through all his charmed, wilful life. She had been a King’s mistress and also a beauty, until the rightful Queen bit off her nose. Now the veil hid the scar, but not the power.
‘Enough. This is dangerous for the King. We must speak and then go. My lord Mehmet.’
‘No. I will speak,’ Zacco said. He had flung himself down. Now he pulled off his cap and jumped up, to begin prowling back and forth. He said, ‘Nikko, listen. Venice is becoming too powerful. You know my dilemma. I must pay tribute to Cairo, or the Mamelukes may again overwhelm me. If Cairo and I are too weak, the Ottoman Sultan will have me. Venice offered to save me from that, and so I made this marriage. Now it is Venice, Venice, Venice and I may be worse off than before.’
‘How?’ said Nicholas.
Hadji Mehmet spoke in his measured voice. ‘Unless he receives the promised help from the West, my lord the prince Uzum Hasan may not succeed in his plan to regain his lands of Karamania, and push the Sultan’s land forces north. The Christian fleets have done nothing this year but make simple forays and quarrel. The promised arms and experts are delayed. If my prince fails from no fault of his own, we fear, and the King fears, that Venice will make a shameful peace with the Sultan for the sake of her trade. Thus the prince Uzum Hasan will be rendered helpless –’
‘And so shall we,’ Zacco said. ‘And so too will the Knights of Rhodes, and the Sultan at Cairo. All need Venice but fear her and hate her. There was a rising here against ourselves and the Venetians last autumn.’
‘It was put down,’ said the King’s mother. ‘But then my son, my sweet lord lost his head when the Venetians tried to bring their ships and arms into Famagusta in April. What did you say, my son James, to Messer Barbaro? That if all the galleys did not leave in two hours, you would see that they were blasted out of the harbour? That if any men were found afterwards on land, you would make them so much dead meat?’
‘Nikko understands,’ Zacco said. He came to rest before him, his face set. ‘We are the slave of the Sultan of Egypt. If Uzum Hasan fails, no Christian power is going to save us. We dared not let these galleys enter our harbour and anger the Sultan. However much Venice may object, we are compelled to send hackbutters to Cairo if the Mamelukes demand them, just as we must resist the Signoria when she tries to impress our soldiers for her galleys. And Venice must look out for herself. Cairo is tired of her, and may very well drive out her traders and replace them in Syria with Genoese.’
He didn’t say with Anselm Adorne. He didn’t have to. ‘I see,’ Nicholas said. ‘So that you, roi monseigneur, and my lord Hadji Mehmet, troubled about the present dominance and future intentions of Venice, have been looking at other alliances? Always excluding, of course, the King’s half-sister Carlotta in Rhodes.’
‘The Knights are finding her tiresome,’ said the King’s mother. ‘The Patriarch is there; he has told us. Once we feared Milan and Genoa with some cause, but now we cannot afford to close doors. Once too, I believe, you were kind enough, Ser Niccolò, to try to forward my son’s marriage with a daughter of the royal house of Naples. Mischief-making perhaps, but there, too, circumstances have altered the case. Our Archbishop is in Naples now, arranging a contract of marriage between the King’s natural son and our grand-daughter Charla.’
Charla was six, the oldest of Zacco’s four natural children, of whom he was carelessly fond. The other Charlotte, his first and his favourite, would have been sixteen had she survived. She died, poisoned, it was said, by Andrea Corner the Queen’s uncle. Venice, Venice.
Nicholas said, ‘You must at least congratulate me on not having tied you to the princess Zoe, now in Muscovy.’
‘Have you met my wife?’ Zacco said. ‘The happiest day of my life was the one when she confessed she was pregnant. I have never performed a harder month’s work. I have had to ask Master Gentile to explain to her how the waxing belly may suffer from intercourse. My bed is barely my own, even now.’
Nicholas said, ‘The King should have married the lady Margaret of Denmark. So what do you fear?’
There was a silence. The King’s mother said, ‘My son’s child will be born in eight weeks. Whoever holds it, holds the future.’
She looked at him, and the veil blew with the force of her breathing. ‘It is my intention to take the child when it is born, and hold it securely. And it is my wish that all who love the King gather round him on the day of his fatherhood, for I believe that his life thereafter will be in danger.’
‘It is always in danger,’ Zacco said. ‘But it is true. We need friends.’
‘You are asking me to stay until August?’ Nicholas said.
‘Eight weeks,’ Zacco said. ‘You are a merchant, of no single faction. You hear everything. So does David. Perhaps you are rivals in business, but you I trust, and David’s self-interest I trust. The Vatachino reaped all the profits which you threw away: my life means money to them. He may of course try to harm you, and you may be frightened. In which case, run away.’
‘Like the wild cow,’ said Nicholas, and the King gave a snort.
‘What of the wild cow?’ the King’s mother said.
‘The bonasus,’ said her son cheerfully. ‘They say that in running away, it emits a fart that covers three acres and can set a forest on fire. Nikko means he is staying.’
‘I am glad,’ said the lady dryly. Nicholas expected no more; he knew Marietta of Patras from many encounters. She was not loved. She was feared; and the island called her Cropnose. But her son had come to manhood, and was ruling with vigour and courage, for all his mistakes.
Nicholas understood Zacco and his mother and the beliefs by which they ruled. One did not live by looking back with regret. Self-rebuke was a weakness: if one took a wrong turning and a man or a family died, it couldn’t be mended. But here in Cyprus there was something he could do that seemed right: something he could achieve here in limbo, cut off from all the other fruits of his labours until he should go back, and find it ready for harvesting.
He took his leave, in due course. Hadji Mehmet had already left, having excused himself diplomatically from the hunt Zacco had announced for the morning. For this morning. For a time only an hour or two hence. Nicholas was to take part, since his gifts, after all, were on trial. He would not exactly be fresh. But then neither would Zacco.
The King saw him to the door and he slipped out into the darkness, as presently the King himself would depart for the Palace. Nicholas had no fear for Zacco: he was disguised, and was expert with his sword.
He did not think of himself.
Chapter 44
WHEN THE twenty-seventh day of June dawned, it was not at once obvious that Nicholas de Fleury was missing.
The King, usually quick to rise for a hunt, had decreed a later departure, with tents and horses and food sufficient for an expedition of more than one day. He proposed to cover the terrain towards Famagusta, some thirty miles to the east.
Tobie, breaking his fast in a leisurely way, wished him well of it, and Nicholas too. He was happy to be unwanted. Mick Crackbene was still at Famagusta with the ship, and all his mates from the past. He could join in if he wanted.
He assumed Ni
cholas had risen, dressed and gone to the Palace. It was not until the Auditor’s steward came to the door that Tobie realised that his fellow traveller had not arrived there, and that his chamber was empty. Then they were joined by the lady Violante, her face frowning and pale and, it transpired, equally baffled. Alonse, questioned, could only say that he did not know at what hour his lordship had left, but that he had worn plain leather dress, fit for hunting, and that his sword and scabbard were gone. He had taken no horses.
‘Ours were tired. He would expect to borrow or hire them,’ said Tobie. ‘The same with his hunting equipment. He has many friends in Nicosia. Perhaps the Auditor would kindly apologise to the King, and say that Lord Beltrees will follow?’
By then, Andrea Corner himself had entered the house, his eyes questioning his sister by marriage. The princess shrugged. The Auditor said, ‘This seems strange. However. Pray ask his lordship to come when he can. I am afraid we must leave.’
Tobie watched him ride off. You could hear the barking of hounds in the distance, and then the clatter of a large cavalcade. Alonse said, ‘Sir, I cannot understand it. He did not call me to dress, or to pay his respects to the household, or to find him a mount. Every other lord will have his man at his side.’
‘I think,’ Tobie said, ‘that perhaps discretion is necessary. His lordship may have had an assignation, and has lost count of time. No one saw him leave the main gates?’
‘There was an unlocked postern,’ said Alonse. ‘The lady Violante has asked me to list for her all those houses where he has friends. She has already sent servants running. She fears an accident.’
‘Or she wants to know where he has friends,’ Tobie said. His resentment against Nicholas grew. Cyprus was painful to him, as it ought to be to Nicholas. Trouncing the Vatachino wasn’t reason enough to come back; nor was some self-deluding fantasy of reconstructing his friendship with Zacco. What had happened that morning was typical of the unpleasant stew of lust and intrigue that he remembered from other times.
It was only astonishing that wherever Nicholas was, he wasn’t with Zacco. Nor with any of the Venetians, from Andrea Corner and Marco Bembo to the lesser merchants; nor with any of the principal Catalans; nor even with David de Salmeton and the beautiful Nerio. All of these were with Zacco, gone hunting. Which left Tobie alone with Violante of Naxos.
It had been his intention to walk round the town, and see if there was anyone left whom he knew. He found himself instead keeping company with the princess, who retained him in desultory conversation which ceased at each sound of a step. Studying her, he made note that this morning her movements were languid, and her skin was lax under the paint. He knew the signs: he was a doctor, and far from a eunuch. Zeno, of course, was in Persia. So, Nerio? Or …?
Or the owner of the rich brocade doublet which had lost, as Alonse had informed him with horror, one of its fine ruby studs overnight?
No wonder she was uneasy.
So when had Nicholas left the house? After he left her, but in darkness, since no one had seen him. And not, then, for a woman. For an assignation of a different kind, which the Venetians knew nothing about.
Close to noon, when there was still no news of Nicholas and the streets were emptying in the heat, Tobie made an excuse to retire and, making his way from the house, went to find the villa occupied by Hadji Mehmet.
The heavy Turcoman listened, his hands motionless on his robes, the black rim of his beard glistening damp in the heat. At the end he said, ‘It was your lord’s intention to hunt. The King also expected it.’
‘So did the Auditor,’ Tobie said. ‘And the Bailie. And the stables had prepared horses for him, at the instance of Rizzo di Marino.’ He paused. ‘One knows that the King’s lady mother has certain plans, from time to time, which she does not make immediately known.’
‘She has no knowledge of this,’ the Turcoman said. ‘In fact, you will find that her own servants are making enquiries. Nicosia is a city of simple thieves as well as hired killers. A man may be robbed for his sword, and then left in a well or a sewer.’
‘He was wearing a sword?’ Tobie said.
‘Does any wise man walk at night time without one?’
‘Tell me,’ said Tobie.
‘I do not know where he is,’ said Hadji Mehmet. ‘I shall suggest to you that he was abroad some three hours before dawn, and on his way back to your villa, a walk of no more than five minutes. To remove him in that short space of time and in silence would be the work of several men.’
Tobie felt cold. He said, ‘So not a robbery. An attack by hirelings of someone important. But why?’
‘Why indeed?’ said Hadji Mehmet. ‘He is a banker, a guest, a Veneto-Fleming. All of Nicosia will be roused, is being roused to look for him. But there is no body.’ He paused. ‘Did your lord not lose a son in similar circumstances?’
‘No,’ said Tobie. ‘That is, the child was simply taken by his own father, which gave rise to rumours of …’ He stopped. ‘Kidnapping? You think that may be all that this is?’
‘Your lord is wealthy,’ the Turcoman said. ‘Such a wealth offered to our cause might have made a great difference three years ago. But I am neither explaining nor threatening nor promising. I know nothing of this.’
‘But you might help?’ Tobie said.
The man lifted his shoulders. ‘I am an envoy of a foreign land, a foreign religion, a foreign culture. How might I help?’
‘Because, as an envoy, you have studied these people over many months, many years,’ Tobie said. ‘More than most people, you can make guesses.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Hadji Mehmet. ‘But it is my task to remain neutral. An envoy who interferes, even to solve his host’s problems, is not welcome.’
‘Yet, as you have said, my lord, the Bank’s wealth and interest could be useful. Private advice, in such a talk as this, would do you no disservice.’
‘It might do me no service,’ said the Turcoman. ‘I have been disappointed in your padrone before. In any case, there may be nothing wrong. It is early. He may have met friends, and even now have joined the King’s party. If your other guess is correct, you will hear soon enough from his captors. For his sake, I hope that you do.’
‘He came here to help,’ Tobie said.
‘He came here for Zacco,’ said Hadji Mehmet. ‘It is Zacco who has most to gain from enabling you to find him, if something has happened. But you do not know that it has.’
By dusk, it was known that the King’s party was camping some twenty miles off, and that Nicholas so far had not joined them. By that time, Tobie had recruited every religious house in the capital to the cause of spreading the enquiry island-wide. He had already sent a message to Crackbene at Famagusta. There was a man with the King, paid to do nothing but ride for Nicosia if Nicholas appeared. The last official courier from the camp called to repeat the negative news, and pass to Dr Tobias the King’s regrets that my lord of Beltrees had been unable to join him.
The tone of the message was coolly social, and contained no hint of anxiety; as if Zacco were drunk, or uninterested. Or, more likely, as if he wished to pretend unconcern, while his mother did all that was necessary. Although Tobie had only the Turcoman’s word that the noseless lady was searching for Nicholas. She had not approached him.
Crackbene arrived late at night, with a pass signed by Rizzo di Marino. His eyes were enlarged from a ride of three hours in the dark, and his square Nordic face was pitted with dust. Violante, hearing, had come out of her chamber, fully dressed.
Crackbene said, ‘Highness,’ and paused.
Tobie said, ‘We have no news. Have you?’
‘No,’ said Crackbene. He glanced at the princess again.
She said, ‘You have something private to say. I shall wait below for you.’
‘No, Despoina,’ said Crackbene. He remembered his Greek. He had been on the opposite side in the Trebizond trade war. He said, ‘It is nothing: a change of plan the Court has not yet announced. The King has
been inconvenienced by a colic attack, and is to take a day’s rest in Famagusta. The hunting is cancelled.’
Tobie grunted. It bore out his suspicions. The King was drunk, and some secretary had responded to his note about Nicholas.
‘Is he in pain?’ the princess asked.
‘He was bellowing. But he was bellowing before. He has Master Gentile with him. I am sorry of course for his highness, but it frees the others. The Bailie is returning tomorrow, and a proper effort will be made to find my lord of Beltrees. You think he may be outside the city?’
‘I think he would have been found by now,’ Tobie said. Without consulting anyone, he had posted an announcement of a reward. He hoped to God no one ever had to pay it: Gregorio would kill him. And if Nicholas now appeared at that door with a whore in one hand and a pair of dice in the other, he, Tobie, would personally flay him.
Crackbene came and sat in a tub of tepid water in Tobie’s room. Tobie was thankful to have him. The tub overflowed, but the pools of water made the room cool. Crackbene said, ‘Can we be overheard?’
Nicholas had checked Tobie’s room for him. It was secure. His own, he had let drop, was not. Tobie said, ‘Yes. Why?’
‘The King’s attack,’ Crackbene said. He spoke very softly. He got up and, dripping, closed both the windows; then he sat on the sill. He said, ‘It isn’t colic. It’s the flux. The bloody menison.’
The two looked at one another. ‘When did it start?’ Tobie said.
‘While they were eating in camp. They heard him yell from his tent, but that isn’t uncommon. Then it got worse. It was known when I left that he was passing blood and screaming and cursing. He flung the bowl at Gentile while he was trying to sponge him.’
‘A fever?’ said Tobie.
‘So they said.’
‘And did he vomit?’
‘From the pain. He was given something that stopped it. Corner told them to do anything that they could to ease the pain and keep his food down.’
To Lie With Lions: The Sixth Book of the House of Niccolo Page 72