‘That the Venetians made you a priest?’
The Franciscan hawked and spat, conveying amusement. ‘To see me here. You are addressing the Patriarch of the Latins in Antioch, and that’s Antioch over your shoulder, give or take a sea passage and a few hundred miles. The Levant is my parish. I thought you would try for the sugar. You did well by the Queen in Bologna. You won’t be sorry.’
‘You’re with Carlotta?’ Nicholas said. ‘Still? Again?’
‘I don’t discriminate,’ the Franciscan said. ‘Black or white, man or woman, dolt or traitor or zealot. I’m with anybody who’ll stop that foul dog the Sultan from snapping at Christians. But don’t let that bother you. I’ve seen boys like you, mad for land and money and titles.’
‘And women,’ said Nicholas.
‘And women. You’ll get them all. They won’t cool you in hell.’
‘That’s all right. I was going to refuse them,’ said Nicholas. ‘Anything else?’
Ludovico da Bologna examined him. He said, ‘And what makes you such a cheeky young bastard? The Grand Master got hold of you? Or the Genoese? Or this charming young boy-taster Zacco? You were in the brothels of Trebizond. There’s nothing about the Emperor David that’s novel to me.’
‘I’m sorry to hear it,’ Nicholas said. ‘I thought his tastes ran to something younger. Is it worth going on, or should I just turn and go home?’
They had stopped before a set of high gates. The monk’s face, like a misshapen tuber, remained close to him. Then da Bologna said, ‘You don’t suspect you might be going to get a surprise? You’re a sharp fellow; but you don’t know Carlotta. Enjoy yourself.’
He turned. Nicholas said, ‘You’re not coming in?’
The friar laughed. ‘I’ll hear what happens,’ he said. ‘I’m sailing for home in a few days. My business is starting wars, my boy, not playing the peacemaker.’
‘So I’ve noticed,’ Nicholas said. The monk left. Loppe, who had vanished, reappeared at his side, saying nothing. The gates opened upon a courtyard planted with palms and hung with ceremonial cloths of wet silk. As he rode through, trumpets sounded, and a man in a French hat and a heavy furred gown walked forward and held out his hand. ‘Ser Niccolò? Descend, and be welcome.’
At the Ser, Loppe’s chin trembled and Nicholas scowled at him as he dismounted. The trumpets sounded again, bouncing off the walls of an adequate mansion which must, in its time, have been owned by a nobleman of some taste and wealth. Now, dressed with painted devices, it was the temporary home of the monarchs of Cyprus, who appeared (considered Nicholas) to be taking a great deal for granted.
Nicholas walked through double doors, preceded by the personage in the French hat who held a wand. In the vestibule the personage turned and snapped his fingers. A page appeared, bearing a bale of blue cloth. The bale, unfolded, proved to be an extremely good indigo mantle with embroidery all over one side in Cyprus gold thread. The personage, who turned out to be Montolif, Marshal of Cyprus, addressed him. ‘The rain has damaged your cloak. Their graces wish you to replace it with this.’
Nicholas bowed; was divested of one cloak and invested with another and bowed again. He began to feel strongly like one of his own mechanical toys. He avoided Loppe’s eye, walked through a door and climbed a stair at the top of which another trumpeter was stationed. His ears ringing, he walked into a hall.
Although not of the grandest dimensions, the timbered chamber with its arched roof and handsome windows was not a mean setting for the Queen of Jerusalem, Cyprus and Armenia and her consort and cousin, King Luis. Below a baldachin at the end of the room they sat side by side upon a low dais, with their personal household grouped standing beside them. On either side of the room, there stood ranked against the long walls some fifty men of obvious standing. Those against the windows wore, uniformly, the same blue mantle which had been given to Nicholas himself. Those on the opposite side were dressed in styles which derived from France or Savoy more than Cyprus. Surprisingly, two or three wore the black and white cloak of the Order. But then, of course, the Order owned land in Savoy, and had allowed its Savoyard brethren to come to the aid of King Luis.
There were no women present but for the Queen and her ladies of honour. They were set on her right, and among them he saw Primaflora. She stood, eyes downcast, in her heavy court gown as if she had never planned to thwart or escape from her mistress. Of Katelina there was no sign whatever. Then the Marshal declaimed. ‘Serenissima; serene lord King: the lord Niccolò vander Poele, commander, banker and merchant of Venice.’
One did not approach on the belly as at Trebizond, or kiss the ground, or the shoe, or even the hand. But Carlotta was Byzantine, as that court had been, and was due the high style of the ceremonial. He took his time, pacing the ground from the door to the foot of the dais, and thought it another irony that the person who had trained him should have been Violante of Naxos, whose sisters’ husbands worked for King Zacco.
He had seen Carlotta in Bologna and Venice, and thought she looked little changed, though now encased in narrow, high-waisted brocade with a fringed diadem on her hairline. Perhaps the vivid face was more worn; the painted eyes more ready to frown. She looked like a fierce, withering flower about to spit its thorns into the wind. Daughter of a Lusignan father and a Paleologa mother, she seemed wholly Greek.
And Luis, consort and cousin, son of the Duke of Savoy and of another violent Lusignan mother? At thirty-two, seven years his wife’s elder, Luis was broadshouldered and tall with an air of uneasy petulance. On the dais, his foot tapped. In the sandy face the lips and chin had a small life of their own, as if munching words in some remote, disagreeable dialogue. His clothes, rich enough, were not perfectly ordered and his nose was swollen with rheum. Once, Luis of Savoy had been betrothed to a Scottish princess, and Savoy was still paying for breaking the contract. You would guess that Katelina, who had married a Scot, would have something in common with Luis. But Katelina, worryingly, was not here.
The Queen said, ‘My lord Niccolò. Cyprus called you, and you have come. It is not, we know, a decision easily reached, and we honour you for it. We honour you for the brave band of men you have sent here, whose reputation has preceded them: who have already fought the Turk in the East. We honour you for the gallantry of your behaviour in Italy, when you saved our precious cargo at the risk of your life. You saw then what a base-born blasphemer will do, when he sets men to attack his own sister. You have rejected the unholy union of Zacco and Muslim. You have paid court, as was due, to the brave Knights of Kolossi, but have decided that their war is not yours. You might have sailed to Famagusta and sold your sword to those stalwarts, the Genoese. You did none of these things. You sailed to Rhodes, and appear before us. In doing this, you do more than the great kings of the West have done. In vain have we begged for an army. None would listen. None can see, as we can, the dripping fangs of the Turk at our door; hear the screams of the Mamelukes devouring our subjects in Cyprus. You and your force have come to do what they would not do, and this we wish to mark by our special favour. Land and wealth you will have: that we have promised you. A contract you will have: we are not without friends; money will be found for you and your captain. But first, we have something else to offer you. Kneel.’
Someone brought a stool. He knelt on one knee, rearranging from habit the sword that was no longer there. The Queen was standing and so, after a moment, was Luis her consort. An abbot, of Bellapaïs he assumed, came forward and handed a long object to the king. There was a baldric attached, which trailed on the floor. An equerry darted forward and looped the thing up. The object was a sword.
Luis said, ‘Well, take it.’
Nicholas looked at the Queen. The Queen said, ‘Let us give it him together,’ and put out her hand, and led her husband down the steps to stand before Nicholas. She said, ‘When the Holy Land fell, many knights vowed to recover it, and many orders of chivalry were created. Ours is more than one hundred years old. It was founded by Peter our ancesto
r to honour those who gave their swords to the cause: it is called the Order of the Sword, and this is its emblem.’ She turned, and drawing the blade, touched Nicholas with it once on each shoulder. She said, ‘And thus, you are made one of its Knights. Take this sword and wear it. Take this collar, which the lord King will place on your shoulders. Take this badge, and abide by its motto: C’est pour loïauté maintenir. Then by this kiss, seal the affirmation of your service.’
The bitch. The clever bitch. Someone came for the stool, and he rose. She stood before him, her scented cheek turned. Her eyes, delicately painted, were averted. Nicholas stood for a moment, the swordbelt tight over his chest, the collar of links pressing his shoulders, the silver badge glittering over his heart. Then he leaned forward and gave the Queen, with firm precision, the kiss of fealty she asked for.
Then her eyes turned, sparkling, and she said, ‘Luis, my husband. Give him your hand, and let us lead him to the feast. He is our newest Knight, who is about to save Cyprus. And here is Primaflora our lady, to whom we will bind him in fruitful and sanctified matrimony.’
Loppe (Lopez) brought the news to the house on the corner of St Sebastian Square which belonged once to the Queen’s cousin Eleanor, and then to the Grand Commander of Cyprus, and now, by the Queen’s special desire (and to M. de Magnac’s distress), to the leaders of Niccolò’s army.
In this house, there were no locks on the doors, and an abundance of service, of food, of amenities. Astorre was satisfied, having expected no less from the coming of Nicholas. What pleased Astorre, Thomas was unlikely to query. Only the engineer accepted the change with guarded enthusiasm and the doctor, Tobie, looked grim. ‘I don’t like it.’
‘You don’t need to like it,’ said John le Grant. ‘Look on it as a wee holiday. We’ll be back in the prison tomorrow.’
It was four months since the battle of Troia, from which Nicholas had been so suddenly spirited away. It was more than a year since John le Grant had parted from him in Venice before setting out for his own trip to Bruges. Since he arrived in Rhodes, only Loppe had seen Nicholas.
Of them all, only Astorre and Loppe might, of their own volition, have waited so long for him on Rhodes. Astorre, with the confidence of the sought-after, knew that, whatever had happened to Nicholas, he could pick up a job here at any time. He did not, in fact, believe that anything untoward could happen to Nicholas, and he was sure that, when he could, Nicholas would set out and find them. When his credentials were undermined by Katelina, Astorre was annoyed, but philosophical. He was reasonably well housed and fed at no expense to himself, barring a little reciprocal work. The interval would not exactly enhance his career or his savings, but with Nicholas, it was going to be worth it.
The doctor, and perhaps John le Grant were less sure. The hard words in Venice still rankled with Tobie, and he regretted quite often the impetuosity of his decision to leave Urbino and Ferrante for an uncertain career with this meteor. Mixed with that was an angry anxiety which would have led him, were he free, to track Nicholas to whatever sybaritic lair he was occupying in order to walk out on him all over again.
John rarely talked about Nicholas, and made his own decisions on grounds he never discussed with anybody. Astorre thought, perhaps rightly, that the engineer, sure of work, would remain like himself to seek the first interesting and lucrative contract. Tobie was inclined to think the same, for other reasons. It seemed to Tobie that John disliked being tied to anyone as unpredictable as Nicholas, or perhaps even to anyone who drew people close to him as Nicholas did. Thomas, who had never been close to anyone except Astorre, simply wished he were somewhere fighting, or somewhere where he could spend the proceeds of fighting. He liked the money, but was aware, heavily, that Nicholas complicated his life.
So, translated to their new surroundings, the four awaited news from Loppe, and wondered if they still had a leader, and when they would see him. At least, he had come and had found them. There was some grounds for optimism in that. Pleasure, even. Perhaps even an unconfessed exhilaration. Then Loppe arrived, with a ludicrous story.
He interrupted himself, giggling, while he told it. Tobie sat up. Astorre stared, then broke down into hiccoughing laughter. ‘They made the knave into a knight! Oh! Oh! Urbino’ll kill himself laughing.’
‘Well, Urbino’s a count,’ said John le Grant. His skin was as red as his hair, although his freckled face merely looked pained. ‘Other people have got to start somewhere. So that’s what our Nicholas wanted? Who’d have guessed it?’
‘I should,’ said Tobie briefly. ‘But I didn’t. I’m going back to Urbino.’
The engineer turned his gaudy cropped head. John le Grant was neat and quick as an acrobat. ‘Oh, now. He could get you made a knight too, very likely.’
Loppe, or Lopez, poked up the brazier and, arranging some cushions, lay down in its warmth. His ears had caught a sound. He said, ‘And he’s getting married. To the lady Primaflora, Master Thomas.’
‘No, I’m not,’ Nicholas said, coming in. He unbuckled and dropped his sword upon Loppe, who lifted an indolent hand and received it. Nicholas unshackled his chain, and bestowed it and his badge upon Tobie. Tobie picked up the badge and read the lettering.
‘To stay loyal,’ he said. ‘I always thought you ought to have it written down somewhere. And is there one for the wife?’
Nicholas looked down his nose, and then pushed back the brim of his beaver. ‘You’re jealous,’ he said. ‘Some of us are lucky, and some are just born to grind ointment. You came here, for God’s sake, because you thought I’d come to Queen Carlotta.’
‘No,’ said John le Grant. ‘We thought she’d been clever and kidnapped you. So what kept you then?’
‘That’s what King Luis was asking,’ Nicholas said. He unfastened his cloak and his doublet and, pulling a cushion from Loppe, spread himself with a sigh on the floor. ‘All through the banquet. I’m sorry you all missed the banquet. All through the banquet, he kept saying, “So why sail to Kolossi? Why not Kyrenia? And why not come to the Queen right away?” ’
‘And you said?’ asked le Grant.
‘Ask a silly question,’ Nicholas said. ‘Have you seen Primaflora? We got to Rhodes a month before we were ready, never mind Kyrenia.’
‘And King Luis believed you,’ said Tobie.
‘Well, I hope someone did,’ Nicholas said. ‘I went to the Palace to join the Queen’s party. I’m not going to complain if they make me King of the Bean as an extra.’
Tobie said, ‘I’m sure you aren’t. But you chose your side without consulting us. I don’t happen to be greatly interested in Carlotta of Cyprus.’
‘Well, that’s a relief,’ Nicholas said. ‘Anyone else?’
John le Grant said, ‘Have you chosen sides?’
Tobie looked at him. ‘According to Loppe, he swore fealty to the Queen and her consort.’ He turned slowly and stared at Nicholas. ‘Or were you playing again? An oath doesn’t matter?’
‘I’ve chosen sides,’ Nicholas said. ‘But I needn’t commit you. You can go home. You can stay with the Order. If it matters, you’ll be paid for all the time you have spent. I didn’t expect you to follow me. I’m glad that you did. But now the choice has to be yours.’
They all gazed at him. Tobie said, ‘In Bruges, you spoke to Anselm Adorne. He’s watching the Charetty girls. You want to befriend the Genoese for some purpose?’
Nicholas said, ‘That would be difficult. I was abducted by Venice. I’ve reached an agreement with Venice. Anyone who wants to be a rich villain will have to fight with me on the same side as the Venetian interests. Anyone who wants to be chivalrous, of course, ought to choose either the Queen or the Hospitallers. As a knight, I could explain all the finer points.’
Tobie laid down the chain and the badge and folded his pale, furry arms over his doublet. ‘May I summarise? You’ve accepted a knighthood and sworn to be loyal to Carlotta. You propose to serve not the Queen but her opponents the Venetians. Last year, you declined to wor
k with the Venetians. The Venetians abducted you and now you’ve let them untie your buskins and marry you. What has changed? How and why are you going to serve them?’
‘I don’t propose to serve them at all,’ Nicholas said. ‘I propose to abstract their sugar trade and their dyeworks and anything else they leave lying about when they have to go off and make war on Turkey. The person I propose to be paid by is Carlotta’s bastard brother, King Zacco.’
The brazier whispered, and the voices of servants could be heard through the thick walls. Tobie said, ‘You’ve met him.’
‘Yes,’ said Nicholas.
‘And he gave you a knighthood?’
‘A fief, and a house in Nicosia. Also control of the royal dyeworks, and the sugar franchise of Kouklia and Akhelia.’
John le Grant said, ‘You’d lose the Queen’s money, your knighthood, your wife. You sealed a contract today.’
‘King of the Bean,’ Nicholas repeated helpfully. ‘Incantations, cauldrons and mirrors. It was all an illusion.’
‘Luis thought it was genuine,’ said Loppe softly. ‘And the Order will think so. She stole you from them.’
One of Astorre’s ears had been torn off long ago at the lobe. When concentrating, he proceeded, as now, to finger it. He said, ‘I’d prefer the Order to Zacco. I wouldn’t fight under Mamelukes.’
‘I’ve arranged that,’ Nicholas said. ‘You would fight under me, and I should answer directly to Zacco, as does the Mameluke leader Tzani-bey al-Ablak. That way, you won’t get the blame when I kill him.’
Astorre’s good eye narrowed as much as his sewn one. John le Grant said, ‘Really? So what has this Tzani-bey done?’
‘Killed some cats,’ Nicholas said. ‘You were willing to fight under Uzum Hasan. The Mamelukes are not very different. They’ll leave the island when Zacco possesses it. And he will. With or without us, Carlotta can’t keep it.’
Race of Scorpions Page 23