Race of Scorpions

by Dorothy Dunnett

  It was softly spoken, and Tobie supposed none but himself had overheard it. Nicholas said, ‘When the Queen lets you come. She will. We are affianced.’

  Primaflora said, ‘I want a bond stronger than that.’

  Through the dirt, one indentation appeared. ‘Soon,’ he said. She looked at him and then, with discretion, drew a little apart. Nicholas spoke again, without raising his voice. ‘Tobie: the boy would be better with you.’

  Tobie said, ‘I thought of that. The demoiselle wouldn’t allow it. What is it – fourteen miles, fifteen? He should manage.’

  Silence fell. On his other side, Astorre frequently talked, addressing his neighbours; rehearsing some recent or long-ago fight. Sometimes he drew Tobie into the conversation, until Tobie’s monosyllables annoyed him too much. Nicholas said nothing at all until they were past Phileremos and could see, very distantly, the glow in the sky that spoke of the City of Rhodes.

  Now, the cavalcade was much smaller, reduced by the Knights who formed the garrison on the Mount. For the first time in a long while, Nicholas spoke. ‘Where are le Grant and Thomas?’

  Tobie looked round. In the uncertain light, he saw several of the Knights who had set out with their party, but the two men of their own were not visible. He said, ‘They’ll have gone back on their own.’

  ‘Without reporting?’ Nicholas said. ‘Look again.’

  Tobie looked. The cavalcade still stretched before and behind, obscured by the smoke and the darkness. Closer at hand, its nature had changed. Where Katelina and the boy had been, there were now well-armed horsemen quite strange to him. Captain Astorre trotted still at his shoulder. But beyond him were two other well-accoutred Knights of the Order, and behind him, Primaflora’s protectors. Primaflora herself had been drawn out of sight. There was no sign of Loppe, or of any other faces he knew.

  Tobie said, ‘What was it you said? Incantations, cauldrons and mirrors?’

  Nicholas turned. With whatever effort, the weariness had been banished, to be replaced by a view of one dimple. He said, ‘You remembered. If you hadn’t, I’d have made a small wager. Our standing has changed, as I said it would.’

  ‘We are about to go back to prison?’ said Tobie.

  ‘Or worse,’ Nicholas said. ‘We foiled someone’s plans; so probably worse. Tell Astorre. We make no resistance. We make no excuses. I do all the talking. We shall probably be met at the gate. There you are. We are being met at the gate. Do you see anyone you know?’

  Tobie was abruptly put in touch with his last meal. Only Nicholas did that to him. Only Nicholas could orchestrate this kind of disaster. Ahead, flushed with light, stood the great drum towers of the entrance. There was a squadron of soldiers beneath, their spears flashing. He could see the Grand Commander of Cyprus, and the Treasurer of the Order, and a man in black, wearing a broad-brimmed black hat over the cowl of his cloak. The man in black had crossed teeth and was smiling. So was Nicholas. Tobie didn’t like either smile.

  ‘John de Kinloch,’ Nicholas said. ‘A Scottish chaplain from Bruges. He knows the demoiselle Katelina.’

  He looks happy to see you,’ said Tobie.

  ‘He is,’ Nicholas said. ‘I kidnapped him in Cyprus to stop him telling the Vasquez who I was. To stop him telling the Knights who I was, for that matter. If Katelina doesn’t have me hanged for killing Tristão, then that fellow will.’

  Chapter 19

  TO RECEIVE THE judgement of the great prince Pierre-Raimond Zacosta, Grand Master of the Order of the Knights Hospitaller of St John of Jerusalem, it was necessary to march through the gates of the Castello, the inner town of the Religion, and by climbing between the tall Inns of the Knights with their pointed doorframes and marble-grid windows to attain the austere Gothic arch at the top. There, beside the loggia and the church, stood the fortified Palace of the Grand Master, in whose courtyard the Court of King Arthur ought to have displayed its martial prowess two days before.

  Nicholas walked to his appointment between two files of armed men, and with him were all four officers who had set out on that abortive joust; for John le Grant and Thomas had been put under restraint like themselves immediately on their return from Kalopetra. In the two days of their confinement, Nicholas had spent most of his time with Astorre’s men. Barring a few new recruits, they all knew him – either as the wild Charetty apprentice, or as the husband of Marian de Charetty who employed them, or as the man who took them to Trebizond and brought them back again, richer than they had ever been before. And since then, of course, as the future patron who had fought with them in Italy, before he turned up in Rhodes.

  They knew him, and they trusted Astorre, so that they believed that there was nothing, in the long run, to be anxious about. For two days he worked to impress himself on them, and also to get to know them again in his turn. With some it was easy to revive the old camaraderie. With others he brought out the whole battery of bawdy talk and good-natured roughhousing, of reminiscent exchanges, of gossip and long, deep talking late into the night. He could never go back to the techniques of his boyhood – they had to respect him, as well as enjoy his company. Judging men was an art at which he excelled, and he enjoyed practising it. He could have done with more than two days, but it was enough to carry them with him, when eventually he talked of the immediate future.

  Not that he told them the whole story, any more than he had told it to Tobie or Astorre or the rest. He did, however, place before men and officers the greater part of his plans, because he could see that Tobie, at least, would not follow him further in ignorance. And they needed to know, or they could spoil it all.

  But for the mistakes beside Kalopetra, he would have been elated. Stage by delightful stage, his process was activating itself. He knew how dangerous it was, and that all his future hung on this confrontation with the Grand Master, and what was bound to follow. If he made another miscalculation, he could lose everything. But of course, that was the attraction. And the responsibility was entirely his. He had chosen the game, and others had elected to join him, or to oppose him. Playing was not compulsory.

  The Palace of Rhodes was magnificent. No one spoke entering the portal between the drum towers and passing into the noise of the vast inner courtyard, full of people and animals, banners and armour. They carried no arms, he and his four companions, and appeared only in sober pourpoint, doublet and cloak, their hats little adorned, their hose plain, their buttons and belts less than flamboyant. He wore, since he had not yet been deprived of it, the blue and silver badge of his Cypriot Order. As they crossed the yard, men stopped and looked, and he could hear the tramp of their feet repeated from the hollow arcading, and see men looking down from the open galleries above. In the far corner, on its uneven arches rose the ceremonial flight of steps leading to the great chambers of the second floor of the north range. From here, the highest point of the Castello, the Knights kept ward on the City, the harbours, the inimical sea to the east and the north. Approaching as miscreants, as suspects, the broker Niccolò and his officers were led up to the pillared door at the head of the steps, where they were halted. Then, in silence, they were marched to the hall of the Knights, where the Grand Master awaited them.

  The walls were chequered, and so high that the blocks of cream and sienna, white and umber and russet responded to darkness and light as if patterned in damask. The size of the hall, from the timbered roof to the marble floor, dwarfed the stalls of the Knights, and the band of painted escutcheons which ran above them. Beside the black and white of the Knights were the priests, and men in ordinary clothes who might be civilians, or merchants, or witnesses. At the end of the room, the Grand Master sat on his dais, bearded, yellow, dressed in black, with a monstrous veiled hat, its brim turned up all round like a pilgrim’s.

  This prince Zacosta was Spanish, and newly appointed. A Catalan, he had lingered long in Barcelona before leaving to take up his duties. He had been reluctant, it was said, to give up the income he was already drawing. He had refused, it was sai
d, the kindly offer of Carlotta of Cyprus to sail home in the Queen’s ship to Rhodes. And naturally, being a Catalan, he had no time at all for Ferrante of Aragon, King of Naples, on whose behalf Captain Astorre and his company had just been successfully fighting. Despite this, the Grand Master had not rejected Astorre when he first arrived; had not, despite Katelina, thrust them from the island. With Sultan Mehmet’s conquering fleets moving out from Constantinople, the need for soldiers to protect the Religion was desperate and, given a chance, he would have overlooked much. He had not, however, been given a chance.

  They were to be ranged in front of the dais. Moving forward, Nicholas scanned the men on either side of the room. Of course, John de Kinloch, with Louis de Magnac beside him and another knight whom he recognised from Kolossi. Scougal, the well-born Scot from East Lothian who had ridden with them two days ago, and who had been John de Kinloch’s companion. A man he had heard identified on the pier – Tobias Lomellini, the Genoese Treasurer of the Order. And beside him, several others who looked vaguely Genoese and one who certainly was. Tomà Adorno of Chios, who, long ago in Milan, had helped seal an alum contract. Tomà Adorno who was, of course, a kinsman of Anselm Adorne.

  Nicholas found that disconcerting. He was standing in line before the dais before he remembered to look for the Queen’s party, and saw, when he found it, that it was exceptionally strong. The faces of Guichard, Piozasque, de Bon, de Montolif, Pardo and Sor de Naves, her naval commander, had all turned to examine him. Some of these courtiers he had met with Carlotta in the Italian snows; there were others he had seen with her husband.

  John le Grant, who had been looking in the same direction, turned his sandy lashes up to the ceiling-beams and hissed, almost inaudibly, between his front teeth. Astorre stood, his chest and buttocks cocked like a sparrow, his beard jutting straight out before him. Tobie, his bald head encased, showed a face which reflected the robe of his calling. Nicholas lifted to the Grand Master the same serene look he had employed in the court of the last Byzantine Empire, and laid his fate in the lap of the sun god, whose island (in summer) this was.

  The Grand Master spoke in Latin. The Duchy of Burgundy had sent twelve thousand gold écus to the Isles of Religion. It had seemed a gift of God when, from the same region, a band of experienced soldiers had arrived to await their leader. One did not have to take knightly vows in order to fight for the Church: the Christian world, in its extremity, accepted with humility whatever help it was offered. It was therefore with sorrow, with horror, that he had been told that these were men of straw; evil men who had harmed the Order and those it protected.

  It was, however, said the Grand Master, not the custom of the Knights to condemn men unheard. One of them, moreover, bore the badge of another order of chivalry, and had pledged his service as soldier and pilgrim. For these reasons, he had summoned Niccolò vander Poele to answer to the accusations, and his chief officers to stand with him. Did the Knight Niccolò vander Poele wish to make a statement?

  It was intended to belittle, and indeed, only the doctor could be supposed to have the learning to understand such a pronouncement. In fact, John le Grant had good Latin, and Nicholas himself had had Felix’s entire course at Louvain, with a considerable amount of subsequent practice. Before the translator could speak Nicholas replied, in the same ordinary, serviceable Latin that all the Knights used. ‘My lord prince. We appreciate the opportunity to hear our accusers, and to speak for ourselves. If it pleases you, we ask that the hearing be conducted in the Order’s second language of French.’

  The Grand Master looked at him, and then at his Chancellor. He said, ‘If you wish. Proceed.’ Which made things faster, and meant that Astorre and Thomas had less time to get angry.

  It was just as well that he had briefed everyone about his misdemeanours, because they began with John de Kinloch, and that sounded crazy enough. The priest himself spoke, and the man from Kolossi corroborated. The man Niccolò had arrived in Cyprus, representing to the Knights of Kolossi that he intended to serve Queen Carlotta with his company. He had duped the Queen’s demoiselle into believing the same. He had disguised from the Portuguese merchant Tristão Vasquez that there existed a long-standing feud between the man Niccolò and Senhor Tristão’s partner and relative Simon. His reason for concealing this feud was assuredly that the man Simon was deeply involved in Genoese and Portuguese trade and therefore, implicitly, a supporter of Queen Carlotta and not of her illegitimate brother, the self-styled King Zacco. When this deception was threatened by the appearance of Father John de Kinloch, who knew of it, the man Niccolò had disposed of Father John by having him tied up and imprisoned with the help of an accomplice. The man Niccolò had then left for Rhodes, revealing nothing of this to Tristão Vasquez. Fortunately, the lord Simon’s wife was in Rhodes, and able to enlighten him. Since then, as was known, the Portuguese gentleman had been killed, and his son and the lord Simon’s wife had been fortunate to escape.

  At that point, Nicholas intervened. ‘My lord, my men and I helped them escape.’

  The Chancellor, whom he did not know, wore no expression. ‘I am told that Senhor Tristão was dead when you arrived, and that the assassins were waiting to dispatch his son and the demoiselle Katelina, whom you did nothing to protect. I am told you killed both assassins, without witnesses. We cannot tell, therefore, who paid them.’

  ‘You have no proof, therefore, that I paid them,’ Nicholas said.

  ‘None,’ said the Chancellor. ‘But you had a motive. Or why go to such lengths to conceal your relations with the lord Simon? Father John is a priest, a chaplain of the Order and a man respected in Scotland, in Bruges and in Rhodes. He was attacked and humiliated in the Order’s own castle of Kolossi. Why? And who were your accomplices?’

  ‘Men I came across in Episkopi,’ Nicholas said. ‘I removed him because Tristão Vasquez, a stranger, might well have reached the same conclusion as yourselves, and have caused my company to incur the distrust of the most serene Queen Carlotta. Once acquainted with Senhor Tristão, once proved loyal servants of the Queen, there would be no need for deceit. Was Father John injured?’

  ‘My knee,’ said John of Kinloch. He looked livelier, brisker and more sure of himself than he had in Cyprus. ‘My knee was skinned. And my elbow. I could have had a tooth out.’

  ‘He was not severely injured,’ Nicholas said, his manner earnest. ‘He was treated, I hope he will agree, with courtesy, and well looked after and fed. He would have been released in due course. Above all, I hope it will be noticed, he was not murdered.’

  ‘The scoundrel!’ said John of Kinloch.

  ‘It is a point,’ said the Chancellor, ‘if a small one. So you intended to join the serene and excellent lady?’

  ‘As her lady-in-waiting will confirm,’ Nicholas said. Primaflora was not there.

  ‘As you certainly persuaded her lady-in-waiting,’ the Chancellor corrected. ‘But you did not sail to Kyrenia, or to Famagusta? You sailed to Episkopi, the Venetian bay?’

  ‘I landed at Cape Gata. So did the Queen’s lady,’ Nicholas said. ‘The ship had cargo. We hoped for the Knights’ hospitality. We believed it possible to travel north with the Knights’ protection. It was only later that we learned that Queen Carlotta was in Rhodes.’

  The Chancellor looked at him. ‘You are saying that you did not know the Queen was not in Cyprus when you left the lady in the south and made your way towards Nicosia?’

  Nicholas said, ‘I didn’t know, either way. I thought it best to present myself to her Marshal at Kyrenia and ask for orders.’

  ‘You did not know that your company was waiting at Rhodes?’ said the Chancellor.

  ‘We had lost touch. They knew, as I did not, that the Queen was coming to Rhodes.’

  ‘So you say. You had lost touch? How?’

  So they knew that. But of course they did. Nicholas said, ‘My company is a professional one. They had undertaken a contract in Italy, and there was some confusion after the battle. We became sepa
rated.’

  ‘You were fighting,’ said the Chancellor, ‘as I understand it, for Ferrante of Aragon. As you did in an earlier battle, and again some years ago, in the Abruzzi. This self-styled King of Naples has found your Captain Astorre loyal, I see, and effective. I wonder, therefore, what attracted you to the Queen of Cyprus and the Order of St John, to whom King Ferrante has shown himself no friend?’

  Astorre had begun breathing heavily. Nicholas maintained his serious voice. ‘I had met the most serene Queen. I had met the Knights at Kolossi. I had had time to reflect. I had also, as you may know, had an opportunity to measure King Zacco’s fore-bearance. The Knights of Kolossi will tell you.’

  ‘I am told,’ said the chancellor, ‘that the Bastard Zacco sent the emir of his Mamelukes to waylay and capture you, and that you only escaped after severe mishandling. I note however, as has been pointed out in a similar context, that you were not murdered.’

  ‘If I had met the Bastard, and refused to serve him, I hardly think I should be alive,’ Nicholas said. ‘As it was, before I escaped, more than my knees and elbows had suffered. I intend to take payment for that.’

  ‘I see,’ said the Chancellor. ‘And for that, you would abandon your feud with the lord Simon?’

  Nicholas spread his hands. ‘It is on his part, rather than mine. He is in business in Portugal. If there is to be any rivalry between us, I can pursue it as well if not better when supplied with information from the same side. Trade is my business,’ Nicholas said. ‘If my lord Simon causes trouble, I can find a way of retaliating without dragging nations into the quarrel.’

  ‘Trade,’ said the Grand Master. It was the first word he had spoken since his opening speech. One wrinkled finger beat, like a ponderous hammer, on the arm of his chair. ‘You profess to favour the Queen and the Order. Your actions in the matter of trading signally fail to support this hypothesis.’