To Lie with Lions

by Dorothy Dunnett

  Last of all, there came to Nicholas a visitor of his own: Michael Crackbene. Nicholas greeted him tersely, for he felt angry, and Crackbene was coldly defensive and probably right. Even had he been brought back at once, Nicholas would have been too late to prevent what had happened. It wasn’t Mick’s fault that de Salmeton had been forced to leave his prisoner unattended. Filipe had done what he could, and was now in safe hands in Nicosia. And Crackbene had sent Tobie to Zacco.

  Crackbene said abruptly, ‘I’m sorry about Zacco. Was it the Venetians?’

  Nicholas looked at him in surprise. Then he answered, ‘I think so.’

  Crackbene said, ‘The King’s mother is here. She came in a covered coach, with the children.’

  And that was touching, as well as surprising. Famagusta was a Venetian fortress these days, guarded by Venetian ships. All the King’s friends, all the disaffected lived in Nicosia, the capital. Famagusta was a dangerous place for the King’s mother, as it had been for the King.

  Crackbene said, ‘They will ask you to stay on the island.’

  ‘They will ask anyone to stay, who has money and arms. I want you to go to Julius at Rhodes, and bring him back here with a ship provisioned for a voyage to Venice.’

  ‘The gold?’ Crackbene said.

  ‘Tell him to bring it, of course, if he has it; but there is little chance that he will. This is going to change everything.’

  ‘And you are not staying?’

  ‘Bring the ship,’ Nicholas said.

  The following day, in the presence of the court, the King made his will: ‘Si Dieu fait sa volonté de moi, et si je meurs, je laisse ma femme, maîtresse et reine de Chypre, laquelle se trouve enceinte. Et, en outre, si elle met au monde un héritier, mon enfant aura la royaume.’ … ‘If God hath his will of me, and if I die, I leave my wife Queen and Mistress of Cyprus: she who carries my child. And if she gives day to an heir, my child shall inherit my kingdom.’

  He directed that, failing this, his heir should be chosen from his other three living children. He asked that on his death, all those imprisoned for rising against him should be released; and all his galley-slaves freed.

  Those who left the chamber were weeping. There remained, now, only the nominal doctors whose task was to make his death easy, and the priests who filled the chamber with incense, and the murmurs of intercessory prayer.

  Nicholas saw him once more, in a slow procession of men who entered the room and knelt to kiss the King’s hand. He did not think that Zacco recognised him.

  Late at night on Tuesday, the sixth of July, 1473, James of Lusignan died.

  Earlier that evening, in a quiet rumble of wheels, a wagon set out, carrying three sleeping children back to Nicosia, escorted by the King’s personal guards. After the death, no bells were rung. Only the lights remained burning all night in the tall windows of the King’s marble palace; and in the Latin Cathedral of St Nicholas the painted glass glimmered, and the divine chant of ritual music, hoarse and low, hung on the warm scented air. In the stables, a lévrier whimpered.

  Freed at last, Tobie went to the room of his partner and said, ‘I have to take you somewhere.’

  Marietta of Patras was not weeping. She had been making preparations to leave: servants ran to her command, struggling with painted chests and stiff leather boxes. Dismissed, they closed the door, leaving Tobie to usher in Nicholas, as she had asked.

  She had come from her son’s death-bed, but the kohl round her eyes was untouched. Only she had torn off her veil, so that they looked at the obscene crimson stump of her mutilation, and no illusion remained of the looks she once had.

  She said, ‘You will, of course, forsake us at once.’

  Nicholas said, ‘I am sorry, nobildonna.’ Tobie didn’t look at him.

  The lady said, ‘Quite. Pour loïauté maintenir. If the King failed to win you, who else could? Doubtless you will also abscond with the treasure.’

  There was a pause. Nicholas said, ‘Honoured lady, I know of no treasure.’

  ‘Indeed?’ said the King’s mother. ‘Yet my son referred to it in his will. A great treasure, gathered with pains and kept secret. But he did not say where it was.’

  ‘I cannot help you,’ Nicholas said.

  She looked at him. ‘You think not. Well, perhaps we shall see. Come with me. I have something to show you.’

  In a locked room, his hands bound, sat a man.

  David de Salmeton of the Vatachino was not now, Tobie was gratified to see, the superb miniature beauty of Cairo and Cyprus: the curling dark hair was tangled; the pure jaw bruised; the long fingernails broken. His eyes, darker than Zacco’s, were sunken.

  His voice, none the less, was successfully sardonic. ‘You, too! Come and join me. Now the goose is dead, all will wish to quarrel over who killed it.’

  ‘Hold your tongue,’ said Marietta of Patras. ‘You yourself, in your greed, have ensured that while you hunted, M. le baron did not. They may not have thought of blaming you now, but they will very soon. Especially since you are held here, and impotent.’

  ‘They?’ said David de Salmeton calmly. But his fingers were tight.

  ‘The Venetians. You killed the King, and tried to kill this merchant, they will say, out of jealousy.’

  ‘So why are you here?’ said the prisoner. His knuckles were torn, Tobie saw. However effeminate he liked to appear, David de Salmeton was well made, with a compact, muscular body. And yet …

  The King’s mother said, ‘I am here to ask a service of this man, your rival. It is for my son, not for myself. I am going to ask Lord Beltrees to drop the charges against you, and let you leave Cyprus.’

  ‘The papers are already lodged,’ Nicholas said. ‘My deposition, and that of the former page-boy Filipe.’ It was the first time he had spoken since entering.

  The cropnosed woman lifted her hand. In it were two folded documents. She said, ‘In such confusion, it was not very difficult to have them abstracted.’

  ‘I have copies,’ Nicholas said.

  ‘You should keep them. But I propose to destroy these.’

  ‘Why?’ said David de Salmeton. ‘To have me fall into some accident as soon as I leave? Assuming Ser Nicholas were simple enough to allow me to leave?’

  ‘That is for him to decide,’ said the woman. ‘If the Venetians cannot be made to pay for their crime, I am determined that at least they will lose their chief scapegoat. If you live, of course, you can never come to Cyprus again, and will forfeit everything here that is yours.’

  ‘The sugar?’ said David de Salmeton. ‘You would give Kouklia to the Banco di Niccolò?’

  ‘The Banco di Niccolò,’ said the woman, ‘may name its own price for any position, any property, any business it may desire on this island. But I gather that it would decline.’

  The bound man laughed. ‘He knew he could never rely on you.’ The laugh caught.

  ‘Ah yes,’ Nicholas said. Tobie looked at him. He had spoken quite softly. His eyes, steady and sober, rested on the other man’s face. He said, ‘Tear up the papers, my lady.’

  ‘Why?’ It was de Salmeton’s voice, sudden and shrill.

  ‘For his sake,’ Nicholas said.

  Chapter 45

  LITTLE BOATS CARRYING cherries, or cheeses, or sprats bring the world its bad news, long before the dispatch of solemn embassies. So rumours spread to the marketplace. But before even that, fast-beating pigeons and riders and swift, secret galleys make sure that the world’s leaders know what there is to know, even though they may conceal it.

  Thus the news of James of Lusignan’s fate crossed the Middle Sea many weeks before the black-robed ambassadors formally presented their tidings to Pope Sixtus and the Republic of Venice, or the Knights of Rhodes and the late King’s half-sister Carlotta, or the Sultan Qayt Bey in Cairo; and long before an arrow borne by a racing dromedary reached a distant Persian battlefield and changed the fortunes of a prince.

  One of the swifter ships, although not the swiftest, belong
ed to Nicholas de Fleury. The Banco di Niccolò conveyed its own first-hand account to the West; while behind, the body of a King was gutted, embalmed, and consigned in a funeral of little ceremony to the Cathedral of St Nicholas, Famagusta, denied even the marble sarcophagus his friends had tried to acquire. In Nicosia, the oaths of allegiance to the Daughter of Venice were taken, although the Venetian Bailie was unwilling to walk in the streets until supplied with a guard. A military parade was arranged, at which the spectators were to shout, ‘Long Live Queen Catherine!’ Queen Catherine herself clung to the safety of Famagusta, and refused to leave for the capital until her father, Marco Corner, winkled her out.

  The journey to Venice was unlike any other Nicholas had undertaken in recent years. It had more in common with that long-ago voyage from Trebizond when all three, Nicholas, Tobie and Crackbene, had sailed home like this, repeating their news without respite; reminded everywhere that they were leaving behind a land open to darkness and violence.

  Julius was not with them. Crackbene had beaten his ship into Rhodes to find that Julius had left the island three days before, embarked empty-handed for Venice and Germany. Anna his wife had gone with him.

  ‘Germany?’ Nicholas had repeated.

  ‘Well, someone had better be there, if you want to know what Duke Charles will do next. And the lady Anna could help; she’s a German.’ Crackbene had been in a bad temper.

  They sailed into Venice on Saturday, the seventh day of August, after a voyage in which Nicholas had been uncommunicative throughout, except when he had been required to repeat, yet again, the news of Cyprus. Sometimes Tobie did it for him, experiencing always the same disbelief and despair. Approaching Venice, he found to his dismay that they were bringing evil tidings to a Republic already in mourning: their stuttering Doge, just two years in office, had died.

  For themselves, Tobie did not know what to expect. He shrank from the reunion with Gelis and the child, and with Gregorio and his little family. He remembered that the nurse, that self-opinionated termagant, would be there.

  Through the heat of June and July, Jodi had made Venice his playground, while his mother waited, and worked. Then Julius had come, bronzed and smooth with contentment, and brought his black-haired Anna, wed but unchanged, with her light, pointed wit and amiable manner. She played with Jodi, and spoke to Mistress Clémence of her own daughter, left in Cologne. When it was time for Julius and Anna to leave, Gelis almost shared Margot’s regret.

  A little time later, a fast ship swept into the San Marco Basin by night and, dropping anchor, put ashore a man in a hurry, who went straight to the black-mantled Palace. By morning the galley had gone. On the surface, nothing had changed; but Gregorio came late from the Rialto that day and, instead of joining the family, went at once to the counting-house. Returned at length, he could only explain that the Bourse was uneasy, no one could quite say why. It was a question of waiting.

  As once before, Gregorio himself was on the Rialto when the ship he was hoping for was signalled into the Basin. This one did not come under cover of darkness but anchored for all to see, flying two flags: the emblem of the Order of the Unicorn from its mizzen, and from its mainmast, the standard of the Order of the Sword, in the position of mourning.

  The Bank’s boat was already tied by the Bridge. Gregorio used it to sweep down the Canal and out to the anchorage while Nicholas was still on board with the officials who had come out to greet him. Tobie heard the lawyer’s hail and met him at the companionway. He looked sick.

  Gregorio said, ‘What has happened?’ He looked about for Nicholas.

  ‘The King is dead. Long live the Queen,’ said Nicholas from behind him. He looked worse than sick: he looked unfriendly. He added, ‘I have to go to the Senate. Wait for me, if you like. Mick and Tobie will tell you what has happened. Is Julius here?’

  ‘No. They’ve gone to Augsburg. Nicholas –’

  ‘Yes?’ said Nicholas, stopping.

  ‘Were you there?’

  ‘Everyone was there,’ Nicholas said.

  The news, passing from throat to throat, reached the Ca’ Niccolò long before Gregorio returned with the travellers. Margot brought it to Gelis where she stood on the balcony overlooking the water.

  ‘Nicholas is back, safe and well. They’ve just sailed in. Apparently Gregorio went down to meet them.’ She saw that Jodi was there, sitting at the feet of his nurse. She said, smiling, ‘Ton papa est en retour.’ Mistress Clémence was looking elsewhere.

  Gelis said, ‘Nicholas!’

  ‘Sooner than he expected,’ said Margot. She looked from Gelis to the nurse and back again. Mistress Clémence returned her attention to Jodi. Margot said slowly, ‘They’re saying that Zacco has died.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Gelis. Then she said, ‘That explains the uneasy market. The news must have reached the Collegio already.’

  ‘They say he was poisoned,’ Margot said.

  ‘But they didn’t blame Nicholas,’ Gelis said. She paused. ‘Unless, of course, he has raced back, the Catalans screaming murderer at his heels?’

  ‘Apparently not,’ Margot said. ‘I think they might even have wanted him to stay. I think we should be glad he has come back.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Gelis said. ‘There are generally rich pickings to be had from a power struggle, if you don’t mind the risks. But I expect he wanted to come home to us all, as you say.’

  After that, everyone in the Casa seemed to know that the padrone was at last on his way, having reported to the Minor Consiglio on the tragic death of Queen Catherine’s husband. The Palace itself had confirmed it. Sadly wild, as everyone knew, the young man had apparently indulged himself on a hot day while hunting, and had succumbed to an attack of the flux.

  The travellers arrived. Mistress Clémence, standing in her employer’s hall, released Jodi, freshly dressed, to be crushed by his father and was pleased to observe Dr Tobias crossing to greet her. She said, ‘It has been an unpleasant business for you all.’

  ‘We shall all be the better for being at home,’ the doctor said.

  She followed his eyes. Instead of commenting, she said, ‘You must have met with the flux often enough in the battlefield.’

  ‘Well enough to know it,’ he said.

  She studied him. She said, ‘So they let you treat the King? They must know your reputation.’

  ‘Eventually,’ he said. ‘But it was too late.’ He paused and said, ‘The padrone and he knew each other well.’

  ‘I can see that,’ she said. ‘The child will cheer him. I heard the Queen of Cyprus was near to her time?’

  ‘I doubt if it will cheer her,’ he said.

  Nicholas was back, not in the autumn, but in August. Gelis, too, saw all that the others saw in his face, and felt the alteration at once, as he greeted her. Invariably, in the first moments of every fresh meeting, he showed his awareness of her, even if expressed by contradictory emotions like anger. Now, for the first time, he seemed indifferent.

  She was given no opportunity to question him. A ceremonial supper had been arranged, attended by all the gentlemen of the factory. Afterwards, in the relative privacy of Gregorio’s parlour, Tobie appeared intent on wresting Nicholas from the company. Gelis raised her voice.

  ‘Before you go! Mistress Clémence is sure to ask me your plans. Are you leaving to rejoin Astorre?’

  ‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘The French war has stopped, for the moment. All the interesting events seem to be occurring along the Duke’s frontier with Germany. I shall probably follow Julius to Augsburg, and then try to seek out Duke Charles.’

  ‘And Mistress Clémence?’ Gelis said. ‘Or are children not permitted in Germany?’

  He knew, of course, that this was not about Jordan. It was about whether the careful plan had been changed, and she might come to him now, rather than later.

  He said, ‘Margot says you have grown to like Venice. Why not stay for a further few weeks, and then join me?’

  She couldn’t tell whether
he meant it. Gregorio sat, his arm round Margot, placidly awaiting her answer. Tobie glared. Gelis burned with frustration. She said, ‘I don’t mind. Jodi might: he has been practising hard on the water-hens. Must you hurry away? What exactly happened on Cyprus?’

  He looked at her. His eyes were darkened, like Tobie’s, and he had been drinking nothing but water. She had asked the question out of pure devilment; she was taken aback when he replied with subdued violence.

  ‘Exactly? Zacco died, but I didn’t. I was abducted, not very tenderly, and left without food or water, and chained. I not only survived, but I wasn’t there when Zacco fell ill. You have no idea what good fortune that was. Princes envied me.’

  Gregorio said sharply, ‘You didn’t tell us! Who did it? Nicholas, was Zacco poisoned? By the Venetians?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘And you were abducted to get you out of the way?’

  ‘Oh no,’ Nicholas said. ‘I was abducted by someone paid by David de Salmeton, who hoped to extort a ransom for me which would disable the Bank.’

  ‘But you escaped?’ Gelis said.

  ‘I escaped. And de Salmeton was caught and imprisoned. As a result of it all, I am not, at the moment, deeply attached to the miraculosissime civitas Venetia, and would rather be somewhere else. On the German frontier, for example.’

  ‘And David de Salmeton? Are we meant to believe all this?’ Gelis asked.

  ‘Do you find it hard to think of sweet David in quite these terms? Tobie doesn’t.’

  ‘Nor do I,’ Gregorio said. ‘I hope he’s dead.’

  The owlish gaze had turned directly on Gelis. She said, ‘Is he?’

  ‘No,’ Nicholas said. ‘Not even in prison. I let him off. Aren’t you pleased?’

  ‘ You let him off!’ She gazed at him.

  It was Tobie who answered, his voice curt. ‘The King’s mother asked Nicholas to let him go, and he did. Of course, de Salmeton can never return.’

  ‘So where has he gone?’ Gelis asked.