Of that, Primaflora knew nothing; or Tristão Vasquez, whom he might have called uncle; or Diniz, whom he might have called cousin. Nicholas did not enlighten her, or them. Only he gave in to the tempatation, now and then, to talk to the boy, who had lost some of his jealousy, since the exchanges between Nicholas and the lady Primaflora were so markedly formal. The lady travelled in state, as befitted her rank as Queen’s lady of honour, and spoke as often to Diniz as she did to anyone else. It amused Nicholas, although the locked door of her quarters did not. She knew how to tantalise. He ended, for his own sake, by avoiding her.
The boy’s company was almost as testing, since Nicholas had to make his way with such care. He had guessed already the bond between the high-bred, reticent father and the lad only now out of the schoolroom. He didn’t ask about the boy’s mother Lucia, but stored the fragments he learned. He knew she had been put early to royal service and had assumed her more worldly, he saw, than she was. Tristão Vasquez had rescued his wife from a duty she hated, and had given her peace and a tranquil family life away from her wild brother Simon and their domineering father, de Ribérac. The boy would have continued, but suddenly Nicholas felt like an eavesdropper. He said, ‘Sometimes strong fathers make wild sons, until they find what it is they want to do. What do you want for the future? To follow your father?’
Diniz was not to be immediately diverted. He said, ‘My uncle Simon is not very wise. My father blames his father, as you do. Also, he has a very young bride who cannot control him. My mother says his conduct with other men’s wives is nothing short of disgraceful.’
Simon’s wife Katelina was twenty-two, and some months older than Nicholas. Poor Katelina. Poor Katelina, who wanted to ruin Nicholas quite as much as her husband. Nicholas said, ‘Do you want to stay in the East and serve your company? Some agents do, for experience. After a year or two, there is more to be learned at the centre.’ He stopped himself talking of Bruges. They didn’t know where he came from: Simon must never have mentioned him. They knew his Bank was in Venice, and about Trebizond.
It was about Trebizond that the boy was most curious. In the end, Nicholas briefly explained. ‘You know Constantinople was the capital of a great Byzantine empire, and that it fell to the Turks eight or nine years ago? Trebizond was a Byzantine empire as well, with rulers sprung from the same race. When Constantinople was taken, Trebizond was left exposed to the Turks. It was very rich, because of its trade with the East, and Venice and Genoa and Florence all had an interest in keeping it safe. So had its non-Christian neighbours, like the Turcoman tribe of the White Sheep. Because of its allies, and because it was built between mountains and coast on a rock, it was thought Trebizond would be safe, and the Imperial family would come to no harm. To make sure, they asked mercenaries to come and help them, and I took my company there, and also a commission to trade, both for myself and for Florence. We arrived there the spring before last.’
He paused. The boy said, ‘But the Turks attacked and took it. How did they do it, if you were there? If it was between the mountains and the sea? If all these races were anxious to help them?’
A voice said, ‘What causes such solemn conversation? Diniz, you are tiring our friend.’
It was the boy’s father. The boy said, ‘No! He is telling of Trebizond.’
‘Ah,’ said Tristão Vasquez. ‘I am glad not to have been there.’
The boy was disappointed. ‘You would have fought!’
The nobleman hesitated. Nicholas said, ‘Your father means that he was glad not to be there, and to have to discriminate. It wasn’t simple, you see. The Empire was magnificent, but the blood of the line had run thin, and the barons were self-indulgent and treacherous. They had grown too weak-willed to fight, and too spoiled to face privation. The western traders hated each other, and the White Sheep, who might have become its protectors, were not quite strong enough to take the Empire away from the Turks. Even Georgia, which might have helped, didn’t. There was a moment when anything might have been possible, and a decision one way or the other might have resolved its fate. For no reason except that I was there, I played some part in what happened.’
Tristão Vasquez was silent. The boy said, ‘What did you do?’
Nicholas said, ‘It hardly matters now. In the long run, the Emperor was recommended to surrender by his own Great Chancellor, George Amiroutzes. For money, the Emperor sold Trebizond into slavery and was allowed to go into exile on a pleasant estate at Adrianople. He is still there, with his younger children. The older members of his family were given to the harem, or the Viziers.’
He had told it as painstakingly and accurately as he could. He had not mentioned the friendship he had struck with the mother of Uzum Hasan, prince of the Turcomans, which might have saved Trebizond if the Turcoman strength had been supported. He didn’t talk of the other, attempted treachery by a man paid by Simon de St Pol to follow and challenge him. The man had died, and he now possessed his vessel, the Doria.
What happened at Trebizond had taught Nicholas a lesson about his fellow men he had been unwilling to learn. He did not, normally, choose to resurrect it. At the end, the boy didn’t speak for a while. Then he said, ‘I’m glad I wasn’t there. Who would have known what to do?’
Then Nicholas said, ‘Someone has to do something, even if it is wrong. We did the best we could, and when it was taken out of our hands, we saved ourselves, and our goods, and as many Western lives as we could. What we did was possibly wrong. I don’t know. But at the end, only the Emperor could have changed events.’
Diniz said, ‘Why didn’t he?’
Nicholas said, ‘I suppose he thought slavery for all his people was better than death for some or even most of them. He may not have considered what his people might want. Often a ruler can’t imagine the full effect of the orders he gives. He sees only his friends and his family. He doesn’t see the man who makes his shoes, and kills his beef, and brings his water from the well. The soldiers he calls in see all this. They can take their money and do as he says. Or they can refuse. If I had to choose between King James and Queen Carlotta, it wouldn’t be easy.’
He didn’t look at Tristão, but it was to Tristão he was speaking. Diniz said, ‘But she is the rightful Queen! There is no question.’
Nicholas said, ‘Where a bastard is better, he governs. Haven’t you noticed? You don’t look at birth. You say, “Cyprus is my dear home. Who best can rule it?” ’
Diniz said, ‘I should say, “Who best can protect it from Sultan Mehmet?” ’
‘And who is that?’ Nicholas said. ‘The Pope has to see King Ferrante finally on the throne of Naples, and Malatesta of Rimini finally conquered before he can think of a crusade. The Duke of Burgundy is sick and failing, and fending off Louis of France. France is threatened by England, and England is torn in the war between York and Lancaster. Genoa would take over Cyprus, as a colony. So would Venice. So would Cairo. The only traditional rulers in Cyprus are the Lusignan family, and they are divided: King Zacco supported by Venice and Queen Carlotta by the Genoese. Is it really clear who should rule? Is it really clear who can best fend off the Turks?’
‘You don’t agree it is Carlotta?’ said the boy.
‘I think Carlotta will lose,’ Nicholas said. ‘All I can tell you is that the people of Cyprus won’t win, whatever happens.’
‘Then Zacco or the Turk would be as bad as Carlotta?’ said the boy.
Nicholas smiled across his head at his father. He said, ‘You have a lawyer there. No, they are not equal. I meant that the island has such importance that whoever rules, the land is always a battlefield, and it is the men of the fields and the hamlets who suffer. Nor should I place Sultan Mehmet over a Christian people.’
Tristão Vasquez spoke. ‘But of the other two, you think more highly of Zacco?’
Nicholas said, ‘I didn’t say that. I said I thought that Zacco would win. What, do you suppose, is that vessel?’
The boat was a round ship of unspecified o
rigin which, appearing out of the rain, turned its shining guns broadside and hailed them. Tristão Vasquez, turning, said, ‘I wonder. Trouble?’
‘Surely not,’ Nicholas said, lying flat. The explosion, following the puff of smoke, rattled the rigging. A gush of seawater beat on the deck. ‘But it seems,’ Nicholas said, ‘they want us to do something. Are they Mamelukes?’
The boy said, ‘They are talking Italian. They want to board us. The lady must be protected.’
‘That is true,’ ‘Nicholas said. ‘I shall go and protect her. Do you have valuable baggage?’
‘Yes,’ said Diniz.
‘No,’ said his father. ‘Agricultural specimens, that is all. What are our officers doing? Knights of the Order, submitting?’
‘Only one Knight, and he knows superior fire power when he sees it. He may lose his cargo, but he won’t lose his galley at least. The round ship is boarding.’
‘They want the wine,’ Diniz said. His young mouth sneered.
‘I would rather they had the wine than my blood,’ Nicholas said. ‘Or that of the lady Primaflora. Here they come to open the hatches. Pirates. How do they sniff out their prey?’
Flank to flank, the galley and round ship ground buffers together, held by irons for as long as it took to transfer the cargo. They took the wine, and also the chests that filled all one hold. Diniz said, ‘Are these valuable?’
‘Who knows?’ Nicholas said. ‘Gold thread, or dyed silk, or ducats. The Knights are rich. Nothing worth perishing for. No! Look out!’ His cry followed Diniz, who had burst through the cordon restraining them and run to one of the hatches, exclaiming. As his father attempted to follow, one of the boarders raised a club and struck the boy down. The father shouted.
Nicholas jumped to grasp Tristão Vasquez by the arm. ‘Don’t provoke them. The child will recover. He was brave, but no one can stop them that way.’
The Portuguese strained against his grip, then subsided. The boy lay still. The man who had struck him bent aside and continued to hand out fresh articles from the hold. They consisted now of deep trays, filled with earth and small plants. They passed from hand to hand until they reached the ship’s rail, at which point they were halted by one of the pirates. He peered, snorted, and turned his thumb down. The bearer of the first tray stepped to the side and dropped over his burden. The other trays followed.
The face of Tristão Vasquez was stony. Nicholas said, ‘I’m sorry. That was where you had buried your gold. You would have done better, like me, to make a stomacher of it for some lady.’
‘They respect that?’ said Tristão.
‘Not necessarily,’ Nicholas said. ‘But finding it, they might spare the lady.’ He felt, for the first time for a while, and despite everything, surprisingly happy.
It was dark before the round ship pulled away, and the galley, shaken, continued its course towards Rhodes. The master, his checking done, came to rehearse the tragedy with his four guests. ‘They have taken all of value. You would say they knew what we carried.’
‘I can vouch that they didn’t,’ said the older Portuguese with disgust. ‘They knew the value of nothing.’
‘They took the wine,’ the master said. ‘And the sugar.’
‘That is the least of it,’ the Portuguese said. Nicholas said,
‘The sugar? What sugar?’
‘The sugar for Rhodes,’ said the master. ‘You’re from Kolossi. You ought to know. Eight hundred quintals of sugar, less fourteen for the use of the Commander. They’re expecting it. It’s arranged for. They’ll have the skin off my back for not bringing it.’
Primaflora looked at Nicholas and Nicholas did not return the look. He said, ‘I thought the sugar harvest went to Episkopi to wait for the annual Venetian galley.’
The master shrugged. ‘Who knows? In normal times, maybe.’
‘I thought,’ Nicholas said, ‘that the Venetians had paid in advance for the right to sell the Kolossi sugar? For many years in advance?’
The master looked Nicholas up and down. ‘Are you saying Queen Carlotta should suffer because the Venetians are greedy? If we had done nothing, the sugar would have gone to Episkopi, and straight to the pockets of the Martini brothers. Of Venice. Of those who secretly promote James de Lusignan. This way, it goes where it belongs. To Rhodes, to be sold by the Knights. The Knights on whom Queen Carlotta relies for her ships and her funds.’
‘And what will the pirates do with it?’ Nicholas said.
‘Who knows? Eat it,’ said the master. ‘Drink the wine, eat the sugar and, if God is good, die of the flux. Excuse me. I have to prepare myself. I have to prepare myself to meet the Treasurer of the Order and explain.’
Later, pushing him surprised over her threshold, Primaflora confronted Nicholas in her hitherto solitary cabin. ‘What do you think the pirates will do?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Sail to Crete, probably,’ Nicholas said. He assumed the face of an owl. ‘The other Martini brother is there.’
‘So they knew the Order was going to cheat?’
‘It seems likely,’ Nicholas said. He allowed his face to unpucker. ‘Carlotta’s consort cheated last year with the royal crop. Smuggled it out from Kyrenia and tried to sell it. That belonged to the Martini brothers as well. But you know that. You were with Queen Carlotta.’
‘The sugar she took to Bologna?’
‘The sugar she tried to take to Bologna,’ he corrected musically. ‘She couldn’t sell it in Venice, because it belonged to the Martini. She found Bologna had started refining, and went to sell it there. But of course Zacco’s men tried to stop her. Did they ever find out, I wonder, that the chests in the river held snow? And what happened to all your fine candy men?’
‘She sold them to the Vatachino. Bologna refiners. They beat her down because the sugar was extremely impure. She left in the eyeballs and buttons. You went to Episkopi yesterday.’
‘Of course. I had to find John of Kinloch.’
‘Of course. And now we know that what John de Kinloch said was correct. You chose the opposite side from the Queen for personal reasons, not because you think she is wrong. Perhaps, too, you are nervous of capable women.’
‘I was married to one,’ Nicholas said.
‘Yes. But she was not twenty-four.’
‘I think,’ Nicholas said, ‘you have put your finger on it. I felt at ease with Cropnose at once. And, of course, with you; but you are incapable. On present evidence. Well, with the door open. Perhaps even now, with the door shut. Or really, it is all these garments that get in the way.’
All her grown life, she had known how to stop a conversation. She had never in all her grown life found it so hard to get one started again. And when, since he wouldn’t leave otherwise, she had indulged him, he dressed at once and departed, in case his absence caused remark, or so he said. And for the rest of the voyage he moved about, helping the master with the wounded men, for they had no doctor on board, and ending in Vasquez’s cabin, salving and rebinding the wound on young Diniz’s head.
Discovering him there, Primaflora stood in the doorway and watched, while the boy’s father said, ‘You are knowledgeable. You are not a Hospitaller?’
‘No,’ Nicholas said. He laid back the boy’s head, and received a wan smile. ‘I had the benefit of watching a very good army doctor. A nephew of Ferrari da Grado.’
The father looked up. ‘The Professor? King Louis, the Duke of Milan are his patients. What is his nephew doing – I beg your pardon.’
Both dimples appeared. ‘With me? You would have to meet Tobie to understand. He worships Urbino and fought Malatesta on principle. He follows armies and hates war. His uncle despises him, but he is not all he seems. He has taught me not to make easy judgements. I hope sometimes that people likewise do not believe all they might hear of me.’
‘But nothing but good, I am sure,’ said Senhor Tristão. His voice was warmer than Primaflora had heard it, and so was his smile.
Nicholas, on the contrary, was not s
miling. ‘You think not?’ he said. ‘Well. Don’t let’s take a wager on it. I’ll leave him. He’ll do now.’ And touching the boy, he turned and left the cabin, the woman following.
She said, ‘You have purloined my disciple.’
‘A temporary aberration,’ Nicholas said. ‘You’ll get back his devotion tomorrow.’
He had told her what to expect. She said, ‘When they learn who you are from friend Simon? They will both be distressed. You don’t want to tell them yourself?’
‘No,’ he said.
‘And you still expect to be seized and executed as a servant of Zacco’s? Is your man Simon so powerful? Without proof, I don’t see how the Queen or the Order can harm you.’
‘What would you do,’ he said, ‘if you were the Queen, or the Grand Master of the Order?’ What would the other man do. Always, always the question.
She thought. ‘If I knew you were coming, but not when? I should give orders to meet all ships from Cyprus. I should still hope to win you to Carlotta, so I should treat you politely, but keep you under some sort of restraint until your loyalty could be proved beyond question. Then, if I found you were Zacco’s, I should kill you.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ Nicholas said.
‘And so? How would you deal with it?’
‘Oh,’ said Nicholas. ‘I should join Carlotta immediately. There is really no other course.’
‘I suppose not,’ she said. Soon she left him, and he didn’t see her again until the drums beat for landfall. Then they stood on deck, with their coffers piled about them, and watched the blue outline of mountains come nearer, and the two harbours with their forts and their long lines of windmills, and behind those, the rising ground that contained, within its thick bulwark and walls, the houses, churches and palaces of the capital of the Rhodian isle, the isle of Helios and Hyacynthos, the island of roses, the home of the Knights of St John.