‘You might say that,’ said Nicholas carefully. He began to pull himself together, in order to forestall anyone doing it for him. Some time ago, he had finally realised that he was irredeemably alone. Up till then, the others had deferred to his special skills and allowed him therefore to lead them, but the old companionship had remained, and the hare-brained exploits; and the times of ease, when he was teased and indulged and insulted as a boy among men.
But since then, others had joined him. John le Grant had never known the apprentice in Flanders; neither had Crackbene. The Venetians among whom he was working; the Mamelukes; the Lusignan court all took him for what he was now, and he couldn’t revert, if he was to carry the company forward. Zacco had seen that, before he did. Zacco, conducting his own subtle enquiry for his own ends, had said to him, in one of those curious sickbed visits in Nicosia: ‘Why do you not take your own advice? If I have erred, you have erred also. You have brought your company to follow the happy meteor that is Niccolò, instead of a cause, or a target, or a purpose. They come for money, of course; for adventure perhaps; but for you most of all. And thus you demean them, you make of them nurses. What is your doctor, but a man who acts as your mother? What is your negro, but a man whom you will one day have to turn off, or else make your lover? Is it that you do not have a true purpose, Niccolò? Is it that all this is just a means to surround yourself with a family?’
He was clever, Zacco. At the time, Nicholas had laughed and then said, ‘My lord, you mean well; but you haven’t met all my company. I doubt if my lawyer or my priest think of themselves as my nurses. But I understand what you say. It is something to be avoided.’
To which Zacco had merely said, ‘If you can avoid it. If you can do without it. There are many men, otherwise strong, who cannot face bitter winds without lovebands. Consider those you have bound. Consider what they lose if you fall, or you stumble.’
He had made some answer and, having time, had considered it for several nights until Tobie, in his motherly role, had shown anxiety. Despite Zacco’s personal bias, there was truth in what he said. For ten months Nicholas had been alone, owing responsibility to no one. Then he had rejoined his community, and found it comfortable. Months ago, he had realised what was happening. He had just been slow to stop it. Perhaps because, in the long run, he did have a purpose.
Now, outfacing le Grant’s mild freckled leer, Nicholas said, ‘The visit was a brilliant success. We showed Little Venice all over Stavros. I couldn’t stop Loppe exaggerating. Corner, Loredano and Zorzi came, and they’ll tell the other Venetians about it. They took away the impression that we are efficient, well-equipped and liable to be extremely productive.’
‘The Martini?’ said le Grant.
‘Weren’t there. I gather,’ Nicholas said, ‘that they and Episkopi are having some difference of opinion over water rights.’
‘Fancy,’ said John le Grant. He rubbed his nose, leaving it shining. He said, ‘Well, they got the right impression then; but for God’s sake, let’s keep friendly with Zacco. What did you decide about the new pounding mill?’
‘To do it,’ Nicholas said. ‘Or with a crop yield like this, we’ll be burning our surplus, unless the Martini burn it first.’
Loppe said, in his velvet voice, ‘We know we’ll get a bottleneck at the refinery stage, but expansion there will have to come later.’
‘Running out of money?’ said John.
‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘But fuel, vats, skilled sugar boilers and, of course, time. We’ll have to farm out some of the refining or start throwing out juice. It can be done. We’ve found two places that will process the next lot. Next year, it’ll all be in tune. Are you coming to Stavros? In an hour I’m going to look at the madder crop for the dyeyards, and then see a man about wine for the army. How is the army?’
‘I’m glad you asked,’ said John le Grant. ‘You’d better go and look at your madder and leave Loppe to look after the wine. King James wants you back.’
‘And when he decreeth a matter, he doth but say unto it “Be!” and it is. Why?’ said Nicholas. ‘I sent Crackbene up. The siege ought to be biting.’
‘Well, they’ve run out of cod roe and pork titbits and the best sorts of sausage,’ le Grant said, ‘but they’re not eating the cats yet, despite what one hears. The castle’s well stocked. I’ve cast the gun, thanks to Crackbene and your timber. Zacco wants to use it.’
‘I can imagine. He’s bored, he wants a quick end, and he wants to get on to Famagusta. What did you tell him?’
‘The truth,’ said John le Grant. ‘It’s a nice big gun. If you rolled it up under the walls, it’d blow a hole through, and you could send Astorre through yelling murder. But the castle isn’t St Hilarion. It’s got a lot of food, and hundreds of highly trained soldiers, a lot of them Knights of the Order. There’s no way he can get that gun near enough to shoot through a wall. It has to be out of reach and constantly battering while the rations get low. Nothing dramatic. Just misery. Then they surrender. You hope.’
Nicholas said, ‘How did he take it?’
‘Zacco? He has to hear it from you. He won’t believe the blockade was so bad through the winter, and he won’t believe it is absolute now. But it is. You haven’t seen a town being starved?’ John le Grant said.
‘For Carlotta? I’ll be most impressed if they do,’ Nicholas said. ‘That’s what your gun is for. Saving the face. Kyrenia’ll give in. The nasty one is going to be Famagusta. The Genoese won’t die for Carlotta, but they’ll let themselves be blown to bits before they’ll give up their port and their property. I reckon we’ll be investing Famagusta just about the time the next cane harvest comes in, so the sugar plans had better be perfect. And the dyeworks. Did you call at Nicosia? How is jasmine-breasted Diniz?’
‘I’ve brought you a report from Bartolomeo,’ said le Grant. ‘And another from Venice. Why don’t you let that little fool go? Zorzi says you’ve bought and paid for him.’
‘I’m waiting until I get over my temper,’ Nicholas said. ‘A report from Venice? How?’
‘From Gregorio. I’ve opened it. It was coming by galley, and one of Crackbene’s boats intercepted it. You know Crackbene’s been hired by Zacco? He’s running two royal galleys as well as our round ship.’
Unfolding the paper, Nicholas nodded and ran his eye down. It was addressed to the company, so contained nothing personal, naturally. News of the Bank, which looked promising, and which he would read in detail later. News of movements of loans dictated by national happenings. Venice was at war with the Ottomans: a short analysis warning him what that meant. Scotland was sheltering the English Lancastrian King and Queen; the Flemish Queen Mother was less powerful; the Bishop Kennedy more so. In Brussels, Duke Philip was better though aged, and Michael Alighieri of Trebizond, miraculously, was there as his chamberlain.
In Bruges, Tommaso Portinari was bent on making a name for himself and the Medici in the handling of alum. Anselm Adorne, discreet and wealthy as ever, was receiving few public offices under Duke Philip, for reasons unknown. He was, however, still on the friendliest terms with the Charetty company and the demoiselles Tilde and Catherine, about which notes from Julius were appended. Catherine, who had no stake in the company, was insisting stubbornly on attempting to supervise its every move. Tilde, older and swayed by other matters, vacillated between extreme interference and spending money on social pursuits. There were several young men –
‘It’s a pity about the Medici,’ John le Grant said.
There were several young men whom she favoured, and Julius –‘Yes?’ said Nicholas.
‘It says there. The company’s credit is over-extended. If Cosimo dies, his heirs will call on his debtors. That includes the Strozzi.’
And Julius was finding some trouble in fending them off. Godscalc was helping. They would be sorry to hear of the illness of Cosimo de’ Medici … ‘I don’t know why I bother to read it,’ Nicholas said, ‘if you’re going to tell me all of it. So the Strozzi will
be short of capital. So we put through an order for barillo at a good favourable price when the time comes. Loppe, can you do that?’
Loppe said, ‘There’s a boat in from Alexandria today, someone said. They’ll have news from Florence. I’ll ask at Salines. Where do you want the barillo delivered?’
‘Venice,’ said Nicholas. John le Grant was glaring at him.
John le Grant said, ‘You madman, are you going ahead with that? Did Gregorio lease the island?’
‘I hope so,’ Nicholas said. ‘Didn’t you come across that in the letter? Or no, it was in code. Here it is. Gregorio has leased the island. He thinks I’m mad too. He says all anybody is thinking of is the war with the Turks, and I ought to be thinking of that too. If they take Cyprus, they’ve got all our sugar.’
‘But then, you have another business in Venice. It makes sense to me,’ said Loppe blandly.
Nicholas looked up smiling from what else the letter had said in code which was hardly personal either, but something for his eye, and not that of anyone else. Gregorio, his perfect lawyer, had written: The Republic has received excellent news of your sugar prospects and those of the Corner estates, previously much disrupted by war. The market for Portuguese sugar is now as a result much depressed, the companies worst affected being those recently established and under-financed, such as St Pol & Vasquez. There is much distress over the death of Tristão Vasquez, and the lord Simon his wife’s brother publicly blames you for this, and for the detention of his wife and Tristão’s young son. Whether there is any truth in the accusation, you will know. But it is likely that, if he can find a ship and raise the money, Simon will either come to Cyprus or send there to make formal complaint. I do not need to tell you either that he regards your involvement with sugar as a direct attack on his livelihood.
‘Oh, dear,’ said Nicholas aloud. He turned the paper over. There were another three lines. Certain indications have come to my notice of abnormal business activity, not attributable to St Pol & Vasquez, which seems to be directed against the Bank, or against you in person. I shall watch; so should you.
‘Oh dear what?’ John le Grant said.
‘Gregorio. He thinks the House of Niccolò has attracted subversive attention, but has no positive evidence. Is your skin crawling? He probably dreamed about Diniz and his axe.’
‘Did you tell him about Diniz and his axe?’ said Loppe with extreme smoothness.
Nicholas said, ‘No, I didn’t. Simon’s going to be annoyed if he turns up and finds he’s got a little blue nephew. Perhaps I’ll tell him then.’
‘Simon’s going to turn up?’ Loppe said, missing out all the courtesies.
John le Grant said, ‘Aye, wait a bit. There’s something contradictory there. I can see this lord Simon blaming you for the death of the Portuguese. But what’s this about your stopping the woman and the boy getting home? The story we got was that the grandfather wouldn’t ransom them, and Simon wasn’t interested.’
‘The story we got,’ Nicholas said, ‘was that Jordan de Ribérac temporarily couldn’t afford it, and Simon was abroad and didn’t know about it. Presumably he’s come home and found out.’
‘Well, like enough. But he can still hardly blame you if it was his father’s fault. Unless –’
‘Unless Jordan de Ribérac put the blame on me, as of course he has done. One day,’ Nicholas said, ‘I must introduce you to Jordan de Ribérac. No problem of tunnelling, sapping or metal-casting will ever seem difficult to you again. Meanwhile, we have his son thinking of coming here. I think I really must find a way of getting rid of Katelina van Borselen soon. I can manage a war, a dyeworks and a sugar business, but with Simon as well, I’d have to work to a sand-glass.’ He stopped. His voice, it seemed to him, had grown a little shrill. He lowered it. ‘Right. I’d better tell Tobie I’m leaving, if I can find him. Whose piss is he drinking this morning?’
‘You put him on to it,’ John le Grant said. ‘Anyway, I’ve seen him already. Why didn’t you tell us about the Emperor David? We were in Trebizond too.’
‘I forgot,’ Nicholas said. He kept his voice resolutely down. ‘I thought you would be upset. I got confused after my wound. Zorzi begged me never to remind him of it.’
‘He remembered to bring out your camel,’ John le Grant said. ‘The Emperor might as well have stuck to his palace and fought on to the end. Or at the very least let Uzum Hasan and the White Sheep have Trebizond. That way, we could have stayed and gone on with the business.’
‘So we could,’ Nicholas said. ‘But that way, we should have missed Tzani-bey and Zacco and Cropnose and Valenza and Fiorenza and Katelina and Simon and Zorzi and laughter-loving Aphrodite herself. That black bloody cone out there, splitting its sides.’
They gazed at him like nurses. His head throbbing, Nicholas swore, and got to his feet, and went off to look at madder.
Four days later, he was at the opposite end of the island in the camp surrounding Kyrenia, engaged in long conciliatory sessions with Zacco inside his tent, and boisterous ones outside it, followed by other carefully orchestrated exchanges with Astorre and Thomas, Crackbene and Umfrid, and all his opposite numbers in the different sections of the army now investing Kyrenia.
The interviews with Zacco were not difficult: the King had quite enough intelligence to know that what John le Grant had told him was true. He merely wished to hear it from Nicholas, and to dispute with him, and perhaps frighten him, and then please him. Encounters with Zacco now took a certain pattern, with an occasional wild foray into the dangerous and the unexpected. Nicholas always enjoyed them.
Since the last occasion, however, he had had a taste of something he had almost forgotten. The day – the evening, the one rather full evening with the princesses of Naxos – had brought back, in its earlier part, the light, the swift, the allusive conversation of Trebizond where, among other luxuries, the Emperor had surrounded himself always with the best minds. Setting the black cone apart, Nicholas had long understood Urbino, who fought in order to buy for his library. On the other hand, there was wisdom to be acquired outside books, as Zacco had shown him. By Urbino’s age, perhaps, he himself might have discovered a balance that satisfied him. He wondered if such an idea might pass for another purpose, and decided that it would not, and he had better go and do something practical, such as reminding his men that they were supposed to be colleagues of the emir Tzani-bey.
It was, when you came to think of it, a tribute to Zacco’s skill that after eight months, Tzani-bey and he were in the same encampment, on the same campaign together. Of course the emir remembered, as he did, what had happened at the monastery of the cats, and afterwards. Those (including Primaflora) who knew of it would be entitled, he supposed, to regard the present armistice with astonished contempt. Then, four months ago, boarding the Hospitallers’ ship, Tzani-bey had been given orders to convince the Genoese that Zacco was no friend of Nicholas; and had treated those orders with licence. That had been witnessed by his own men. So, too, had the emir’s brutal success of two months ago, when, without consultation or compunction, Tzani-bey had used Greek fire to force the fall of St Hilarion.
In all their commerce, then and since, the emir’s public behaviour had been otherwise wholly correct; his attitude one of smiling formality. Away from Zacco’s eyes, matters were slightly different. Food went astray; powder destined for Astorre was diverted; the requirements for ablutions, for prayer oddly occurred when least safe and least convenient to Astorre and his men. To deal with it, as to deal with everything, one had to put oneself in the other man’s place. Until he had defeated Carlotta, until the Ottoman danger was past, Zacco could not do without Mameluke help; could not risk offending Cairo.
In his turn, Tzani-bey knew that Cairo sent to Cyprus only her dissidents. If they fought well, they might return to acclaim. If they slipped, Cairo would cut them off without compunction. He had to keep the goodwill of Zacco until Zacco was King of Cyprus. Equally, he would be well advised to prevent Zacco replacing
Egyptian with Western help which might – just might – end in sweeping Egypt from Cyprus. So Nicholas had given four months to educating Astorre to deal with the Mamelukes; to presenting to Tzani-bey the portrait of a young Flemish mercenary of modest ability with whom Tzani-bey could work without losing face or the slightest doubt of his own personal ascendancy. All this he continued to consolidate in the week or two it took to set up the cannon and begin, in a stolid way, to discharge it at the walls of Kyrenia. There would be time enough to deal with Tzani-bey. Time enough for the final protest that he had had planned, in loving detail, for a very long time. Cyprus, Island of Love. He thought of Katelina van Borselen at Kouklia, and wondered if the spirits of vengeance were on good or bad terms with the spirits of spring and fertility. He suspected they teamed up with one another. It didn’t stop him, any more than he knew it had stopped Katelina.
April had moved into May, and soon May would turn into June and high summer. The flowers, once so aromatic and fresh, were retiring, leaving thorn and dry earth and trickles of mud where the rivers had been. The wine he planned for began to come, and the fodder for animals. He initiated games, at which each section of the army in turn had a chance to shine. He had learned his lesson from the Genoese; from all those he could find who remembered other sieges that had failed through boredom, and bad provisioning. He continued to fraternise with everybody, extending his endeavours even to the Arab physician whose murderous potions had so mortified Tobie. In that instance, as it happened, the first approach had not come from Nicholas but from Abul Ismail himself, when Zacco had made one of his regular visits to the field hospital, Nicholas following.