‘You wouldn’t shirk murder,’ said Nicholas. ‘One other person at least recognized that: you’ve just seen him. Perhaps I might have been safe. With Zacco, you have influence, but he shares the pleasures of his bed among many, and the starving, as we know, are not his first concern. It would please you very much to be served by us both.’
‘One for power, and one for love,’ she said. ‘You do understand. He is like one of his leopards. He waits for nothing, learns nothing. You learned too much. How to rule your heart with your head.’
‘I was trained by a baccalaureate,’ he said. ‘And, of course, you used the same skills, the same subtlety to take away life, Primaflora. I was at Kalopetra. I heard of the ambush. I saw Katelina wearing that veil and I saw what happened. Who told you that insects drove her mad?’
‘I don’t remember,’ she said; and turned and picked up his package, smoothing it.
‘So someone told you,’ he said. ‘And you know what I am speaking about. What a death you sent her to. A valley of serpents, and a shawl impregnated to drive her crazy with horror.’
‘It was the Queen’s,’ she said. ‘I left it with the Queen.’ The packet had fallen open in her twisting fingers. It was, of course, the blue and silver emblem of his Order, with its legend. To remain loyal. If he had died, that is what she would have received.
She said, ‘Which of them gave this to you? The Queen or her worst enemy, Zacco?’
It had come from both sides, and he had accepted it. He said, ‘It was a counter. A counter in the same game.’
She studied the badge, moving her thumbs over its surface. Tonight, she had dressed her hair formally. He noticed the pearls in her bent, pleated head, and the golden wisps shadowed her cheeks. She said, ‘With your mind so made up, I shan’t plead.’
He said nothing. On the nape of her neck was a mole. She had another. If you inhaled carefully, you could name each of the scents she used, and tell from where it was breathing. She sat like a child, with her knees together. She said, ‘You will tell Zacco this?’ She looked up.
Nicholas rose. She flinched as if she thought he would strike her, and he halted. Then he said, ‘No. The King’s pride would prevent him from believing me, and he would hate us both. In any case, there has been talking enough. They are all dead or gone, whom you hurt most.’
‘But you will find a way to punish me,’ said Primaflora. She stood.
‘Oh, yes,’ Nicholas said. ‘I have done so already.’
‘How?’ she said.
‘By depriving you of what you want most,’ he said. ‘A king’s house, a king’s bed, a secure future, a patron, a husband. After Zacco, you can hope for no help from Carlotta. And if you ever wanted me as I still want you, that, too, is lost to you. One word in the right place can do more harm than an axe, as you have shown. You will know when it has been spoken.’
He didn’t know whether she realised what he was going to do. She didn’t speak. There was nothing more he wanted to say, even if speech had not just become difficult. He walked to the door, leaving her where she stood. Loppe was outside. He heard her voice as he left. It said, ‘You have forgotten Jordan de Ribérac.’
Because he was full of grim anger, and a very private variety of anguish, Nicholas talked to Loppe in brief outbursts on the way back to the villa and was still talking when Tobie met him in rage on the threshold. He had no memory afterwards of going to bed.
The next morning, he woke to find Astorre at his bedside. The captain, fully dressed and freshly returned, no doubt, from a practice bout in the courtyard, said, ‘I thought I’d have a word before the rest finished at table. You’re not married any more?’
With extreme clarity, Nicholas remembered that he was not married any more. He said, ‘Dispositions are being made, I hear, to end the arrangement. Why?’ He moved cautiously and found his limbs, although stiff, seemed to answer him. He contemplated what appeared to be a permanent condition of nausea.
Astorre said, ‘Thomas told us it wouldn’t work. I can’t say I’m sorry. But what about the fat Frenchman?’
The fat Frenchman. Nicholas said, ‘Oh. The vicomte de Ribérac. He’s here to cause trouble. I don’t think he’ll manage it. Anyway, he’s going to be paid for and sent home. Waves of hate coming from Portugal, but I suppose we can deal with that. Astorre friend, I did promise a conference. Can this wait?’
Astorre twitched back the bedclothes, inspected the bandages and flung them over his charge’s body again. ‘I said you should’ve dodged that one,’ he said. ‘But you weren’t bad. No. If I wait, they’ll make up your mind for you. You’ve seen two nasty sieges, and you’re recoiling against the whole thing.’
He was awake now. Nicholas battened down the entire seething entity of what was actually happening and put himself in Astorre’s place. He said, ‘You’re wondering about the future of the army. It seems possible that I’ll be offered the citadel of Sigouri and its estates, which would give work for a garrison, unless Cairo has other ideas. If the Turks begin to prevail over Venice, Cyprus may well be in danger, and Zacco will need all the help he can get. On the other hand, we’ve done what we’ve contracted to do. Would you go for a war somewhere else?’
Astorre sat back. ‘You’d think of it?’
‘I might not go with you, but I’d think of it. Unless you’d rather be on your own?’
‘I could. It comes expensive,’ said the captain.
‘The Bank would back you. It amounts to the same thing. You know the best wars, in any case. What is there?’
He got up in cautious stages and limped to the privy, and thought afterwards that Astorre had hardly noticed, in his enthusiasm, that he was barely within earshot. He dressed. ‘… Skanderbeg?’ Astorre was saying. ‘Doing fine. Paid by Venice to create diversions against Constantinople. Limited, of course. Asked the Pope to give him land in Italy in case he has to retreat. God-awful discipline and terrible sheepskins. I wouldn’t think of Skanderbeg, not at the moment.’
‘No,’ said Nicholas.
‘The Naples war’s finished. Ferrante holds all the kingdom except Ischia, where John of Calabria’s been stuck hoping, they say, for a fleet. He might get one ship, like the Adorno. I don’t think he’ll get even one ship. Naples is safe. Dripping roast. Hell of a pity. They don’t need an army.’
‘No,’ said Nicholas.
‘England and France have made peace, God damn them both. Scotland wasn’t included, although that Flemish Queen of theirs was supposed to back the Lancastrian Queen, the daughter of René of Anjou. But they say the Flemish Queen’s dying. D’you want to support the daughter of René of Anjou?’
’emphatically not,’ Nicholas said.
‘Oh? Well, there isn’t much else. The Malatesta war’s finished. He got beaten. You wouldn’t believe it, after all those years. Piccinino’s dropped John of Calabria and gone over to the Duke of Milan. The French King’s causing plenty of trouble – you knew him?’
‘Louis of France. Yes, I knew him.’
‘He’s trying to lord it over Savoy, and he’s persuaded that old fool of Burgundy to sell him back all his frontier towns. He’s going to cause trouble.’
‘Is that all?’ said Nicholas.
‘It’s not very good, is it?’ said Astorre in a depressed way. ‘There’s only the Crusade.’
‘The what?’ said Nicholas. He was dressed, and hunting a hairbrush. His bandages stuck, and someone had sutured his stomach.
‘Well, the what,’ said Astorre. ‘I know it’s not likely to happen. Louis keeps saying he’ll pour in money for warships, but he’s really milking the clergy to pay for the Somme towns, not a war. The Pope’s made a pact with the Duke of Burgundy and Venice, so they say, but the Duke of Burgundy’s old and ailing, and needs all his wits to watch France. Of course the Pope’s got all this money.’
‘From the alum mines,’ Nicholas said. ‘You reckon you ought to join the Pope?’
Astorre’s beard assumed several angles, and his sewn eye
adopted a frown. He said, ‘I won’t say it’s not tempting. Direct war, and no sieges. You’d quite like it.’
Nicholas sat. He said, ‘We’re looking for something that suits you, not me.’
Astorre went red. He said, ‘It’s your money. But out of a poor lot, I’d take the Crusade.’
‘All right,’ said Nicholas, standing up. ‘Let’s go and put it to the others. But don’t let’s take too long. De Ribérac will be busy. And Zacco’s expecting me, I am told, at the Palace.’
He said that in self-defence but, when he and Astorre joined Tobie, Loppe and John le Grant at table, the next exchange was not as trying as he’d feared. From Loppe, by his wish, they already knew the truth about Primaflora as well as the course of the confrontation with Jordan de Ribérac. As a result, they greeted him with unnatural silence. Loppe rose when he entered and busied himself finding something bland he could swallow. John le Grant looked up, scrutinised him, and then went back to eating. Only Tobie spoke in a growl. ‘You need those bandages changed, or they’ll pull. I thought you knew all about medicine?’ His withering glare at Astorre was more in his usual manner.
Nicholas sat and said, ‘I have to see the King. I don’t know what mischief de Ribérac may be preparing, but perhaps we ought to clear our minds about what we want to do first. Should Diniz be here?’
John le Grant said, ‘He didn’t sleep in the villa. I hope he hasn’t gone to slaughter the Zorzi. Bartolomeo didn’t come to the yard as usual this morning.’
Remembering yesterday, Nicholas thought it unlikely that Diniz had gone off to quarrel with anyone, and could perfectly understand why the last person Diniz wanted to meet was himself. In his shoes, he would have spent the night drinking, and probably whoring. Whoring, very publicly, with a girl. He withdrew his mind from that particular happening and returned to what mattered to all of them. He said, ‘Well, Mick Crackbene? Could someone fetch him with Umfrid this afternoon? Or is he at the Palace?’
‘In his own lodgings, so far as I know,’ Tobie said. ‘You really think we have to give up the villa?’
‘I really think I want to give up the villa,’ said Nicholas. ‘And I think I can dispense with the delights of the capital. I don’t know what you want to do. So far as I know, we have Kouklia still, or at least the royal licence to run it. There are sugar estates in other places, and these we could run on our own. One is linked with Sigouri, and that might mean keeping the army there. One is Palekythro, about eight miles to the north-east of this place. There are vineyards in the fiefs I’ve been given. But Astorre’s inclination is to look for a war somewhere else. That rather rules out Sigouri, but means we could settle for other estates, and I could run them, or put in a manager, or any or all of you could help me. On the other hand, Astorre will need a proper complement if he’s to go off again on his own. Cook, doctor, accountant, company priest.’
‘Engineer?’ said John le Grant.
‘If you want,’ said Astorre. He looked pleased. ‘You might waste yourself. It earns big money, the kind of work you do.’
John le Grant said, ‘Nobody wants to stay and defend Cyprus? Or Nicholas is giving up war for his shop-keeping?’
‘Something like that,’ Nicholas said. ‘Luckily, Astorre isn’t giving up war. The Bank will support him. He’s hankering at present after a full-scale seaborne attack against the Sultan Mehmet. On the other hand, there’s work here for engineers and for shipmasters. Famagusta has to be repaired, ships raised, the harbour made fit for business. What about anyone else? Tobie? Your experiments?’
Tobie still had his cap on. It made him look like a normal physician. He said, ‘Is this a choice? Go with the army or stay with the sugar? Or are you going to do anything new?’
‘There’s the Bank,’ Nicholas said. ‘I haven’t been in Venice since Gregorio really established it. There’s a house. I bought some land in the lagoon. There’s a galley at Venice, and some day we’ll part the King from our round ship. The sugar can manage quite well with a manager and some supervision. We’ve missed out on the refineries, but there might be something else we could develop further west. All we have is in the Levant, and it’s risky.’
‘Because of the Turks?’ Tobie said.
‘And other reasons,’ Nicholas said. ‘You remember Henry, the Duchess of Burgundy’s brother? He ran a school of navigation in Portugal. The idea was to find a spice route round about Africa. It’s a good idea. But whoever does it will ruin everyone who depends on the Eastern route including the merchants in Alexandria and Cyprus and the Venetian and Genoese colonies in the east. Meanwhile, sugar’s beginning in Madeira already. The island is fertile, it can draw on slave labour, it could send scores of ships to Lisbon in season to feed the growing sweet tooth of Western Europe, and the price of sugar will drop. Combine that with a new route for importing spices, and you can see that the African coast is where trade will develop, and Venetian banks will feel the chill from it. I don’t want ours to be one of them.’
‘Africa? Portugal?’ Tobie said. He had flushed. Nicholas knew what, alone of them all, he was thinking of.
Nicholas said, ‘Simon’s there. I don’t want to stir him up. On the other hand, the vicomte seems to think he’s set on stopping us. He could, if we stayed in the East and he swamped Europe with sugar and spices.’
‘Diniz?’ said John le Grant, without looking up.
Nicholas said, ‘No, my dear John. I am not using him as a spy.’
‘All right,’ said Tobie. ‘But you’ve said nothing of Bruges. That’s your market. That’s where the Charetty company is, even though you’re no more than an observer.’
‘An interested observer. They’re my step-daughters,’ Nicholas said. ‘Tilde owns the Charetty company. I haven’t forgotten her or Catherine. Or Godscalc and Julius. They may have ideas what we should do. But the House of Niccolò isn’t in Bruges, it’s in Venice. If it’s anywhere. You may not want to continue with it. If you don’t, you can take what you’re owed. That won’t be a small amount, either. The rent of the casals and the ship, the fee for the army, the profit from all the sugar, the new land we’ve been given amounts to a very greal deal.’
‘Do you want us?’ said John le Grant. He sat back, his arms folded, and regarded Nicolas from his freckled face with its shock of roaring red hair. He said, ‘No. I’ll say that in a different way. I could stay with the Bank, but do my work independently. Tobie could stay with the army, or at Kouklia, or hire himself out as a doctor, and still remain on your strength. Loppe could stay and manage the sugar, or the fiefs, or join Gregorio in Venice, or partner you in Spain or Portugal or Africa or wherever your lunatic ideas will take you. Crackbene could run a fleet here, or operate a ship for you anywhere there is a cargo you wanted to carry. I think we all want to stay with the Bank, although I can’t speak for Julius and Godscalc. But do you want to be alone?’
It was, of course, the question he should have been asking himself, and the question he had avoided. It was linked with Bruges and the Venetians; with the insidious princesses of Trebizond, with Primaflora and Katelina and the Mamelukes and most of all, with the warring Lusignans. No, not most of all. Most of all, with Famagusta.
Nicholas said, ‘There’s what I want, and there’s what is best for the company. I may think I’ve seen all I want to of war, but I can’t walk away from it. Someone said it’s no fun any more, now that it’s not a sport but a profession. It never was a sport. It happens, and someone has to deal with it. Because Astorre’s good, he does what he has to do cleanly and as well as he can. But the decisions are made by his masters: by Urbino or Malatesta or Ferrante or France or Milan. If the masters are at odds with one another, or self-seeking, or ineffective or just young and learning the business, you get a Famagusta. If you have the money and power to control wars, you can put in good management. Men will follow that.’
‘You’re talking about standing armies,’ said John le Grant. ‘Tell that to the burghers of Bruges, and see what they say.’
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‘Not necessarily,’ Nicholas said.
‘A White Company?’ Tobie said. ‘A really big mercenary troop that can virtually win wars on its own? Have you thought what that means?’
‘He hasn’t thought about anything,’ said John le Grant. ‘Except that after that bitch Primaflora he doesn’t want to take orders from a Lusignan any more, and that means he must find his own money if he wants to move in circles of power. Am I right?’
He was insolent. He was wrong. Whether or not Nicholas wished to work with and under Zacco, the link had been severed, and would never now be restored. Or not in a way that would serve any purpose. Rizzo di Marino, Sor de Naves, William Goneme would guide Zacco into the future and, although his business might well stay and flourish, he would have a passing friendship at best, and not the deep-dyed and constant companionship that was the way to the King’s heart and mind. Nicholas said, ‘If you keep talking, I’ll probably believe you. We’re too close to events. We don’t know yet what Zacco will do. We don’t know what Jordan de Ribérac may threaten him with. We have to set our own ideas in order. We’ll meet and talk it over again. But think of this. We should consider Gregorio. When we can, we should gather in Venice.’
‘And visit your island. You had barillo sent there. What,’ said Tobie with sudden irritation, ‘what in God’s name do you make with barillo?’
‘Ask Alessandra Macinghi negli Strozzi and her sons,’ remarked Loppe. ‘Master Nicholas? You knew the King wished to see you? He has sent a precise command. You have an audience with him at noon.’
Once, he saw the King whenever he pleased. Once, he was married to Primaflora. ‘I shall be there,’ Nicholas said.
Chapter 47
NICHOLAS RODE from his villa on Chennaa, who was in love with him again, and walked alone into Zacco’s Palace to greet the servants he knew, and be led to the royal apartments, which were full of light and sunshine and noise and eager faces. He remembered most of them from days of celebration rather than days of fighting: some were new to him. It was strange, still, to see clean, well-fed bodies with springing hair and fresh clothes and no smell anywhere but the usual kind, and a good deal of scent.