Tobie felt sweat pour down his back. Don’t do it to me. Nicholas.
The red lips of the Sultan made a small movement. It might have been a smile. He said, “Indeed, good camel doctors are hard to find. I do not know whether I could match such munificence. Nor do you know what sort of lord you might have. And if your master were to fail, what skills can you offer?”
Nicholas said, “Lord, I am a dealer.”
“Who is not?” said the Sultan. “But there is occasion for good men of every race in the world of exchange. We are not against trade and, as you see, when we are pleased, we can be generous. For those who cross us, our justice is equally swift. For them, there are quick punishments, and slow ones. I shall consider your offer, and you will witness what the Gate of the Lord can demand. You may watch us dine.”
They kissed the carpet and backed to the cloths of the wall, where they were set to stand in a place of no honour, save that to watch the Sultan eat morning dinner was an honour unparalleled. Tobie pinned the brooch to his chest and stood clutching his quiver. Nicholas said, under his breath, “The black page. He’s grown. Doria’s present to Mahmud in Constantinople.”
They had taken away the Sultan’s fan and were spreading sewn towels before him, and laying one over his arm. Dishes came in. Tobie strangled. Nicholas, interpreting correctly, said, “He didn’t know us. He only saw us in Modon at night.” He stopped talking, because the clatter of tinned copper was ceasing. Every now and then, the Sultan would pick a piece from his dish and throw it to someone. The man in front of Tobie got a gobbet of meat smeared with prunes, and ate it obsequiously. Somewhere, a clerk was reading aloud in Arabic. It sounded learned. Then a long-necked instrument was carried in, and a man took it on his knee and plucked at it with a feather. Buffoons came in, and mutes performing a mime. Pagano Doria came in.
It should not, of course, have seemed shocking. In the recent long, alarming talks between himself and Godscalc, Astorre and Nicholas, the possible defection of Doria had been the first topic. Doria needed a patron, and would choose before long. Now his choice was apparent.
The risk to themselves they had discussed also. Well disguised, in a camp of this size, they should have no trouble in avoiding Doria. They had hardly expected to find themselves in the same pavilion. But even here, they were safely disposed in the rear, with many ranks of men standing before them. And Pagano Doria was a very short man, though a charming one. They could glimpse him kissing the carpet, and then rising, his hat in his hand. His doublet was satin, his best; and his skin was becomingly flushed and his large eyes were open and sparkling. “Illustrious lord,” said Pagano Doria.
Beside Tobie, Nicholas was perfectly still. Tobie wondered what he was thinking. From the beginning, Doria had attacked and teased and frustrated him: from the first meeting with Godscalc at Porto Pisano to the little scheme to discredit Julius before the Medici. Then, growing in virulence, the other sallies had followed. The fire on the galley at Modon. The betrayal of Julius and John. The deliberate onslaught against Nicholas at the Vavuk pass and the attempt at the Tzycanisterion. Since then there had been others, of which Nicholas had said almost nothing.
And yet, in return, Nicholas had not tried to kill Doria, or even to injure him. He had merely done what he had done before, to those he found inconvenient. He had ruined him, completely and thoroughly; so that he was present now, suing the Sultan. In Modon, confronting a weeping, inarticulate man, Tobie had thought that nothing would stop Nicholas from obliterating this useless, conscienceless hedonist, who had seduced a child for the sake of her inheritance. Only subsequently had he seen that to Nicholas, Doria was negligible. Nicholas understood him. In an odd way, he and Doria had much in common. It was the directing presence of Simon that Nicholas had found insupportable.
So what, now, did he think, watching Doria the traitor? Doria, who must have arrived after dawn and already made his presence known, for the Sultan was saying, “We have taken note of the message you sent, and of the meeting you have had with our Vizier. You know that a further communication was carried this morning to the tekvour of Trebizond?”
“To the Emp—Yes, illustrious lord,” said Pagano Doria.
“One will read you its terms,” said the Sultan. He balanced a sliver of peach and began, with red lips and tongue, to consult it. His teeth were ill-shaped and white. The same clerk’s voice began to intone, in bad Greek.
To the Emperor of Trebizond of the Imperial Family of the Hellenes. Mehmet the Great King declares: You see how great a distance I have travelled to invest this your territory. If you now surrender your capital, I shall present you with lands, as I did Demetrius, prince of Morea, on whom I bestowed riches, islands and the beautiful city of Aenos. He is now living at peace, and is happy. But if you do not, know that annihilation faces your city. For I will not leave until I have levelled the walls and killed all who live there, with ignominy.
The voice ceased. The Sultan said. “And you, master Genoese consul, were in the City when my envoy arrived? How was this received?”
“With cries, my lord; and expressions of fear and of grief, and supplications for mercy.”
“It became known to the people?”
“Immediately,” said Pagano Doria. “I fear, before the Emperor himself had so much as heard the words of your secretary.”
“And the Emperor?”
“Was shaken by your lordship’s dread name. His advisers have already told him resistance is useless, and your message confirmed it. He is preparing his answer.”
“Which will say?”
“Who but his closest advisers could tell? But it is known that the letters, the further letters promising safety from the mother of the Emperor’s nephew have greatly affected him. He is thought to be framing a reply that will offer your illustrious lordship all your lordship desires. He will relinquish his empire. He will ask your lordship to take in marriage his younger daughter, an exquisite virgin called Anna.”
Nicholas flushed, and Tobie straightened. Without looking, he felt for the other man’s arm and closed around it the grip that could draw teeth from camels. Without speaking, he held it.
“Perhaps,” said the Sultan. He dispatched the peach, without interest.
Doria said, “Or there is a charming child Alexios. A nephew. Who has a beautiful mother.” Tobie tightened his grasp.
“Perhaps,” said the Sultan again. He dipped his hands in a bowl. It was gold, rimmed with rubies. “You spoke of arms?”
Doria’s face, already bright, brightened further. He was happy to speak further of arms. He was ready and willing to give a detailed report of the arms he had brought with him from Flanders: their type, their number, their quality. His Turkish was almost as good as his Greek.
“And you wish us to have them. A gift,” said the Sultan.
“Naturally,” Doria said, smiling still. “Who else could be worthy?”
“You have buried them outside the walls, Mahmud tells me. And since, in these dangerous times, it might be unwise for you to return now to Trebizond, you would not object to our sending ourselves to recover them? By the time they are here you will be free to go where you wish. If we do not possess the City by then, our entry cannot be long deferred. This is agreeable?”
“My lord!” said Doria; and kissed the carpet with rapture.
“It is well. Tursun Beg will find quarters for you. You will hear from us. I do not stint, as others have learned today, when I am satisfied. You may leave. And our other guests. We would sleep.”
In their own tent, Tobie said, “Keep your voice down. We knew he would probably do this. It doesn’t make any difference.”
“Anna!” Nicholas said; and Tobie realised, yet again, that the issue was not Pagano Doria.
Tobie said, “I don’t believe what Doria was saying. I don’t believe the Emperor would talk about total surrender, even with Amiroutzes beside him. Don’t you think Doria would tell any tale to ingratiate himself with the Sultan? He can’t fe
tch the armour himself, but he can tell the Sultan where the Spahis can dig for it. They won’t pay him, perhaps, but he’ll get what he wants. Exclusive trading rights under the Sultan.”
“Or fur-lined small clothes,” said Nicholas. He was beginning to get hold of himself, although his hat still lay where he had thrown it, and his face was drawn and tight.
Tobie said encouragingly, “He’ll probably die anyway. We’ll probably all die together.” He broke off quickly. There was a trampling at the mouth of the tent. He had, however, been whispering. All the same, Nicholas bent and slipped a hand into and out of his saddlebag. The tent flap opened and the handsome black page held a pose in the entrance, keeping the tent flap apart. Below the pristine folds of the turban, his eyes were large and white-ringed and knowing. He said, “There they are.”
So Doria’s servant had recognised them. Tobie felt tired. After all they had attempted, it seemed a pity that it should end by pure accident. The page had told Mahmud Pasha his master and Mahmud Pasha, too great a man to trouble himself, had probably sent Tursun Beg to deal with the impostors. Tursun Beg, who would recall very well his loss of face at Constantinople. And the ways to die in Islam were many and varied. You were flayed alive; or pulled up on a pulley and dropped on a ganching hook, or beaten to pulp in a mortar. When the tide changed, the Golden Horn was sometimes covered with mats, a floating corpse under each. Someone bent his neck—not very far—and walked into the tent, leaving the page at the door. It was Pagano Doria.
“Messer Doria,” said Nicholas politely. His anger had vanished. Indeed, standing at his full and quite considerable height, he was smiling. Tobie was aware of a strong inclination to back from them both. He waited for the Janissaries.
Doria said, “Master Tobias! I have no quarrel with you. A few words with the Florentine consul here: that is all I should like. You remember Noah, of course.”
The page had walked forward. Taller, but still little more than a child. Tobie waited, measuring the space for his jump. Doria said, “My knife says you won’t do it, Messer Tobias. Or Niccolò dies.”
He had Nicholas by the arm, and a blade pressed to his throat. He wondered how Doria could have moved so swiftly; and how Nicholas could have failed to stop him. Doria said, “I fear, dear doctor, that you must allow Noah to bind you. There is rope.”
It didn’t take long. The little bastard knew how to tie knots, and how to make them hurt. He wasn’t gagged. Of course, if he shouted, he would only bring Turks down upon them, to whom Doria would expose them as spies. Tobie wondered why he hadn’t brought soldiers with him. He wasn’t going to let Nicholas escape, or himself; that was certain.
Before Noah had completed his job, Doria had found the knife in Nicholas’s sash, and slotted it, far out of reach, in the door flap. Then, keeping his own, he stepped back. He was smiling. He said, “It had my name on it, after all. I hope you don’t mind. And this, as you will have noticed, is its companion.” He turned his head. “Noah?”
Tobie, remorselessly bound, lay on the floor and watched Noah nod and go out. Doria, standing himself just inside the door, said to Nicholas, “Sit. On the ground. Or your doctor is dead. As you both will be, presently. And Sara Khatun, I make no doubt. Noah tells me she has passed you off as her camel doctor.”
Nicholas sat, crosslegged as the Sultan had done. He said, “I thought you would bring Tursun Beg.”
“Noah has gone to call him,” said Doria. There was a chest by the door, and he sat on it. He said, “I never enjoyed a game more. I wanted to tell you so. I never dreamed you would get those soldiers to Trebizond. The plague scare: it was genius. You seduced Violante—you! How? Peasant crudities she had never enjoyed? You stole my silver. You pre-empted all my purchases at Erzerum and had them sent through to Bursa, leaving me bankrupt. Catherine didn’t like that. I blame you for the change in Catherine. Oh, yes: I feel I owe you something for that. And you were so active! Transporting the Empress to Georgia! It might have got you the thanks of a nation, but of course it resulted in nothing. Like the trick with the mule-train which took your silk into the Citadel. I shall get it now,” said Pagano Doria. “And the galley, wherever she is. You made a lot of mistakes.”
“Did I?” said Nicholas. He sat, a hand on each foot. He looked puzzled.
“Well, your man Julius,” Doria said. “You lost him at Vavuk. You failed to do anything for the Venetians. They’ll lose all their stock, and the Signory will have no good opinion of the merchant adventurers of the Charetty company, not to mention the lady Violante and her husband. I shall have to make the company’s peace with them.”
“Once you’ve found Catherine,” Nicholas said. “You can’t get the Charetty without her.”
“That is true,” said Doria cheerfully. “But your colleagues will help. I feel sure of it. They’re only human, after all, and Turks excel in obtaining answers to questions. I shall have to go to Bruges, and Louvain. Your wife ought to retire. Twice a widow, what is there left but a convent where she can take up embroidery, and watch men’s affairs from her window? Catherine will take care of her sister, and I shall keep Catherine content with many children. Heirs to the Charetty business. You should be pleased. An infusion of superior blood.”
“And Simon?” said Nicholas.
Pagano Doria smiled. “There are rich pickings for others round the fringe of a feud. You didn’t realise that? Two men who dislike each other never notice the third on their backs. Simon will be no trouble to me. With the fortune I shall have made. I shall pay him some small profit and be done with him. Money was never his motive: just to rid himself of you. As yours was to rid yourself of him, and continue to stand well with your wife. You complained over your poor little stepdaughter, but you did nothing, did you, until you were forced to? I’ve enjoyed watching you,” said Pagano Doria. “But really, you were in want of experience.”
“You did your best,” Nicholas said. He spoke in pure Tuscan now, and very clearly. “All those bath boys, of assorted sizes and colours. Violante. I forget what else. Do you remember their faces? Does one ever mean more to you than another? Can you simulate well enough to attach them to you? I should have found it hard.”
“Their faces?” said Doria, and laughed. “What do you want me to say: that lovers don’t change, or grow tedious? Women cling. Bath boys grow into shaved men with thick voices. I take my pleasure. I leave it, and go to pick other flowers. Where there is money, I can exercise patience. I shall keep Catherine. Unless she becomes insupportable, I shall keep her. But even money,” said Pagano Doria, “is not everything. A calf is one thing; a cow is another. From that point of view, I have saved you some trouble. You won’t die from disgust in your bed, or killed because of your infidelities. Although I fear they are hard on spies here. It’s a pity.”
“I must point out,” Nicholas said, “that you are here as well.”
“As a merchant,” Doria said. “That is the difference. The marketplace changes hands: the wise man transfers his business to the new owner. Bringing, if he is lucky, some goodwill; an offer of friendship.”
“Tobie cured his camel,” Nicholas said.
Doria stared, and then laughed. “You’re not a coward. But of course, you’re here as a spy. You’re in disguise, and the White Sheep have sponsored you. Violante’s doing, I suppose. And Sara Khatun’s. She saw the end of Trebizond coming, as you did; and planned to leave you as her spy with the Sultan. She is old. She may not pay the ultimate penalty. But the Charetty company will be in other hands soon. I don’t suppose,” Pagano Doria said, “that the Sultan pays much attention to powers of attorney.”
“You assume the Emperor will give up?”
“Of course,” said Doria. “Didn’t you believe what you heard? The Emperor has already replied, most unwisely. Surrender, of course, and the girl Anna to wife. I hope the Sultan isn’t really expecting a beauty. But impossible terms, couched in the most imperious manner. The Emperor expects this kind of settlement, and will accept nothing l
ess than that value of property. Amiroutzes would never have advised such an answer. The Sultan was almost provoked into storming the place in his anger, till that clever lady Sara set herself to pacify him.”
“He couldn’t have stormed it,” Nicholas said. “Unless George Amiroutzes has imprisoned all the defenders.”
“You’re thinking of your captain Astorre,” said Doria fondly. “No. Of course, George would do nothing that would damage his public reputation. Indeed, rumour has it that he’s had to offer a hostage to Mehmet. He has chosen his younger, less intelligent son, the godson of Cardinal Bessarion. Basil will, of course, cling to his faith despite torture, and the cardinal will hasten to ransom him. Is there anything else you wanted to know? You will have to talk quickly.”
Tobie, too, had heard the tramp of approaching feet, and the jingle of metal. He thought of all the things that Nicholas had not been able to say; and wondered if he could have found the hardihood to remain silent. Not to proclaim that Julius was safe, with goods and galley waiting at Kerasous; for Doria would rush with the news to the Sultan. Not to deny that they were spies of Uzum Hasan, for it wouldn’t help the Khatun, who had acknowledged them. Doria blamed him for the wreck of his marriage. But, prevented by Godscalc, Nicholas had left Catherine alone until she herself had asked for asylum.
The search for Catherine, he was sure, would be ugly. He only hoped Godscalc and the rest would escape what was threatened. It had long been agreed what should happen if he and Nicholas failed to return. The sailing date had already been passed on to Julius. No matter what happens: no matter who comes or does not come, set out for home by the eighteenth day of August.
It was the fourteenth today. Four short days. If he were a praying man, he would pray the others got to Kerasous before the ship left. And home to Bruges, to tell the demoiselle her young husband was dead, and warn her of what was now coming. For what had happened last year would be as nothing to this.
The booted feet stopped outside the tent, and Noah drew the flap once more aside. Nicholas rose. Between the dyed hair and the beard his face was pale and quite composed, as it always was in extremity. The page Noah stepped inside the door, ignoring Tobie, and like a talking bird with only one phrase announced, “There he is.”