Caprice and Rondo - Dorothy Dunnett [133]
‘The Great Patriarch has been here,’ said Mengli-Girey. ‘My father — O blessed and exalted is he! — my father received him.’
Nicholas knew that. They hadn’t dared blindfold Father Ludovico, nor had they required him to kneel. All priests were thought to be lucky. The Genoese had been lucky for the khanate as well, managing their commerce and making them wealthy. When Mengli-Girey’s father had died, the Genoese had enabled this shrewd man to succeed him, although he was not the eldest son, and two of his brothers had to be locked up with Genoese connivance. They were still in prison in Soldaia. In return, Mengli-Girey had reduced the amount of the Genoese tribute and would certainly (they believed) help them resist any onslaught by the Turks.
Nicholas said, ‘You have the Patriarch’s letter. He asks your help. And I, in my turn, have to offer you what aid is in my power.’
‘You lead armies?’ It was the Circassian, sneering.
Nicholas looked at him. ‘I used to own one. It fought in Cyprus, as you probably know.’
‘Against the Genoese. Against a Mameluke company.’
‘It ended a war. The truth about the Mamelukes you probably know. And the Sultan Qayt Bey was able, as a result, to increase the sum of his tribute from Cyprus. Certainly, he has continued to favour my Bank, both when I was concerned with it, and since.’
The Circassian looked at the Khan. ‘For what it is worth, this is the man, lord,’ he said.
There was a silence. One of the women, who had been playing with her delicate hands, gave a pretty cough. The Khan’s black eyes gleamed between their pursed lids. He said, ‘We are sure it is. We beg him to rise and be seated, that we may learn what we have done to deserve such generosity. Only a colleague of the Great Patriarch would bring us coffers so delightfully filled. Unless you mean their contents for some other potentate?’
‘No, indeed. All that is there was intended for you, lord,’ Nicholas said. It was true of the velvet, at least. His eye rested, with some regret, on his excellent razor and a sash he had found rather useful. He supposed his weapons were already impounded.
‘We receive them with gratitude. You will take some refreshment?’ said the Khan. ‘Later, you will be shown to your lodging. And in the days to come, we shall talk.’
There was a choice of rice wine, or the fermented liquors of millet, mare’s milk, or honey. He took rice wine because he felt like it, and not because it would make very much difference. Drink, to a Tartar, was in its excess a measure of friendship as well as virility, although they would not (they said) drink themselves senseless like animals, but would achieve it like men, to the sound of the harp, or a boy singing, or a bard reciting a poem.
After the women had gone, the Khan left his seat of state and sat with the men, while stories were exchanged and jokes told. As the singers exhausted their repertoire or were dismissed, the Khan would call on one of the company for a song. Once, the choice fell upon a snub-nosed Tartar of middle years whose quick reactions Nicholas had already marked out. He looked as if he would be better pleased solving problems than sitting at drink. He was named as Karaï Mirza, and he sang, without overmuch tune, a ditty so long and so hilarious that he was clearly famous for it. Then, when they had finished hammering him on the shoulders, the Circassian suggested that Niccolò, the non-Venetian, should favour them with a song.
He had been considering, since it began, what to do.