Caprice and Rondo - Dorothy Dunnett [135]
‘There are invisible taxes, and invisible payments,’ Nicholas said. He sat cross-legged as the other man did, his skirts spread about him, a cup of qumiz in his hands. The mare’s milk was fermented here, but the cup was Syrian-made, its lotus motifs from Cathay. He continued without haste. ‘The Genoese contracted Michelozzi to work on their fortifications in the island of Chios. The Grand Duke of Moscow has bought the military engineer Fioravanti, they say, and the Italian who rebuilt the defences of Caffa no doubt contributed to these walls.’
‘You are an engineer, an architect?’ the Tartar said. His tone was polite.
‘I have access to such,’ Nicholas said. ‘I know the worth of the mercenaries who were once in my employ, and their guns. I have had some success, myself, in the field of infiltration and battle strategy. On the other hand, the Khan’s present dispositions may be more than adequate. I have no means of judging.’
The half-closed eyes twinkled. ‘It is perhaps your skills in infiltration which have denied you the means,’ said Karaï Mirza. ‘As you will have noticed, one blindfolds a cheetah when hunting.’
‘On the road, to be sure. But in the field, one must release and then trust him. Will the great Mengli-Girey allow me to survey his citadel?’ Nicholas said.
‘I shall ask,’ the other man said. The meeting broke up, and he left. Very much later, he returned. ‘The Khan understands your dislike of confinement. He invites you to hunt for a day or two with him. The deer season has opened, and he would also wish to try his new hawks. You have heard of them?’
Everyone had. Caffa sent fifty white falcons to Constantinople each year, as part of its other, Ottoman tribute. Occasionally, the Golden Horde got a sweetener, too. Running a trading colony in the Levant came expensive.
The hunt, as might be guessed, was both a test and a chance to display the Khan’s riches and vigour. Five hundred men and eighty couples of greyhounds went with them, with wagons carrying food and bedding, tents and furnishings. The Khan, wearing his spired helm and cuirass, killed his animals jirgeh-style, with the beasts rounded up and driven towards him. He took a boar, though, himself, and another nearly took Nicholas. Abdan Khan, who was meant to be his partner, did nothing to save him. Since their initial encounter, the Circassian from Mánkup had been little seen, and seldom deigned to address the Khan’s guest. In the hunting-ground, they were occasionally paired, but did not meet for the most part until the tents were raised in the evening, when the uproarious drinking and dancing began, and Abdan Khan would initiate some contest for Mengli-Girey’s amusement.
Nicholas, prayerfully steering a course designed to earn him neither death nor contempt, refused some of the invitations tauntingly put in his way, and accepted others. He was becoming increasingly irritated. It was unfortunate, therefore, that on the last day, already ruffled if not otherwise damaged by the episode of the boar, Nicholas found himself rallied for his continued refusal to gamble.
The reason was simple enough: he could not afford to. The Khan had seized all he had, and the rest was in Caffa and sacrosanct. Lastly, he suspected that Abdan Khan could cheat as deftly as he could. Cairo was a great teacher.
‘So what shall we do?’ the big man exclaimed in mock despair. ‘A contest for the best wrestler? But I don’t suppose Niccolò the non-Venetian can wrestle?’
‘Why not?’ said Nicholas agreeably. It was, of course, an invitation to a duel. Tough though the Tartars might be, they were men of low height, and wrestling was a sport where reach could make a difference. Circassians were tall and good-looking and strong: it was why their men flourished in Egypt as Mamelukes, and their girls commanded such a punishing tariff as slaves. Abdan Khan would win all his bouts, and so, very likely, would Nicholas.
It did