Caprice and Rondo - Dorothy Dunnett [142]
He had long known, as Nicholas was aware, that it was wise not to aggravate his Muslim neighbour. A Turkish attack on the Crimea could not be stopped, except by a Venetian fleet, or a combined fleet such as the one which had set out and lost heart a few years ago. Genoese and Venetian rivalry might well prevent another from coming.
What might come, for sure, was a Christian overland army. A mercenary company from the West, with its own sappers and gunners, with the expertise and means to cast cannon, could confront and possibly outface a Turkish fleet, answer its bombardments and repel the landing parties which could starve out its citadels. But even if such a troop were available, it could not arrive before summer. And the prince who presently patronised it might not wish its release. The Banco di Niccolò had such a force, but Burgundy was currently its employer.
‘Nevertheless,’ Nicholas had ended, speaking again of these things to the Khan, ‘you should make your necessity known, and I shall send my own messages to the West. Meanwhile, my great lord, you should welcome any help to keep the Turk otherwise occupied in the spring.’
‘I read what you recommend,’ the Khan said. ‘Karaï Mirza agrees. Let the Turk attack Crete, or reply to a threat from Uzum Hasan, or from the Horde at Saray, or from Moscow. This the Patriarch has also said. I appreciate this, and I appreciate the alliances you and he are trying to make. If we survive, he and his church will have our favour. What you must tell him, however, is that we have little time to await these diversions. The Peninsula is a cauldron, presently simmering. If it explodes, this gossamer web of alliances may be swept wholly aside.’
‘Then you need a competent Tudun in Caffa,’ Nicholas said. ‘And a Genoese consul who does not take bribes.’
The strong face turned. ‘We are too late, I fear, for the latter,’ Mengli-Girey said. ‘As for the Tudun, the older candidate is a fool, and the younger a knave. There is only one man fit for the post. You have met him.’
‘Karaï Mirza, of course,’ Nicholas said. ‘You will propose him?’
‘When the time is right,’ said the Khan. ‘I shall send him to Caffa this winter to observe, and to be seen. He has orders to smooth the path of your business, where it may be beneficial to all of us. There is also the matter of your baggage. You left it here.’
‘My lord, I hope it has not been inconvenient,’ Nicholas said.
‘No. But I have told my men to remove it. The coffer-mules will fetch it to you tomorrow, on your way to the shaman.’
‘The shaman?’ Nicholas said.
‘I understand,’ said the Khan, ‘that there was an undertaking to visit a shaman on your way to the plain? Abdan Khan seemed quite sure.’
‘Of course,’ Nicholas said. ‘It is my rule, as it is the rule of the Patriarch. Whatever we promise, we undertake.’
He emerged, thoughtfully, and crossed to his house. The coffer-mules had not yet arrived but the coffers were there, in his chamber. There were six, the same number that he had brought. At first glance, the contents appeared the same, except that the velvet had gone. In its place was a small bag of silver. Only if you knew his possessions would you recognise that the footwear, the dress, the linen were subtly superior, as were the razor, and the small knife kept concealed in its sheath. The only object which remained the same was his favourite sash, which was his favourite because of the hidden pockets and seams it contained. It lay on top, depressing the contents of the rest of the basket. ‘The non-Venetian is disappointed?’ said a Tartar voice gravely.
Karaï Mirza stood behind. ‘Seriously so,’ Nicholas said. ‘The Great Khan has omitted a breeding mare and a fully manned galley. The velvet was meant as a gift.’
‘The Khan misunderstood. He would still wish to pay, having regard to its extremely high quality. This receipt, for the Customs at Caffa, explains that no further taxes are due. You observe your sash on the top, for