Caprice and Rondo - Dorothy Dunnett [169]
And even though the servants crowded in, and the chance might seem irresistible, Ludovico da Bologna said nothing at all of either the Latin church or the Orthodox one they belonged to; only rattled off, at bedtime, the routine benediction you would expect from any master at the close of the day. But if a man asked to see him apart, he would take him off silently, and he would bind a wound, testily, or set a leg if he had to, striking the man if he yelled without cause. After they had been away for ten days, someone asked him about Roman practices. He replied in three sentences, but showed no anxiety to continue, although he would consider a question if asked. Some days after that, Nicholas sought him out.
‘So this is how you do it?’
‘What?’ The Patriarch, in the process of going to bed, wore two robes over two pairs of quilted trousers and boots made of horse-hide lined with bear fur. His blanket, which was also his cloak, was a vast and noisome collage of black sheepskins, which he was currently binding himself into with rope. He showed no interest in Nicholas. He had shown intense interest in the account Nicholas had given him of Mengli-Girey and Abdan Khan and Brother Lorenzo. He was responsible, very likely, for the appearance of the imam Ibrahiim in the Crimea. He showed no curiosity whatever about Nicholas’s spiritual condition, which, of course, suited Nicholas very well.
Nicholas said, ‘So this is how you go fishing.’
‘It depends,’ the Patriarch said, ‘upon whether I’m after sturgeon or anchovies. I hear you’ve found a taste for profound theological issues since you started travelling from Poland. If your divining scares you so much, why not stop it?’
‘Anna has been to see you?’ Nicholas said. Extreme irritation filled him once more. His hands were in gloves, and far too cold to show weals. He didn’t know how the old man could have noticed.
The Patriarch’s bulbous features creased. ‘I told her you weren’t even an anchovy. Anyway, what advice could I give you that Cardinal Bessarion didn’t?’
His voice was prosaic, delivering a truth with no trace of false modesty. If he knew of that grave, private meeting in France three summers before, he knew that Nicholas had already heard, at first hand, the finest Christian teaching from the dying Bessarion, the Greek who had devoted his life to reconciling the Latin and Orthodox churches. It had not, of course, saved him from any of his blunders. Nicholas said, ‘I’m sure Anna will think of something. I hear you meet quite a lot.’
‘She worries,’ said Father Ludovico. ‘I told her to start praying for Caffa, not you. The Genoese are pressing the Khan to refuse to keep Eminek as Tudun. They say Eminek holds secret talks with the Turks.’
‘He probably does,’ Nicholas said.
The Patriarch sat down on his mat. ‘Dear Lord, of course they all do, Mengli-Girey included. They’re not fools: they need to sound out the enemy, otherwise they’ll never know when to change sides. Fortunately, Turkey isn’t much interested in the Crimea: the Sultan’s just sent his stepmother to Venice to ask for a truce, which of course — if he gets it — will let him rest and regroup so that he can attack the Venetians in Crete in the summer.’
‘You think so?’ Nicholas said.
‘Venice expects it. They’ve diverted to Crete all the artillery they promised Uzum. But that is next summer. The present issue is whether Mengli-Girey will now succeed in appointing your clever friend Karaï, or whether he’ll be forced to agree to the idiot Sertak. Have they been giving you trouble?’
‘The Genoese? Squarciafico brought me in twice for questioning, but Anna invites him to rich German suppers and he goes away mollified. So what are your plans?’
‘The same,’ the Patriarch said. ‘You and I can’t do more than we have. We’re leaving for Persia as soon as the weather