Caprice and Rondo - Dorothy Dunnett [190]
His escort changed at the drawbridge, and when he was turned out through the portals of Soldaia he was surprised to recover his horse. His Genoese safe conduct, of course, was now lacking. He could not enter Soldaia or Caffa, Gurzuf or Alupka, Alushta or Simiez. He could not sail through the ice. He could not go home. He was, however, alive. Anna had saved him. He had not saved Ochoa.
There were a few things he could do, most of them dependent on other people’s initiatives. It had not taken long, indeed, to work out what all the possibilities were. In the aftermath of all that had happened, Nicholas found in himself a chilly resistance to more fruitless planning. There was a hospice most Latins stayed at, halfway between Soldaia and Caffa, which possessed a separate building for servants. By the time he got there he was cold, wet, and prepared to be fully uncooperative, even when one of the possibilities became a reality, and he was met by a groom that he knew. With the groom was another horse, and a saddlebag containing all the garments necessary to an Italian gentleman, including a razor. There was also a safe conduct, permitting Signor Paolo of Simiez to visit his cousins in Caffa.
It was not a wise plan, at this stage, to give way to his instincts. Nicholas accepted the bounty provided and descended next day upon Caffa in new guise, or in one which passed muster, at least, with the unsuspecting guards at the portals. Then he made his way, as directed, to the Franciscan monastery, where he was joined in due course by Ludovico da Bologna and the extraordinary woman who had just rescued him from a cruelly planned death.
The Patriarch, viewing him, issued a bark. ‘The puppy, restored! So, how are you proposing to thank us?’
‘By converting from the Muslim religion,’ Nicholas said. It was automatic. All his essence was concentrated on the still person of Anna, standing in the doorway, her smiling face running with tears.
She said, ‘What a transformation. I could almost marry you myself.’
‘Almost?’ Nicholas said. Her eyes looked feverish.
‘If she didn’t happen to be married already,’ said the Patriarch shortly. ‘I didn’t know your friend was a fool. How did that happen?’
‘Someone helped him escape in my name. They wanted to kill him.’
‘A Genoese scheme?’ said the Patriarch.
‘Obviously,’ Nicholas said. ‘It got rid of Ochoa, and gave them an excuse to get rid of me, whom they suspected. They didn’t expect Anna to race to my defence with such brio. I am sorry. I should be overwhelming you both with my gratitude. I can’t believe he is dead.’
‘It pains us, too,’ said Anna gently. ‘It was not your fault. You nearly lost your own life in attempting to rescue him. You’ve taken all the risks since we came — to obtain the goodwill of the Khan, and all the profit that brought. Now the Patriarch has arranged for you to hide here for the weeks that are left. Julius will come. And when we leave for Persia, we leave together.’
The Patriarch grunted. He knew, of course, as much as Brother Lorenzo about the gold and Ochoa. ‘Financial security’ had been the term Lorenzo had used. The Patriarch also knew that Anna and even Julius would expect, armed with gold, to descend upon Persia with Nicholas. Anna would have been frank about that. Now she said, hesitating, ‘Unless our plans ought to change. Ochoa is dead. It may not seem fitting to collect the gold and then leave, as if nothing had happened.’
‘There is no one else to receive it,’ said Nicholas. ‘It is mine, and I want to use it as I have said.’
He did not want to talk, and she respected it. Another woman who had done what she had would have longed to have her ingenuity praised; would have wished to relive, phase by phase, the threatening events of the day and their resolution. Anna left him alone, moving quietly about the guest-quarters they had been given. Presently the Patriarch went