Caprice and Rondo - Dorothy Dunnett [210]
‘Does it not describe Mocenigo’s ten Turkish concubines?’ said the Patriarch sourly on his other side.
Barbaro laughed. ‘You think western rulers should be above boon companions.’
‘I do not think,’ Nicholas said, ‘that the Patriarch has given particular thought to their chosen position, but I can tell you that he is much against confidants. Every man should solve his own problems.’
‘I should imagine,’ remarked Josaphat Barbaro gently, ‘that such advice is measured against the quality of the man, and the pressure upon him. I should give help where it is needed.’
His eyes had moved elsewhere. The Patriarch’s followed them. The Patriarch snorted. ‘And much good has it done the abstemious Ambrogio Contarini, whatever help you thought you were giving him. The man’s a dangerous idiot.’
‘It is a great house with many members,’ Barbaro said. ‘They cannot all be gifted with wisdom. There were two Barbaros and six Contarinis among the dead when Constantinople fell, and this man’s excellent brother was my sopracomito on Cyprus and will follow me, I hope, in Albania.’
‘We shall protect your friend if we can,’ Nicholas said. ‘But you know that I no longer represent my Bank, or have any connection with Venice.’
‘Then you should do well in Caffa,’ Barbaro said. ‘You should stay there. They need men of sense.’ There was grey in the brown strands of his hair, but he had the firm, flexible voice of a man much accustomed to debate and conversation and, it turned out, the exercise of lenient mimicry. And for an aristocrat from a Venetian palazzo (if not quite Contarini’s Ca’ Doro), he could produce a campfire laugh of the dimension of a Tartar attack. An ambassador as shrewd and observant as any, and a boon companion as well, to those who felt unable to rule their own lives.
It was afternoon when they left the garden, their servants bearing their gifts, and filed again through the Palace to take formal leave of the prince. He received them this time in a light coat that showed mail armour beneath, and his trousers were thrust into boots. Outside, the streets were full of drovers and carts, but the main army had gone. Within the hour, the prince had left Tabriz as well.
It was not a final separation. Two days later, the ambassadors followed, travelling north, and for nearly three weeks kept company with their host and his army, living in tents, and lingering in one place or another, so long as the grazing allowed. Occasionally he would receive them in the field, and presents of food sometimes arrived from his cooks. Nicholas had a last, business-like meeting at which Julius was present, and was given, in private, a small casket whose contents, drawn from a larger, he recognised. Contarini, Rosso and the Patriarch received personal gifts and formal ones to present to their masters, including pairs of magnificent swords. Josaphat Barbaro, who was not leaving, contrived to see Nicholas alone.
‘I told you. You are in favour. You could come back one day.’ He had seen the casket of jewels.
Nicholas said, ‘I wish you were coming. So what secret reports have you confided to Messer Ambrogio, that being the duty of an ambassador? Or would you prefer not to tell me? They say we have moved out of Tabriz because of plague.’
The other man smiled. ‘There is plague, and it is spreading. But of course the prince left to make war.’
‘And then stopped,’ Nicholas said.
‘And then, certainly, slowed. My guess is that he has had news, and is waiting for more. His couriers are the fastest in the world.’
His couriers rode racing dromedaries. ‘Crete?’ Nicholas said. ‘The Sultan has launched his attack against Crete, and so, for the moment, Uzum Hasan is free to do as he wants?’
Barbaro’s brown gaze was direct. ‘The Turkish fleet left Constantinople last month. They carried an army, but where they went is not known. Crete is likely. It is rich, and Venetian, and acts as an arsenal for her ships in the Levant. I am telling you this because, whatever has happened, it will be known in Venice long