Caprice and Rondo - Dorothy Dunnett [265]
‘Then,’ said Julius, ‘I am waiting to hear, with interest, what sort of accident it could have been. Perhaps she disrobed and murdered herself?’
‘Later,’ Nicholas said. ‘I’ll tell you what happened later.’ He felt extraordinarily tired; as if he had endured a long day’s campaigning, and the end was not yet in sight. He began to experience anxiety, in case his attention faltered. His gaze sank to his cup.
Nicholai de’ Acciajuoli said, ‘Are you feeling unwell? Perhaps you would be better in solitude until this whole affair can be examined by the authorities. I fear that our friend Julius will not let it lapse.’
‘Anna?’ asked Nicholas, with brevity. He did feel unwell. The room rocked and the face of Julius, lowering at him, was blurred.
‘She is not dead. She will do. Come,’ said the Greek sympathetically. ‘Leave the explanations to others.’
‘The wine,’ said Nicholas crossly.
They were the last words he uttered that evening; and the last fragment he remembered, apart from Acciajuoli’s cursory chuckle.
‘SO YOU FIND YOURSELF back at the Troitsa. My dear Nicholas, you would make Ahasuerus feel depressed,’ remarked Ludovico da Bologna.
Nicholas flung up his hands and sat down again in his cell. He had had two days in which to establish exactly where he was, although no one would tell him why. Food was brought by one of the brethren. He had caught sight, once, of Brother Gubka, who had then glided quickly away.
The Patriarch, in one of his tidier manifestations, was expressing modified derision. He looked well fed, and someone had cleaned up his crucifix. Rumour said that in the weeks since their original release, he had spent quite as much time in the monastery as he had in the foreign merchant quarter of Moscow. Nicholas had only met him on the rare occasions when he called on Rudolfo, when he seemed more interested in investigating his larder than the state of his soul. But with the Patriarch, as he now knew, appearances could be misleading. The Patriarch said, ‘In case you don’t know, the lady is not seriously hurt, merely in a state of discomfort.’
The permanent millstone operating between his breastbone and his stomach slipped several times, and began experimenting with different rhythms. ‘So you know what happened,’ Nicholas said.
‘I imagine everyone but Julius knows what happened,’ the Patriarch said. ‘He says you raped her, and she says she can’t remember.’
‘So he is insisting on justice,’ Nicholas said.
‘Well, he was,’ the Patriarch said, glancing about. ‘But of course, they’ve gone, now.’
‘Gone,’ repeated Nicholas. He said, with an effort, ‘If you’re looking for food, there isn’t any.’
‘They’re bringing food. I was looking for platters. Yes, gone back home. Left Moscow yesterday. Moscow hasn’t time for petty disputes among Franks.’
Yesterday. They would go to Novgorod first. ‘Who decided? Who sent them?’ said Nicholas.
‘It was left to the Latin community. They appointed their own judge. The Duke supplied the men to enforce the decision. They won’t be allowed to stay in Novgorod,’ the Patriarch said. The door opened and his thick face assumed an expression of expectancy.
The meal that entered was better than any Nicholas had been offered so far. The serving monk laid it down and retreated. ‘And me?’ Nicholas said. ‘Why was I not sent off with them?’
‘The Adjudicator,’ said the Patriarch, helping himself, ‘did not consider it wise. The dispute between you would only have caused trouble by erupting elsewhere. Hence you will be held until it is known that Julius has passed out of the ducal domains, and possibly even after.’
‘How long?’ Nicholas said. He looked, with disbelief, at what the Patriarch was doing with the food. The Patriarch laid it all down and surveyed him.
‘As long as is necessary. Are you brain-soft? You couldn’t all stay. You couldn’t slaughter one another en route, so one