Caprice and Rondo - Dorothy Dunnett [292]
BEHIND HIM, Anselm Adorne had re-entered his parlour, and chosen to invite Nicholas to remain and take wine with him. Then he asked to be told about Caffa.
It was, of course, to be expected. The loss of the Crimea was the worst blow that the Genoese Republic could have sustained, isolating their precious island of Chios, in which much of Adorne’s fortune must be wrapped up. His cancelled mission to Tabriz had had a personal importance as well as a public one. Replying, therefore, Nicholas took infinite pains to describe and then analyse the situation as he had found it, and then, continuing, to develop his assessment of the strengths and weaknesses of Uzum Hasan and, so far as he could judge, the Ottoman Empire. Lastly, he spoke of the Tartars and Muscovy.
It took a long time. Occasionally, Adorne would interrupt with a question, and often he himself paused, in case he had misjudged what was wanted. But he was allowed to continue, and by the time he had concluded, two wine-flasks had been emptied and Anselm Adorne, a little flushed, was scrutinising him from his chair. He said, ‘I used to be reckoned to have a hard head for liquor.’
Nicholas relaxed. He said, ‘One has practice, among Slavs.’
Adorne said, ‘You know that what you have presented is a perfect report. The dispatch an ambassador is expected to supply at the end of his mission.’ His gaze, despite what he had drunk, was still excoriating.
Nicholas said, ‘Ludovico da Bologna will bring the Pope something like it, and the Pope will probably disregard it. No one has ever understood or even believed what Father Ludovico has told them. Rulers give feasts with nobles dressed up as Persians and Turks, dancing and miming to laughter. Ambassadors from Georgia and Mingrelia are reviled as impostors because of their bald heads and strange clothes. Only Venice — and it is to her credit — only Venice, with all her far-travelled envoys, knows that this is what these peoples are like, and these their customs. Venice made Ludovico a priest, even though they had to lie about it to Pius. He is a hero.’
There was a silence. Then Adorne said, ‘Ask him if he will give me his report.’
‘He will,’ Nicholas said. ‘He was your representative. He did what he did because there was no chance that a Genoese would succeed. You would have been killed. You will get his report. You will also have mine. I have written it out for you to give to the Duke.’
‘Present it yourself,’ Adorne said. His gaze remained penetrating.
‘It would prejudice my trade, if I return. I would rather you betrayed Uzum Hasan’s secrets,’ Nicholas said. ‘Unless you object.’
‘You imagine you can bribe your way back?’ Adorne had said then, abruptly.
‘I think it unlikely,’ Nicholas had said. It was no more than the truth, and made him feel uncommonly gloomy.
He remembered presently finding his way to his room, and his bed. When he next wakened, it was because someone wished to take him elsewhere, to a larger room without bars, where the door was neither guarded nor locked. In the long journey home, he had taken one step, perhaps.
It did not mean that he was in free communication with anyone. He saw Kathi, usually in the children’s room, where he had been introduced to the rowdy vigour of Margaret and the chubby sweetness of Rankin. They spoke of nothing personal, but she made no objection to fulfilling some unusual requests to do with paint, and small wood and metal objects, and springs. He renewed his acquaintance with Phemie, but never stayed with her long. The same applied to Dr Andreas, who sought his company more than he appreciated, once Nicholas had learned all he wished to know, which was the whereabouts of his young and lissom friend Nerio.
Since Nicholas was not allowed to go out, Nerio came to the Hôtel Jerusalem, on a day when Adorne was absent. He looked at first sight the same: the beautiful boy who, dressed as a girl, had shamed Adorne’s son in Venice, and then in Rome, and who had