Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [110]
‘Oh, good,’ Niccolò said. Between the gold plaits, his gaze was still on the hall below him. ‘Something is happening.’
‘Nicholas!’ said the voice of the Flemish woman. She had run from her room to the stairs, and was now descending them rather slowly.
Niccolò turned. ‘Guinevere,’ he said again, helpfully. ‘I was just off to a joust …’
Katelina said, ‘Was it you? You who killed them?’
Under the veil, the ridiculous eyes opened. ‘Them? Who?’ Niccolò said.
‘Tristão and Diniz,’ said Katelina. ‘They were taken hunting this morning. Someone led them astray. They have disappeared.’
‘Who brought word?’ Niccolò said. He sounded as he had at Kolossi, when preparing to get rid of the priest.
Katelina said, ‘Did you do it?’ She was white.
Niccolò said, ‘No, I didn’t. Who brought word?’
‘One of the party. He’s gone up to the Castle. They need men to search before it gets dark. I must get a horse.’
‘Take mine,’ Niccolò said. ‘It’s outside, with Lancelot and Yvain and the squires. I have a spare. Who else wants to come?’
He had raised his voice, beginning to jump down the stairs. Beneath the levity, as at Kolossi, was something quite different. Someone said, ‘On a horse? Let the Knights go.’
Niccolò said, ‘They’ll go, but we might get there first. Come on; the Vasquez are Portuguese traders. They must owe somebody money.’
They came forward then, five or six of them, picking up their cloaks brusquely and sending their lads running for horses. Katelina, her face still bleak, was staring at Niccolò. Primaflora said quickly, ‘Have you a spare horse for me?’
Niccolo turned to her. She couldn’t tell if he read what she was thinking. She was prepared for impatient surprise. He only said, ‘I dare say. In fact, I’ll take you on mine. If anything will bring Diniz back from the dead, it will be you with your hair down.’
She held his eyes, still transmitting her warning. She said, ‘Who are Lancelot and Yvain?’
‘My captain Astorre, and your old friend Thomas,’ Niccolò said. ‘My engineer is the Lion, and the Loathly Damsel is a doctor called Tobie. King Arthur refused to be present. Can we run? Or are we both too God-damned ladylike?’
Primaflora halted. Beside her, Katelina also paused. Then, their hands gripping their skirts they began, from quite different motives, to race after Nicholas.
Chapter 17
THE COURT OF King Arthur, asked to interrupt its journey on the way to a joust, waited outside the merchants’ basilica with some impatience for the return of its Guinevere. The Loathly Damsel in particular was fretful. ‘It’s wearing off,’ said Tobie. ‘I tell you, I am not doing this sober. If he doesn’t come soon, I’m going back.’
‘Spoilsport,’ said the Lion. ‘Forbye, you are rejecting a significant re-creation of history. In 1223 –’
‘The crazy Lord of Beirut held a tournament in Arthurian dress on the island of Cyprus. This isn’t Cyprus; the Saracens are in Beirut, and the only similarity – and I do grant you that – is that the man who arranged it is crazy. What’s he doing?’
‘Rumour has it,’ said the Lion, ‘that he had the chance to make an assignation with his lady. I doubt it will be successful in that get-up.’
‘Which lady?’ said Captain Astorre. He chortled.
‘The one Thomas escorted all over Europe,’ said Tobie. ‘Go on, Thomas. You enjoyed it.’
Thomas, in a normal suit of armour with a fancy helmet, looked sulky. Le Grant tipped his muzzle back and let it lie with his mane on his shoulders. He said, ‘But for Thomas, Primaflora might be running the House of Niccolò at this moment. I heard she was trying to get hold of Katelina van Borselen.’
Tobie stared at him, breathing heavily, and stopped scratching under his wig. He said, ‘That’s a frightening idea.’
‘Is it?’ said John le Grant.
‘Of course it is,’ said Lancelot, his stitched