Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [123]
The walls were chequered, and so high that the blocks of cream and sienna, white and umber and russet responded to darkness and light as if patterned in damask. The size of the hall, from the timbered roof to the marble floor, dwarfed the stalls of the Knights, and the band of painted escutcheons which ran above them. Beside the black and white of the Knights were the priests, and men in ordinary clothes who might be civilians, or merchants, or witnesses. At the end of the room, the Grand Master sat on his dais, bearded, yellow, dressed in black, with a monstrous veiled hat, its brim turned up all round like a pilgrim’s.
This prince Zacosta was Spanish, and newly appointed. A Catalan, he had lingered long in Barcelona before leaving to take up his duties. He had been reluctant, it was said, to give up the income he was already drawing. He had refused, it was said, the kindly offer of Carlotta of Cyprus to sail home in the Queen’s ship to Rhodes. And naturally, being a Catalan, he had no time at all for Ferrante of Aragon, King of Naples, on whose behalf Captain Astorre and his company had just been successfully fighting. Despite this, the Grand Master had not rejected Astorre when he first arrived; had not, despite Katelina, thrust them from the island. With Sultan Mehmet’s conquering fleets moving out from Constantinople, the need for soldiers to protect the Religion was desperate and, given a chance, he would have overlooked much. He had not, however, been given a chance.
They were to be ranged in front of the dais. Moving forward, Nicholas scanned the men on either side of the room. Of course, John de Kinloch, with Louis de Magnac beside him and another knight whom he recognised from Kolossi. Scougal, the well-born Scot from East Lothian who had ridden with them two days ago, and who had been John de Kinloch’s companion. A man he had heard identified on the pier – Tobias Lomellini, the Genoese Treasurer of the Order. And beside him, several others who looked vaguely Genoese and one who certainly was. Tomà Adorno of Chios, who, long ago in Milan, had helped seal an alum contract. Tomà Adorno who was, of course, a kinsman of Anselm Adorne.
Nicholas found that disconcerting. He was standing in line before the dais before he remembered to look for the Queen’s party, and saw, when he found it, that it was exceptionally strong. The faces of Guichard, Piozasque, de Bon, de Montolif, Pardo and Sor de Naves, her naval commander, had all turned to examine him. Some of these courtiers he had met with Carlotta in the Italian snows; there were others he had seen with her husband.
John le Grant, who had been looking in the same direction, turned his sandy lashes up to the ceiling-beams and hissed, almost inaudibly, between his front teeth. Astorre stood, his chest and buttocks cocked like a sparrow, his beard jutting straight out before him. Tobie, his bald head encased, showed a face which reflected the robe of his calling. Nicholas lifted to the Grand Master the same serene look he had employed in the court of the last Byzantine Empire, and laid his fate in the lap of the sun god, whose island (in summer) this was.
The Grand Master spoke in Latin. The Duchy of Burgundy had sent twelve thousand gold écus to the Isles of Religion. It had seemed a gift of God when, from the same region, a band of experienced soldiers had arrived to await their leader. One did not have to take knightly vows in order to fight for the Church: the Christian world, in its extremity, accepted with humility whatever help it was offered. It was therefore with sorrow, with horror, that he had been told