Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [141]
‘The soldier would complain,’ said Primaflora. Her colour had risen again.
‘Would he? He could report that you were testing my loyalty. Primaflora, what will the Queen do about this? She’s bound to make it known you’ve defected. Would they let you stay with me then?’
‘I shall be in Famagusta by then,’ she said. ‘If they want you to fight well, then they must, surely, allow you suitable solace? I don’t think they would send me away. Is that your last objection?’
‘I think so. I give in very easily,’ Nicholas said.
‘I have noticed. I should go, then. Niccolino, you will have a care? Katelina is resolved to bring you down somehow.’
‘I know. Katelina thinks I seduce women,’ Nicholas said. ‘She doesn’t know it’s the other way round.’
She turned then, and spoke in French to the soldier, and soon she was ushered out, and he was alone, and aware for the first time of the hideous motion of the ship. He hadn’t asked after his men and his officers, although she might have been able to bring him news of them. On his side, there were several things he had spared her.
There was no need for her to know, as his company knew, that he and they might never be allowed to set foot on Kyrenia, or to see Famagusta alive. James de Lusignan had brought him a captive to Cyprus, and had set him free on the starkest of conditions: Nicholas must either take his force home, or return to help Zacco drive out his sister. Your officers might well sail for Kyrenia or Famagusta, the King had suggested. If they do, they will be intercepted and killed.
Nicholas had been well warned not to do what he was doing.
The third day passed. Once, he was allowed briefly on deck, and glimpsed Astorre and Tobie, exercising likewise. They waved without speaking. Against the wind, it would have been necessary to scream. He knew, without being told, that they must be as much on edge as he was. Two days to go, or maybe three, to his arrival in Famagusta, a prisoner. But perhaps before that, the masts of a ship would appear above the horizon, and the guns of James de Lusignan would bear down on them, and on him. He had taken one precaution. He didn’t know if it was sufficient.
Later, returning with his guard to the cabin he had caught sight of another face he knew. Half-concealed by the mast, Diniz Vasquez stood watching him. The boy looked tired. Nicholas stopped, and resisted when the soldier tried to pull him on. He said, ‘Diniz? Is the demoiselle better?’
The young Portuguese looked taken aback. After a moment he said, ‘She is sick. But for you, she wouldn’t be here.’
The soldier tugged again, and Nicholas laid a hand on his arm while he spoke quickly to Tristão’s son. ‘Listen a moment. I want you to remember this, and try to believe it. I had nothing to do with your father’s death. If I can, I will help you find out who killed him. But if you don’t trust me, speak to the doctor. You remember him. Talk to him. Ask him what you want. And if you need help, go to him.’
‘I have spoken to him,’ said the boy. ‘He doesn’t know whether you had him murdered or not. He has offered help, and I’ve accepted it.’
‘He is a good man,’ Nicholas brought himself to answer. The soldier put pressure on his arm and he let himself be escorted away. The boy looked after him, circles under his eyes. Nicholas wondered how often he had had cause to damn Tobie, and also to be in his debt. Tobie’s doubts had led Diniz to trust him. Katelina, of course, trusted nobody. Katelina would take his life if he let her; and if it hadn’t been accomplished already by the rather more powerful parties who were now, all of them, ranged up against him.
He went to bed that night half dressed under his blanket as always, and slept as soundly as he usually did, waking early to find that the crash and heave of the vessel had moderated. The ship they had been given was old, and of clumsy design; and this was the first night that de Magnac had not risen at least