Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [154]
Nicholas looked up at the King, and the remembered eyes looked into his.
He had prepared none of his companions for the beauty they would see on the carved seat on its dais. They looked up as he did to a golden king in the flower of his youth, the splendid line of his body wrapped in sable and velvet and gold. Above the robes, the brown, careless hair was now schooled under a hat bound about the brows with fine velvet. Next to its ruby-pinned fall, the fine skin kept the glow of high summer, and the glow of the autumn showed in the clear hazel eyes. Showed, then died. James de Lusignan said, ‘Kneel.’
He was not looking at Nicholas. After a moment, the emir Tzani-bey, at his side, sank to one knee. His face was blank.
The King’s eyes turned to Nicholas. The King said, ‘You have been ill-treated?’
Nicholas looked at Tzani-bey. ‘No, my lord,’ he said. He heard Diniz move sharply behind him and felt, rather than saw, Astorre grip the boy’s arm.
The sunburned face of the King remained perfectly still. The King said, ‘But your eyes say, Not yet.’
Nicholas waited. Then he said, ‘And my intelligence also, my lord. We have set out to serve you, and have been told to expect torture and death. I will not beg my life from a Mameluke. I would lay it, with my explanation, at the feet of the King.’
No one spoke. Slowly, the King turned his head, his brows rising. The kneeling emir lifted his voice. ‘My lord. While on the ship they were bound. You desired it. Once on land, they were freed. You required it. They have been housed, bathed and clothed, as you requested. More than that you did not ask.’
‘Why,’ said the King. ‘Do you not know our mind, even from so far as Salines? You carried out my instructions, you say. Did we instruct you to warn them of my anger?’
The dark face of the emir conveyed humility. ‘The man Niccolò, my lord, leads a considerable army. Unless chastened, he might have attacked us. Further, had I been mild, the Queen’s men on the ship would have turned on him. You asked especially, my lord, that he should appear in good health.’
The King lifted his gaze and ran it over Nicholas. ‘We see,’ he said, ‘that he has a self-inflicted wound to the head. Shall we seek corroboration? We understand Messer Napoleone Lomellini is in the castle. Have him brought.’
A servant left. The room remained in absolute silence. The King allowed his eyes to travel over the faces of the strangers before him. He did not give the emir leave to rise, or look again at Nicholas. There was a pause. Then the broad figure of the Genoese entered, wearing again the rich clothes and rings of his land costume. He held himself stiffly, and bowed.
‘Messer Napoleone,’ said the King, his voice sweet. ‘We have met. You have heard, perhaps, that we are not always lenient, but we try to be just. You are captain of Famagusta, a city which is in arms against us. Were you not in our grasp, we have no doubt that you would return to that city, and would immediately continue your campaign of resistance against us. Are we right?’
‘I am a citizen of Genoa,’ said Lomellini. ‘And Famagusta belongs to the Republic. Yes, I should return to my duty if freed.’
‘We expected no less. It is not a post we should choose, these coming months. We are doing you no great service in telling you that, upon certain considerations, you will be allowed to return to it. You are a prisoner, Messer Napoleone, and the convention is that prisoners should pay for their freedom. We require to receive from you or your Republic a sum equal to twice the purchase price of a fit, well-trained Mameluke. The lord emir will be able to tell us the current rate. On payment of that, you will be free to go where you please, including the city of Famagusta.