Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [157]
‘My lord is generous,’ said Louis de Magnac. He spoke the words to the King, but Nicholas felt the heat of his gaze. De Magnac muttered, ‘Knave and mountebank! Murderer!’
‘I am a mercenary,’ Nicholas said. ‘You gave me, once, a good servant.’
De Magnac bared his teeth. ‘He told me your every move, boy,’ he said.
‘I know just what he told you,’ said Nicholas. ‘And I think it is time he came back.’
The Grand Commander, consumed with serious anger, detected some impertinence, but brushed it aside with a snort. His African servant said, ‘Sir?’
The fellow had stepped out from behind the Commander. A magnificent negro, the best he’d ever had, and wearing a doublet from the Queen’s tailor. The Grand Commander barked ‘Lopez?’
‘Sir?’ said the negro again. He had walked in front of de Magnac. And the question was directed at Nicholas.
Nicholas smiled. He said to Zacco, ‘Our private spy with the Order. His own idea. It was he who lodged my message to you with the Florentine ship calling at Rhodes. May I present the major domo of my household? And the rest of my officers are unknown to you. And one hundred more, waiting outside.’
‘We shall meet them all,’ Zacco said. ‘But we have not told you yet what we think of you. Come.’
He put out both hands. His fingers round those of Nicholas were warm and hard and threateningly strong. He leaned forward and Nicholas felt the press of his lips on either cheek and then, deep and hot, on his brow. The King tightened his clasp at arm’s length.
‘Sweet Niccolò, welcome,’ he said. ‘You have brought us your mind, and your loyalty. Accept in return the heart and soul of a friend.’
Five pairs of eyes watched that, with choler. Six, if you counted those of Diniz, the boy. Restraint had to be observed among the shareholders and partners of the House of Niccolò until, after a supper that did indeed deserve the title of feast, they were relinquished unprotected, unguarded, unwatched in the palatial room which was their new sleeping apartment.
Nicholas was not present.
‘Is anyone astonished?’ commented Tobie. He rounded on le Grant. ‘You knew about Zacco, you snake. You never said he was young. Nor did Nicholas. I’m company doctor to Cupid.’
‘I knew,’ said Astorre. He had taken his clothes off, and was admiring them. ‘Stood to reason. Our boy doesn’t want another woman to answer to. Our boy wants some fun.’
‘Well, he’s lost the woman he had,’ said John le Grant. ‘Primaflora’s on her way back to Carlotta. He has his own way, has Zacco, with the competition.’
‘Good riddance,’ said Thomas.
‘Well, that depends,’ Tobie said. ‘Have I got it right? Following some artful footwork between the eighth and ninth courses, it’s been agreed that the dazzling Diniz is no longer to be anyone’s page, but will be found an occupation, until ransomed, in Nicosia. Likewise the gentle Katelina, whom the King will confide to his very own mother. Meanwhile, you and I and the rest of us start earning our keep as the saviours of Cyprus. What I want to know is, shall we be accompanied by Zacco and Nicholas?’
‘In spirit, I’m sure,’ said the engineer. ‘I’d rather know, to tell the truth, where Tzani-bey al-Ablak will be. That dressing-down our emir got from the King? I don’t believe it. You look at what happened. No one told us Loppe’s message got through, and the Mamelukes treated us as if it hadn’t. Damn them, they wanted us scared.’
‘What?’ said Astorre.
Tobie said, ‘I recognised the quotation. The King had an informer at Salines.’
‘At Salines?’ said le Grant with some grimness. ‘I’ll give you a wager that, from the moment our ship was waylaid, that same King was behind all that happened. That bullying wasn’t planned by the Mamelukes. It’s your bonny Zacco’s trick. Fear as a weapon.’
‘And love,’ Tobie said. ‘An arsenal to beware of. Do you think Nicholas has seen through it?