Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [177]
‘Answer,’ Diniz said, standing still.
Vander Poele joined the man Zorzi and, unlocking the door, opened it so that the other could enter and look. He himself remained, as if in thought, considering Diniz. He said, ‘Your grandfather has refused to pay your ransom. He says it must wait until the end of the season.’
Diniz stared at him. Jordan de Ribérac was the richest man in France, as near as maybe. He said, ‘I don’t believe it. Then what of Simon, my uncle? He is paying nothing to set free his wife?’
The man Zorzi had reappeared, talking, and vander Poele let him out and locked the door behind him. He turned aside. ‘Diniz, all these things will be discussed later. Meanwhile Messer Bartolomeo is your master. Under him, your life can be easy or hard. He is not concerned with your troubles. He wants your co-operation.’
Diniz remained where he was. He said, ‘The ransom has come, and you’ve seized it. Simon my uncle would never abandon his wife.’
The man from Constantinople sighed heavily and looked at the Fleming. Vander Poele said, ‘Diniz. No ransoms have come. Your grandfather won’t pay, or not yet, and your uncle cannot be reached for some reason. In fact, far from enriching myself at your expense, I’ve offered to settle both ransoms myself.’
There was a short silence. ‘Then why are we still here?’ said Diniz. The bearded man, looking resigned, crossed his arms.
‘Because,’ said vander Poele, ‘the King intervened. He won’t allow the demoiselle home unless her own people redeem her.’
Diniz looked at him, and kept his shoulders stiff. He said, ‘Then I couldn’t go either. In any case, I wouldn’t take freedom from you. If you’ve paid for me, then get back your money.’
‘I’ve paid your ransom, but I haven’t offered you freedom,’ said vander Poele. ‘I need you to work in the dyeshop this summer. Until this autumn, you will make dyeing your business. You say you don’t want your freedom. We have therefore nothing to argue about. Shall we proceed, then?’
Diniz stretched out his hands. Dense blue dye stained the palms and the fingertips, and each nail was marked with a different test-colour. The boy said, ‘You try to reduce us. Don’t you see? We can never sink to your level.’
The Venetian smirked, and turned aside with extravagant tact. Vander Poele stood alone, his head bent, a sudden, unlooked-for target. Diniz bent and, snatching his dagger, hurled it hard at the figure before him.
Faster than he thought possible, vander Poele swerved. The knife thudded into a barrel, from which a stream of thick liquid issued. The man Zorzi turned quickly, exclaiming. Before he could move, Diniz flung himself on the Fleming and carried him to the ground. In the next moments, flailing, punching and being punched, Diniz thought of nothing but his fury. Then he felt Zorzi’s grip and, sobbing with rage, knew that, of course, he had no chance against both of them. There was a moment, before vander Poele broke his grasp and before Zorzi dragged him away when the scorched face of the Fleming was close to his.
Then Diniz Vasquez sent his tongue rolling and spat. He said, ‘A Knight of the Order fights man to man. A coward fights two to one, like a hog. You killed my father and sold me and my aunt into captivity. I demand restitution. That is a challenge, if someone has taught you to recognise one.’
He was on his feet by then, staggering back in the grasp of the Venetian. The Fleming rose from the mud, and finding a kerchief, put it slowly to use at his lips. He said, ‘All right. You’ve tried to pay me back, however foolishly. That’s enough for the moment.’
The Venetian was laughing, although his grip was painfully hard. He said, ‘My dear, he challenged you! Did you kill his father? You must reply, knight to gentleman, or face unimaginable penalties.’
‘I can imagine them,’ vander Poele said. He got up, noticed the mud on his pourpoint and began without hurry to untie and peel off the garment. His shirt beneath was heavily creased, and mud and dust mired his hose. He said, ‘I need to talk