Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [237]
‘She has served many people,’ said Nicholas. ‘She has never before bound herself, as she and I are now bound. She wishes only to stay in Cyprus with me.’
The King said, ‘In any case, you cannot leave. Kyrenia has not fallen. Famagusta shows no sign of surrender. You have not done what you have been paid for.’
‘Rest assured, my lord King,’ said Nicholas. ‘I shall not leave until you have Cyprus. And perhaps my sons will serve you after me.’
The King sat. He looked at the physician, who bowed to him, and then conveyed to Nicholas an undoubted smile. Abul Ismail said, ‘You are plainly in health. The King wished to make sure.’
‘Thanks to my physicians,’ Nicholas said. He stood, watching the Arab leave. A moment later, Markios walked out without speaking.
The King said, ‘Sit. What wine have you been drinking in Rhodes? What elixir? What do you seek that we cannot provide?’
Nicholas sat. He said, ‘My lord, you have daughters. Did it not please you, the begetting of them?’
The wine came. The servants retreated, all but the man attending the cups. Zacco said, ‘And the sugar plants, and the vines. They are dead?’
‘Yes. Other thieves and rivals will come,’ Nicholas said. ‘Plants will be taken again and your market will shrink, but not yet. And when the time does arrive, there are other harvests to find, perhaps even more bountiful. This is a fertile land. There is room for diversity.’
‘Is there?’ said Zacco. He cradled the cup in one hand, and with the other drew a finger down the cold, misted surface. He said, ‘It seemed to me that you might have found your harvest with Carlotta.’
‘No,’ Nicholas said. ‘She was anxious to kill me. You would then, of course, have been sure of my loyalty. I prefer to prove it as I promised: by giving you the rest of your kingdom.’
‘And after that?’ Zacco said. ‘You are free with your promises in some things. For the rest, you prevaricate like an Arab. I dislike it.’
It was what Katelina had said. It was what everyone said. ‘I am sorry,’ Nicholas answered slowly. ‘Perhaps it is prevarication; perhaps it is uncertainty; perhaps it is an attachment to freedom. To me, it is the essence of what lies between us. Should I give you plain answers, removing all doubts, all possibilities?’
For a long time, the King stared into his wine. Then he drank it quickly, and dragging the cloth from his neck, flung it and his cup to the wine-server standing ladle in hand by the tent-wall. The fine clammy scarf fell; the servant, starting, caught the cup and poured a great measure. As he brought it, Zacco pulled the cup from Nicholas also and tossed it to the man. He said, ‘When I want such an answer, I will require it of you, and evasion will not serve you then. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, my lord King,’ Nicholas said. The cup he had been given was full to the brim.
‘Good,’ said Zacco. ‘Now you will remain here with me, drinking measure by measure until one of us falls. Whoever comes to your bed this night, my amorous Niccolò, will lose the profit of their labours: I promise you that.’
Some considerable time later, Tobie said, ‘Well, well. He’s coming.’ He turned into Astorre’s tent, where a collation for four had long since taken place and Thomas, in particular, was comatose. John, stripped to the waist, was sitting on a pallet drawing something with silent concentration. Astorre, who had relished his meal, was cleaning his sword: a task he reserved for himself. Tobie, irritated and restless, had been to the doorway a dozen times since news of the drinking-bout spread.
Astorre said, ‘Our young bridegroom, you say? Not the King?’
‘Not the King. Nearly not Nicholas, by the look of him. He’s not coming here.’
‘Well, he should,’ said the captain, annoyed. ‘I’ve got to be out half the night. I could have slept. Thomas, go and see what he’s doing.’
Thomas disappeared, not unwillingly, and came back looking shaken. He said, ‘He’s there streaming wet by the water-tub, spewing up with a finger to help him.