Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [238]
‘I should hope he is,’ Tobie said. He ran from Astorre’s tent the considerable distance to his own, picked up a box and ran out again, pouring sweat in the sun. The leopards passed, in a stink of urine and a flash of spotted chrome fur, running on their thick chains.
Abul Ismail appeared in front of him and said, ‘Ah, you too. Be at rest. Your lord had the sense, at least, to accept my advice, and persuaded the King. They are weak as fawns, but half sober at least.’ He sighed. ‘What it is to minister to young men of high temperament. They are mounted. There they go.’
In fury, Tobie saw the hunt assemble and begin to stream past. By the King’s side was Nicholas. He was pallid and glistening and hatless but there was a smile melon-wide on his face; and that of Zacco, turned to him, revealed the same nausea, the same determination, the same perverse, reckless delight. Tobie changed his hold on his box, which was paining him, and tramped back to Astorre with a declaration. ‘He’s mad. He’s not worth bothering over. I’m going to bed. If he wants us, he can get us tomorrow.’
‘He can get you tomorrow,’ said Astorre. ‘If they’re going hunting, I’m going with them. Man, we’ll see some sport.’
‘They’re all mad,’ said John le Grant placidly, looking after him. ‘That’s what you get, when you follow an army. And the craziest person of all is any woman who lets herself get mixed up with them.’
That night Astorre, as befitted his position, took his turn with his men among the besiegers, having seen the kill distributed, and both Nicholas and the King to their tents. Later, as he walked between the quiet ranks, someone gave him a friendly slap on the arm and he found to his surprise that, drunk or sober, Nicholas had elected to join him. They walked together, at first in silence; then climbing from place to place as Astorre launched into his personal account of the siege. He described gun positions and skirmishes; pointed out damage, detailed the garrison’s efforts. He grew rosy expounding; he became vehement answering questions. He had trained this fellow. No one else of his age grasped a situation with that sort of speed, or understood him so well. In an hour, whoever else didn’t, Astorre received all his reward for his labours.
Towards the end, they climbed the rise and stood on the spot from which they had started. In the distance the castle lay, black against the sea in a night without moon. There were no lights to be seen; no animated guard on the wall-walks. Astorre nodded over. ‘They’re near to surrendering now. Every day or two, we get someone trying to give themselves up. We got the women out, although not till last week. Don’t you want to sit down?’
‘You mean you think I’m tired?’ Nicholas said. He dropped with a thud on the spent grass. ‘Where did you put them?’
‘The women? Where you said, in one of the convents. Are ye staying?’ His beard stuck up in the air.
‘Astorre?’ Nicholas said. ‘I know you like lording it everywhere, but I don’t. Primaflora doesn’t want to be received anywhere and neither do I. Yes, I’m staying. We’re all staying until Famagusta goes. What ships have tried to get in?’
‘Not many,’ Astorre said. ‘The whole Venetian fleet’s on the rampage – they tried to take Lesbos and failed: the stupid fools think they can get back the Morea. And your damned Order –’
‘Not mine,’ Nicholas said. ‘The Pope’s dear children, you mean. I heard in Rhodes. They’ve got enough trouble guarding themselves; and the Genoese can’t afford the ships or the money. You don’t see a Crusade coming to rescue Carlotta?’
‘Not this year,’ Astorre said. ‘Mind, the wars over there seem to be slackening. The Pope’s free of Malatesta. If he got Burgundy to send more than money, they might collect an armed fleet for next summer.’
‘But James will have all Cyprus by then,’ Nicholas said. ‘Or do you have doubts?’
Astorre shook his head. ‘We promised him Cyprus and, by God he’ll have it. But Famagusta: that’s