Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [248]
‘They expect a fleet of Genoese ships. And whether they’re coming or not, that city is going to hold out to starvation point and beyond, so long as it believes in a rescue.’ After a while he said, ‘Nicholas? Astorre and Tobie should know, but I wasn’t going to announce this in public. God knows what the King will decide to do. Or Tzani-bey.’ After another pause, he said, ‘It’s only a planning problem. This is war, too. It’s just a different sort of war from bashing at someone on horseback.’
Nicholas said, ‘I’m not sitting fainting with horror: I’m trying to make God-damned plans. First, what happened to the Jew who told you all this?’
‘He’s dead,’ said the engineer, his face expressionless. He added, ‘He spoke Italian. No one interviewed him but me.’
‘So,’ said Nicholas. ‘I’m a stiff-necked Genoese sitting starving inside that city. A note flies over my wall telling me there’s no fleet on the way: I’m not going to believe it. A trumpet arrives offering a million ducats and freedom: I’m not going to surrender when I know I’m going to win anyway – or at least get supplies to hang on until something happens to Zacco. I might have a traitor or two who would offer to open the gates for a square meal, but I’d kill one of those before he got very far, and I’d turn my guns on any army approaching. So I would probably hold out to starvation point and possibly inadvertently beyond, because there will be disease in that place very soon. And Zacco will walk into his own very dead city.’
‘There are alternatives,’ John le Grant said.
‘Of course. Zacco doesn’t know this. Left to himself, he would pretty soon let the blockade ease off for winter, as he’s always done. Minimal food will get in, starvation will be avoided, and Famagusta will hold on until, who knows, next summer a Genoese fleet might set out and rescue it.’
‘And not left to himself?’ the engineer said.
‘If he knew this? He’d wait and starve them. Tzani-bey would do the same, only with decorations. Poisoned wells, putrid carcases slung over the walls. He’ll suggest that anyway, as soon as he and the King begin to see the surrender isn’t coming by the Feast of St Nicholas.’
‘It’s a damned pity,’ said John, ‘that you weren’t called Stephen. It would’ve given us another month to play with at least. So what?’
‘So three things,’ Nicholas said. ’empty Kyrenia and Salines and Paphos and double the men on those trenches. Establish as heavy a bombardment as the cannon will stand against the walls and the guns by the walls. And let’s get rid of the powder. It’s bound to be in the fort, and that overlooks the harbour. Mick Crackbene is there sitting outside that harbour with the Doria and at least one galley at his disposal. So why not increase his artillery, and give him all the fire-missiles he can carry. Better still, get him to try and slip a man in through the sea-gate. A single explosion would silence their guns. Then we take by assault when the ditch is done. Or perhaps, if they’re starved and weary of waiting, by then the people will force Lomellini to a surrender.’ He stopped. ‘What else can you think of?’
‘Broadly the same,’ John le Grant said. ‘I’ve changed my mind, too, about something else. Tell the King. If you leave it till later he won’t forgive you, or maybe even believe you, if you have to expend soldiers on something he doesn’t think necessary.’
Nicholas grunted.
John le Grant said, ‘You don’t want to, but you’re better at it than most. In this game, every employer’s an eccentric. Tobie nurses a dream of spending his life in the field with Urbino, but he’d find he’s unpredictable too. He’s better off with you. At least you’re unpredictable in a more interesting way.’
‘And that’s a damned lie,’ Nicholas said. ‘You knew what I was going to say throughout this entire conversation.’
‘And that was what was interesting,’ John le Grant said. ‘You said only what I’d expect you to say. So what else is happening?’
‘Nothing yet,’ Nicholas