Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [262]
‘A premature son,’ the Patriarch confirmed. ‘So Zacco can take time to frame his marriage plans. And so what was your quarrel with him all about? The King didn’t want Uzum Hasan to march in and help clear out the Sultan’s rough Mamelukes?’
‘The question didn’t arise,’ Nicholas said. His eyes, and those of the priest, moved and shifted like sun on two knife-blades.
‘And you were a fool to put the question that did arise,’ said the King’s uncle unexpectedly. Nicholas turned his head. Markios said, ‘I know what you asked the King to do. Your lady wife told my sister at table of your desire for a truce with Famagusta, your wish to feed the pigs and convince them of their isolation. Your idea that the King and I would lean back in indolence, allowing Famagusta to fatten and snigger, throwing away all the months of striving so that you could save your thick skin from a fight?’
‘She said all that?’ said Nicholas mildly.
‘No,’ said the Patriarch. ‘I heard her. For a lady of doubtful morals, she put your case well. The rest is merely what the court will also say when they hear. Calm yourself. If I were a liar, I should prettify the past of your wife, but I am not. But this is what I am here to discuss. You have proposed a truce, and the King has refused it?’
‘I have proposed to leave Nicosia immediately,’ Nicholas said, ‘to prepare and lead an attack on Famagusta. He refused to allow it.’
‘You were not very convincing, perhaps,’ Markios said.
‘And when first proposing your truce,’ Father Ludovico said, ‘did you put yourself out to press that view in any way either? Did you call the Archbishop? The Knights of the Order? Myself? It is regarded as worthy of Christians to feed the starving; to desist from war during the time of our dear Lord’s Nativity.’
‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘From me, he would take no advice of that sort. But you are welcome to try.’
‘He will not,’ Markios said. ‘Forgive me, Father. You speak as if these thieves in Famagusta had rights. I believe, as Zacco believes, that to yield would be a weakness amounting to sin. I should hold no truce. I should pass no food. I should not let them linger, wasting time, wasting money, until the spring brings them fresh hope. I should persuade the King to change his mind, and let Messer Niccolò lead an assault. Of course, in that I should probably fail. We know why Messer Niccolò made the offer. We know with what confidence it must have been made. We have seen the King and his favourite together. There is nothing more certain than that Zacco will not send his friend into danger. Is that not so? Ser Niccolò, is that not so?’
‘Yes,’ said Nicholas. He got up, with the smooth, small dovetailing of joint and sinew and muscle that was the hallmark of well-realised design, and surveyed them all five, ending with the blue-jowled, pitted face of the priest. He said, ‘Since no one can persuade Zacco I have, of course, made the decision myself. I leave for Sigouri tonight, and Famagusta tomorrow. Whoever wishes may follow me. As soon as the assault can be prepared, it will be made. And I don’t really see how Zacco or anything else is going to stop me. You will excuse me, I hope.’
With admiration tinged with dread, John le Grant saw Nicholas bow, turn, and, with decision, walk out on the Patriarch. The door closed. Tobie jumped up. Markios laughed. He said, ‘Puppies need kicking. You saw.’
‘Yes. I saw,’ said the priest. ‘Your Mamelukes, at least, will give him a welcome. God works in wonderful ways. Allah too, I dare say. Abul Ismail?’
‘I should go,’ said the Arab, rising. ‘If this attack is to be, I too will be needed at Famagusta. And you, my lord Patriarch?’
‘Famagusta?’ said Father Ludovico in surprise. ‘With Christmas coming? My son, the casals of the Patriarchate have not even submitted their dues. A churchman is busy. A churchman is always busier than other people.’
‘Come on,’ said John le Grant to Tobie. ‘We’ve got some riding to do.’
To Nicholas, the only immediate benefit of that wholly unpleasant discussion was that it shut up both le Grant