Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [265]
A long time ago, Zacco had sent this man, lord of his Mamelukes, to fetch Nicholas from the monastery to which the Venetians had brought him. For a year, an open breach with Tzani-bey had been denied him. But now, James was about to be King of all Cyprus and the final reckoning was close. Nicholas wondered whether, sitting there, the emir felt the same bitter exultation that he did.
Nicholas said, ‘I will be brief.’
‘Because time is short?’ said Tzani-bey. ‘I agree. The end of such a partnership as ours cannot be long delayed. It is fitting that words should be spoken.’
‘Certainly,’ Nicholas said, ‘we have served the same master.’
The emir placed his brown fingers together. ‘You dislike the word partnership? But what have we been but Frank and Saracen, yoked like camel and ass to the plough? You prefer sugar paste and old women, I’m told. Sugar paste, the smooth skin of young girls. Old women, such as the mother of Uzum Hasan; such as the wife who gave you your fortune; such as Marietta of Patras, the mother of the lord Zacco.’ He turned to Astorre, who had growled. ‘I do not criticise. A man’s appetites are half the man, and must be known if you would understand him.’
He turned back to Nicholas. ‘I say merely that I know nothing of your late wife. I know Uzum Hasan; and his mother, though courageous, is only his mouthpiece. That is not so with Zacco.’
‘You surprise me,’ said Nicholas.
The black moustache moved. ‘Ah! He is a man with his own will, and much cleverness. She does not work alone. They work together. He must have successors. She gives him women. He prefers his own kind. She selects what will benefit him most. She is harsh. He succours. I am a counter in this game. You also. And when it is finished; when Famagusta is taken, what do you think will happen to you, and to me?’
‘Emir,’ Nicholas said, ‘I was about to inform you. After Famagusta is taken, I propose that you and I face one another in public combat. In spite of what you have said, I should prefer to obtain satisfaction for past injuries from yourself than from either King James or his mother.’
‘Spoken like a stout Latin,’ said the emir. ‘And you imagine you or I will survive to take part in this chivalrous duel? Or that if we do, the survivor will live?’
Nicholas said, ‘After the duel, who can say? But it is my intention to attack Famagusta before the King even suspects it is happening. Do you dare join me?’
‘When?’ said Tzani-bey al-Ablak.
‘Within three days,’ said Nicholas.
‘And we’ll take it,’ said Captain Astorre. ‘With or without you, my lord. We’re asking no favours.’
‘That is fortunate,’ said the emir, ‘for I was of a mind to present you with none. Attack Famagusta, by all means. Indeed you must, for you have transgressed as well as I. The pious accusations of Captain Pesaro! Why do Latins profess outrage against poison? Every Frankish court uses it. In your time, Messer Niccolò, you have maimed and killed men in the flower of their youth: what disgusts you about murder in other forms? The King was glad enough to have Kyrenia delivered to him through fire and through illness: it spared lives, no doubt, in the end. Yet there raged the good captain, demanding satisfaction over a minor matter of bread, when I promise you that the King will pay far less heed to my action than he will when he hears of yours. I could not have poisoned the bread, my lord Niccolò, if you had not introduced it, against explicit orders. And if you take Famagusta, it will be because of these actions. These joint actions of yours and mine that have weakened it. The camel and the ass, Messer Niccolò. Do you not see now how we are being used? And how, by fighting each other, we are placing ourselves in Zacco’s hands? Everything you have ever done against the Venetians, against the Genoese,