Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [273]
The eyes of the captain turned dark, and if there was any emotion left in his voice, it was that of distaste. He said, ‘From what I hear, that is not impossible. Very well. We stand to arms. I myself will inform the Archbishop what has happened. You and your engineer will be fettered, and will pass the night here, in the penthouse. If there is a cannonade, an explosion, you will be the first to experience it. If the night passes without incident, I may consider the Archbishop’s offer. Meanwhile, the gates remain closed.’ He paused. He said, ‘In the event of trickery, you will know better than to hope for your life. If your story is true, you will be treated according to rank as my prisoner. Meanwhile, the penthouse must serve. I am afraid you have missed the last serving of supper.’
Nicholas heard the grim humour. From where he stood, he could see the long procession outside the walls, motionless now, and the wagons unshackled behind it. He said, ‘At least, let the wagons come in.’
‘Are we animals?’ said the Genoese bitterly. ‘That we forsake prudence, right conduct and dignity for the sake of our stomachs? In the morning, should this truce be agreed, leave will be given to draw in the wagons. Until then, we wait. We are accustomed to it.’
The night wore on. Stretched on the floor of the penthouse, Nicholas could glimpse the outside world between the battered planks. The procession from the Cathedral had not deserted the city but remained, silent now, on the land that lay before its main gate, its banners planted like wings about a central pavilion, its walls gold from the brazier within it. In front the Crucifix stood, warding tired men in sleep and in prayer. All around, torches burned; and in the centre candles guarded an altar. The carts, with their peaches and oranges, their almonds and grain, their meat and herbs and pulses and pies, their hens and walnuts and figs, their pumpkins and mutton and collops, their casks of sweet fortified wine stood unattended.
John le Grant, his face barred with light, said, ‘Nicholas?’
‘The answer is yes,’ Nicholas said. John le Grant was not Tobie.
The engineer said, ‘Someone waited three days, and told Zacco what you were doing. Who? The Patriarch?’
‘Possibly,’ Nicholas said. ‘And, of course, Tobias Lomellini is Treasurer of the Knights Hospitaller of Rhodes.’
There was a silence. Then – ‘And if they hadn’t come?’ the engineer said. ‘You would have gone through with it?’
‘I thought I was going through with it,’ Nicholas said. He felt bewildered by the ironies of what had happened. He felt terror, and relief, and perplexity, and a consequent inability to plan anything.
John le Grant said, ‘But the boy? You believed him safe in Portugal?’
That was another matter. After a while, Nicholas said, ‘He left letters. He thought he was going there.’
‘So?’ said the engineer.
‘So Bartolomeo Zorzi,’ Nicholas said. ‘Diniz escaped so very easily. He would go to Famagusta, where he thought his Genoese friends would help him. He didn’t know, as Zorzi did, that the harbour was sealed. Zorzi, you see, is a Venetian. And he has an older brother who tells him, sometimes, what to do.’
‘I’m sorry to hear it,’ said John le Grant. ‘So the lad has been in Famagusta ever since? Then I expect Diniz owes you his life. You and Zacco.’
‘Provided,’ Nicholas said, ‘that they take in the wagons tomorrow.’
‘They will, now they have you,’ said the engineer. ‘They will use you to taste what they’ve been given. You may die like those men of Pesaro’s.’
‘Before Famagusta surrenders? No,’ said Nicholas. ‘That is why I am here. I’ll be kept alive until then. After that, you’re going to help Diniz.’
‘Your dying request?’ said John le Grant.
Nicholas turned on him a look of chilly surprise. He said, ‘Are you my employee? Am I the head of a banking house? You help Diniz Vasquez or I dilute the shares and merge with the Strozzi. Until you’ve worked with Lorenzo, you don’t know what discontent is.’
‘I don