Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [276]
He had the look of someone felled by sleep, and just wakened. Nicholas said, ‘You have enough to do. Tell me where to stay, and I will go there. The food is clean, but I will taste if you want it.’
‘Whether it is clean or not, they must eat,’ said Lomellini. ‘I want to speak to you.’ Leaning on the edge of his table, he let his hollow eyes rest on Nicholas. He said, ‘It seems that you are more our enemy than your master. You planned to attack, while he was planning his truce.’
Nicholas remained where he was. He said, ‘Neither of us knew what the other was doing. I believed he would not agree to a truce. I thought an attack the most merciful answer.’
‘Merciful?’ said Lomellini.
Nicholas said, ‘I knew you were starving.’
‘And he did not?’ said the captain slowly.
‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘Or he wouldn’t have offered his truce. He will not do it again. He has only to wait.’ He paused and said, ‘This is not the time to discuss it, but if you will use me, I can help you. What you must do meantime is regain your strength. And I have to ask you a favour. I have a relative here. A youth. A boy called Diniz Vasquez. I would see him.’
The captain stood up. He said, ‘A room is being prepared. You will be taken there. And yes, the youth Diniz Vasquez has been to see me. He has asked me to send you to his lodging. It is in a house outside the Citadel. He has this privilege, since his kinswoman is dying.’
‘My lord, he has no relatives here. It is Diniz Vasquez, the Portuguese youth, I would see,’ Nicholas said.
‘I speak of Diniz Vasquez,’ said the Genoese wearily. ‘The vassal you chained to your dyeyard. He escaped, and was joined by the lady. You didn’t know of this? A young woman of good family who has not deserved, I am sure, the privation that she has shared with him. You know her, of course. She was a supporter of Queen Carlotta, and Genoa. She was on Rhodes when the father of Vasquez was killed. She came to Cyprus with us both on the ship that was waylaid by Mamelukes. I am not sure whether, as a hostage, you should be allowed near to these people who – although you claim them as relatives – have no cause that I can see to regard you as a friend. But I have placed the boy on his honour. He will not harm you. And the young lady, alas, has not the strength.’
Nicholas said, ‘What is her name?’
‘Are there so many?’ said the captain, his lip curling. ‘Her name is van Borselen. Katelina van Borselen, a married lady of Flanders.’
The young squire who led Nicholas this time through the city was rough and angry, but also sick. At the first sign of dissent or hesitation, he fetched his mailed fist full across his captive’s bruised face, splitting his lip and causing all his contusions to bleed again. Immediately after, he turned aside to a doorway and vomited. Nicholas smelt fresh meat and lemons. Unless Napoleone took care, the food he had given out would bring its own troubles. His mind noted this fact among others, ticking efficiently on like a water-clock. The rest of him was suspended in limbo. Diniz was here. Here and starving. That was catastrophic enough. But Katelina? Katelina?
He didn’t really believe it, all the time he was being dragged through near-empty streets which were no longer silent, but filled with curious brawls, or outbursts of squealing or, what he had just heard, the sound of terrified retching. He didn’t believe it up to the moment that he found himself outside a half-house that had once been graced by a classical loggia. Behind its wreck stood a fine double door with an architrave, and behind that an elegant courtyard, its fountain and pillars and statues smashed to splinters by heavy stone shot.
In one wall was a door, and a womanservant disappearing inside it. She gave them a terrified glance, and then bolted. The young Genoese picked his way over the wreckage and, gripping Nicholas, arrived before the same door as it opened again. The man who opened it was Abul Ismail the physician.
The squire said, ‘Zacco’s other fornicating