Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [282]
So suddenly it had come, all they were working for. Talks. A document. And acceptance. Nicholas sat perfectly still, his heart shaking him. ‘Yes, my lord?’ he said.
‘I am glad to tell you,’ said Napoleone Lomellini, ‘that it is the Bastard’s intention to lift the siege of Famagusta. This will be done fourteen days after this treaty is signed, and will be followed by a truce of one year.’ He looked round at his companions, and then at Nicholas. He had kept triumph out of his voice but not, perhaps, a shade of justifiable satisfaction. ‘That is the gist of this document, and I have instructed our envoys to agree to it.’
Nicholas felt as if turned to stone. In all his plans, he had never let himself contemplate an outcome as vicious as that. Zacco had tired of the siege. Zacco had thrown the Genoese twelve months of a truce. St George and the dragon still flew from the walls of Famagusta. For another year, the Genoese could continue to squat in the wreck of the city, clutching the rights to their ruined, foundering colony; promoting nothing; permitting nothing to flourish, either of theirs or the Bastard’s. Another year for the divided island to suffer. For himself, another year of detention, at Zacco’s whimsy. And at the end of the year, the siege to start all over again.
He realised that he had not thought of it before as detention. He said, ‘The lord Abul and I are therefore expected to return to the King at Epiphany?’
‘That is for your employer to say,’ the captain said. ‘Under the terms in this document, two of the Lusignan’s men will stay here, and four of the city’s will stay in Nicosia until the rescue fleet comes. We are allowing our four men to remain at the Palace. The Bastard may wish you to stay, or to replace you. I shall now read –’
‘Rescue fleet?’ Nicholas said.
The captain looked up. ‘That is the condition of the truce,’ he said.
‘Rescue fleet?’ Nicholas repeated.
The Genoese looked angry. He said, ‘Do you interrupt your own lord? Ours is a Republic which cares for its citizens, and will support them against a common enemy. There is a relief expedition on the way; carracks which bring arms and soldiers, as well as provisions. It will arrive here before the testing span of this treaty has ended. And when it has come, the armistice will begin, and the hostages on both sides will be freed. That is all, surely, that concerns you?’
‘But –’ Nicholas said. He drew a long breath. ‘You expect a fleet? What fleet? Genoa has nothing to spend. There is no fleet moving or building elsewhere. Every port, every chance ship confirms it. What fleet, Ser Napoleone?’
‘What do you know of the Republic?’ said Lomellini. ‘If one single vessel enters the port of Famagusta in the fourteen nights that follow Epiphany, the siege will be lifted. That is what this document says.’
‘And if no ship comes?’ Nicholas said. ‘Or coming, cannot enter in time?’
‘It will not happen,’ said Lomellini.
Nicholas waited. ‘It will not happen,’ said the captain once more, and less fiercely. ‘But if no ship enters, then Famagusta surrenders to Zacco.’
He could not, at first, even think of his regular call to Katelina. He walked round and round his small chamber, haranguing the walls. Abul Ismail, who had come for news, retired to a cushion and sat, his hands on his lap. At the end, having exhausted himself, Nicholas looked at him, stopped, and then with a groan, dropped to the opposite corner and put his head in his hands. He gave a laugh. ‘I apologise.’
‘You received a fright,’ said the Arab in his judicial way. ‘It is natural. If you now set your mind to do so, it will tell you all the components, reasonable and unreasonable, of your fury. This in turn will render you able to master your body. Tell your hands to be still.’
Around the knot of his stomach, everything seemed to be shaking. He told it to stop, and it didn’t. The Arab said, ‘Why do they think a fleet is coming?’
‘Because they don’t know what is happening out there,’ Nicholas said. ‘Their precious Republic