Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [285]
‘He is your uncle,’ Nicholas said. He had resumed carving again. ‘Did she say anything else?’
‘She said that Simon denied he had fathered you, and this was the cause of the feud, and that it would get worse, unless something stopped it. She said that when she was … that Simon would think you had killed her. Would think that you had killed my father. That unless something was done, he would kill you.’
‘And?’ said Nicholas.
‘That was all,’ said the boy.
That was all. Nicholas looked at what he had been doing, which was nothing very much, and laid down the stone and the knife and, clasping his knees, looked at Diniz. He said, ‘Has it shocked you?’
‘About your mother? It happens everywhere. It makes me feel different,’ Diniz said.
‘In what way?’
‘We may be cousins. If Simon is your father. If he is, why didn’t he believe …?’
‘It’s a long story,’ said Nicholas. ‘But I was glad for a lot of reasons that you didn’t aim true in the dyeyard.’ He smiled, watching the boy’s face turn crimson. ‘I didn’t blame you.’
‘So why? Why send me there?’ Diniz said. The flush was still there, and in his voice something that might have been an appeal.
‘Not from spite. Some day I’ll tell you. Diniz, you are not to take part in this feud. Katelina was warning you. All she says is true: Simon will blame me for everything. But you can’t protect me, no one can. He is beyond believing the truth, especially when the truth itself is not black and white. I expect she has asked you to tell him everything that has happened, and persuade him to make friends and thank me? But she knows, too, in the depths of her heart, that it isn’t possible. He is beyond reason, Diniz. What you must do is help him forget; plunge him in business as your father would have done; save him from ruining the rest of his life hunting for vengeance.’
‘He’ll kill you,’ said Diniz. ‘She says he’ll try to kill you unless one of us gets to him first.’
‘He might,’ Nicholas said. ‘That isn’t my fear. My greatest fear – my greatest fear is that I shall find I have to kill him.’
At that point, Abul Ismail came into the yard and said, ‘Messer Niccolò.’
They had turned her pillow so that it was fresh, and the tawdry finery had long since been replaced by a smooth, pale quilt that reached to her breast. Over it, the slender bones of her arms showed under the sleeves of her bedgown, with no roundness of flesh left anywhere. The brown hair, the dark brows and, when he took her hand, the open brown depths of her eyes were like molasses drained from white sugar. Lady Sweet Grace.
He said, ‘I have a complaint. I’ve been kept out.’
Her lips were leaden, but able to smile. ‘He is a bully,’ she said. ‘Nicholas. You must hide. I can’t wait.’
But for Diniz, he couldn’t have followed the thought. He said, ‘Simon? I know. I’ve thought about it. I shall be careful.’
Her fingers stirred in his. She said, ‘I can’t wait. Abul has told me. When the siege ends, you can leave Famagusta. Go somewhere safe. The King, Astorre will protect you.’
Peace of mind was all he could give her. ‘I shall,’ he said. ‘And Diniz will get safely home. I shall see to that.’ He waited again. He found he couldn’t pursue the thought to its proper conclusion. He couldn’t distress her with his own, raw, terrible dilemma.
She divined it. She said, ‘You are wondering about our child, too. If you think it right, I want you to take him.’
He couldn’t stop himself showing what he felt. Then he didn’t try to stop it. Katelina said, ‘I hadn’t forgotten.’
There was so little time. He got back half his control, and then all of it. He said, ‘We spoke of this. No. Simon must never doubt who his son is. Katelina, who could care for him? Would Lucia take him, now Tristão has gone? Or Tasse – perhaps I could get Tasse. She looked after –’
He stopped. Tasse, adoring, elderly Tasse, had looked after Marian on the journey that led to her death. Katelina said, ‘I wrote a message, to Lucia, in case you thought of that. And to Simon. There is another note, just a record. If the child