Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [286]
‘Diniz doesn’t know?’ Nicholas said.
‘No. I’ve told him you think I should have called my son – what is it?’
‘Arigho. It’s only a pet name for Henry. And Arro is the little name.’
‘Like Claes,’ she said, and fell into still, smiling silence. Then she said, ‘And Tasse. She looked after Marian. Marian was afraid for you, too. She said you couldn’t protect yourself. She saw you learn how.’
His hand cradled hers on the coverlet and he studied each wasted finger, rather than have his face read. He said, ‘She brought me up. I used to dream that, one day, I would come to her with the girl I was going to marry.’ He raised his head slowly. The hollow eyes on the pillow were filling with tears. He would never have said that to anyone living. He had said it because she was dying; and she knew it. The greatest balm he could bring, brought on a knife-point.
The door opened on the bearded, calm presence of Abul Ismail. He said, ‘She is in pain, Messer Niccolò. Give me a moment.’
Their hands fell apart. He bent and kissed the tears in her eyes, resting his lips in their hollows. Then he straightened and left. Standing waiting, he heard the noise of the city oddly magnified, like the clamour of a classical triumph, with guns and bells, drums and trumpets and piping. And the roar of many voices. The door of the sickroom opened, and the doctor came out. He said, ‘I need your permission, and the boy’s. She is in pain, but wants to endure it. What she may endure now is, however, nothing to what she will face very soon. I would not inflict on her either this knowledge, or this eventual indignity. I ask your leave to remove her pain when it begins to grow past her bearing. You have seen me do this for others. She will drift into sleep.’
‘And never waken,’ Nicholas said.
‘It may shorten her life by a day,’ said Abul Ismail. ‘I would allow her this peace, if you can. Is the boy there?’
‘I shall fetch him,’ Nicholas said.
But Diniz was not in the yard when he sought him, or anywhere to be found in the house. In a rage of despair, Nicholas flung open the doors to the street and he was there, running towards him, and the clamour he had heard was real, and louder than he would have thought possible. And Diniz, arriving, flung his arms around him sobbing and said, ‘Oh, tell her! Let us tell her! It is coming!’
Then Nicholas held him off, and said, ‘What is coming? Diniz, what is it?’
‘A ship!’ Diniz said. ‘A round ship from Genoa. The fire-signals are burning. The ships in the harbour are letting off rockets. We told you it was coming, and you didn’t believe us. Zacco drew off his vessels. It will come in. It will save us. The siege will be lifted. And Famagusta stays Genoese!’
Within Nicholas, all the clamour fell silent. He said, ‘What is the name of the Genoese ship? Has anyone signalled?’
‘Yes!’ said Diniz. ‘It’s the Adorno.’
And that, then, was what she had been waiting for.
He said, ‘We shall go and tell her. Diniz, she is dying.’
‘Then she will die happy,’ said Diniz. He stopped. ‘You won’t be angry with her? She said you and Abul would be set free. The treaty ensured it.’
‘I shall be angry neither with her nor with you,’ Nicholas said. ‘The doctor has something to tell you. Make your decision. Whatever you want, I shall agree to.’
The door of the sickroom was open when they got there, and inside was quietness, and no movement except Abul Ismail’s, withdrawing a slow, smoothing hand from the pillow. No movement at all, not even of breathing. ‘No!’ said Nicholas in a whisper.
‘No?’ said Abul Ismail. ‘God is great, God has called her. Is this a man who prates of mercy and would deny it another for his own sake? She has won the Truth; she is in Paradise. In the night does she see the sun, and in the darkness does she see light. When God decreeth a matter, it is not for man to deny him.’
‘I would have said farewell,’ Nicholas said.
‘The loss is yours and not hers,’ said the Arab. ‘She learned that the vessel had come, and was glad, for she said that the young man would speak for her.