Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [289]
John le Grant laid down what he was working on. ‘About Nicholas? What? You know all I do.’
‘He’s written asking to stay in Famagusta for two weeks. The King knows the boy Vasquez is there. He’s livid.’
‘I didn’t tell him,’ said John.
‘Nicholas told him. In the letter. He also said he felt responsible for the Flemish lady who, being royally connected, ought to be well looked after.’
‘What Flemish lady?’ said John le Grant. Loppe stirred, then said nothing.
‘You didn’t know. Katelina van Borselen. Famagusta is full of God-damned Flemings. She’s been trapped there as well as the boy. Simon’s wife as well as his nephew. He says she’s ill. I say it’s a trick to persuade him to stay. I think they’re trying to hold him.’
Loppe said, ‘He can’t be harmed, he’s a hostage. What is the King going to do?’
‘Well,’ said Tobie. ‘It began with striking his spurs off for disobedience, but ended more on the lines of he could stay and rot for two weeks for all Zacco cared. I thought the Flemish woman was sailing for Portugal? That was the point. So that Simon wouldn’t come looking for her.’
Soon after that, the news of the round ship arrived: the round ship called the Adorno.
On the hard, muddy ride to the shore, no one spoke very much. They joined up with others: Philip Pesaro and a group from Sigouri and later, a familiar glitter of feathers and armour – Astorre, pounding across from the camp with Thomas behind him. Every villager who had a mule seemed to be making his way that day to the beach north of Famagusta, by Salamis. The King was already there, with half the court and the Mamelukes; and a tent, shivering in the wind, had been set up but was not so far in use. For in view, over the ruffled grey sea, was the round ship from Genoa.
She was large, and low in the water, and the size of her guns showed quite clearly, as did the red and white flag of St George, glinting in occasional sunlight below a cloud ceiling harried by blustering wind.
The wind was strong, and from the north. When Zacco’s two war galleys appeared, they seemed hardly to move. The long shells of the hulls were wiped from view by the heave of the sea, so that the prow platforms and tents of the poop could no longer be seen, and only the pennanted masts told where they were, until they rode into view once more, in a steam of spume from the bite of the oars. The round ship raced towards them, her canvas taut. Her bows plunged, shouldering aside streaming seas upon which the galleys slid and swooped and plummeted like seal pups caught in the wash of a bear. The Adorno fired, and the watchers saw two patches of smoke, and heard the flat thuds, and saw the dash of white water between the galleys. One of them had broken away and appeared to be attempting to struggle upwind. ‘They’ll have naphtha,’ said John. ‘And they’ve got guns. But with that sea and that wind, the round ship’ll outrun them. She’ll be in Famagusta before they can touch her. So where in God’s name is Crackbene?’
‘There,’ said Loppe’s quiet voice. He was looking neither to the right nor the left but out to sea, where a round ship was coming in from the south-east, her sails shuddering, her course designed to intersect with the Genoese just outside the harbour. The Doria, their own ship, brought by the Venetians and Zacco from the Abruzzi, and a veteran now of the war for which she had been chartered. On the mast flew the red lion of Lusignan, and at the helm, they knew, was Mick Crackbene.
Tobie said, ‘Will he do it?’
‘Look at his guns,’ John le Grant said. ‘We designed them for this. They can even be trained upon galleys.’
The crowded strand where they stood was full of noise. It beat about them on the wind as men shook their fists and shouted, faces shining. Zacco stood on high ground, his hat pulled off, his hair blown free of his sable-lined cloak. Beside him, the face of Rizzo di Marino was as intent. Beyond them was the emir, Tzani-bey. Captain Astorre, surveying them all, turned back and caught what they were talking about. ‘Crackbene?’ he said. ‘Knows his job. Knows his