Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [293]
The discomfort. Everyone in this city, including the boy, including Nicholas, looked as if they had been in purgatory for months. Astorre said, ‘There you are. Go. I’ll tell you if I have to leave the city. Tell him I’ve got a cook who’ll soon fatten him up. He shouldn’t have stayed. There was no need for him to have stayed.’
Tobie had never seen Astorre flushed in that way before, with distress or with guilt. It was John who said to the boy, ‘He made us leave him.’
‘I know,’ said the boy. Frighteningly, his eyes had filled with sudden tears.
John said, in French, with his flattest Aberdonian accent, ‘She is dead, then.’
The boy looked at him. John said, ‘Go on. Take us to the house. Someone will tell us. It will save Nicholas having to do it.’
The rites attending the handing over of a city are not quickly completed, and Nicholas, who had not been invited to attend them, waited a long time apart before Napoleone Lomellini left the King’s presence and the Citadel of Famagusta with the escort of honour which would accompany him on the long ride to the capital. His successor was already in the room: Conella Morabit, fellow countryman of Rizzo di Marino, knight and loyal servant of Zacco’s whose service went far back, as did that of Rizzo and Goneme and Markios, the brother of Cropnose. Only when all the orders had been given and all the discussions ended did the King dismiss his companions, and Nicholas was admitted to the inner room of the citadel which James had made his own.
‘Ah,’ Zacco said. ‘Aesculapius, son of Apollo. You didn’t think I had so much learning, did you? So you have found you prefer nursing to fighting, my Nikko?’
The use of the private name was either good news or bad. Jorgin the page, kneeling to draw the King’s boots, gave the visitor an inclination of the head without pausing. He had already relieved the King of his jacket and his hat lay fallen, where he had flung it.
Nicholas said, ‘My lord King means to stay in the Citadel?’
The splendid forehead was scored with lines and there were others which might be interpreted as reproach, or bitterness, or even menace. The King said, ‘Answer my question.’
Nicholas said, ‘The Knights Hospitaller excel at both, my lord. But there were not enough here at the time.’
‘They are here now,’ said the King. ‘Kolossi is empty. You disobeyed orders twice. Is the boy still here?’
‘My lord?’ Nicholas said.
‘The Portuguese boy. He escaped from your dyeyard, I understand, to join the enemy. You wish me to put him to death?’
‘He hardly deserves it,’ Nicholas said. ‘I had already ransomed him. He was merely impatient to return home to Portugal. Now I hope he can do so.’ He paused. ‘The lady his kinswoman is dead.’
‘In your care, I am told. That was what kept you in Famagusta?’ Already, some of the severity had left the King’s face.
Nicholas said, ‘That among other things. The lord King’s clemency in these past weeks not only led to the treaty, but will make his rule more acceptable. So will the work Abul Ismail performed for the sick, with what help I could give him.’
‘I have noticed,’ said Zacco. He kicked Jorgin absently with his toe. ‘That is enough. Later. Yes. Your name commands respect. Lomellini mentioned you. I have appointed Conella Morabit to govern the city. How would it please you to be appointed his deputy?’
His face today was not capable of a great range of expression. Nicholas looked up eventually and said, ‘My lord. I am more than sensible of the honour.’
The hazel eyes rested on him thoughtfully. ‘You have served me for twelve months. Kyrenia is mine. Yours was the shipmaster, obeying your strategy, who helped to give me Famagusta. You and your company have been well rewarded, but a sugar estate, surely, is hardly enough to occupy you. Then there is the difficulty about the dyeworks.’
So it came. ‘It is not run to the King’s liking?’ Nicholas said.
Zacco rose and, passing Nicholas on stockinged