Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [307]
He was loyal. Regrettably, Rizzo di Marino was loyal, and would betray nobody. There was one more piece of information, however, he might be willing to give. ‘And stay away from Nicosia?’ Nicholas asked.
Rizzo di Marino gazed at him contemplatively. He said, ‘I am like you. I take life by the jaws. I do not look for it to be easy or pleasant. Go to Nicosia if you must. But it is not what the King expects. Do not strain his affection, or count on his temper. Your time will come when he finds that, having disposed of the Sultan, he is threatened by Venice.’
The Franciscans had missed him, and were reproachful. He got hold of Astorre, and sent him out of the city with Thomas, to prepare to strike camp and move out on orders. To questions he said, ‘Give me two days, then come to Nicosia. Then we’ll talk of the future.’ He could see the gleam in Astorre’s eye, and could imagine how, with Thomas, he’d pass the night listing wars that he fancied. He felt, quite suddenly, in despair.
To John le Grant he said, ‘Nicosia late tomorrow. I have rounds to do first. What’s the news? Is Crackbene back from Salines? Is the King celebrating, planning, mourning, whoring or just getting drunk?’
‘Rumour says,’ said the engineer, ‘that he got off his horse and went straight to his mother. Crackbene’s in Nicosia with his Genoese prisoners from the Adorno. Tobie and Loppe have Diniz with them at the villa. Zorzi is still in the dyeyard, prior, I assume, to receiving the business from you by royal command on a big dirty plate. Our good old Venetian friends are all in Nicosia, since the King won’t allow them to come here in case they get dragged into corners and slaughtered. The leaders of Famagusta have been lodged till they see what their Republic will pay for them. Your wife is still in the Palace. What else do you want to know?’
Nicholas said, ‘Who are Crackbene’s Genoese prisoners?’
‘I don’t know,’ said John le Grant. ‘If you’ll stay here, I’ll go to Mick and find out. You think it’s someone connected with that poor lady?’
‘She thought so,’ Nicholas said. ‘So did Gregorio. He thought her husband Simon would come. And the ship was the Adorno. There’s no need to be my errand boy. I’ve said. I’m going to Nicosia tomorrow.’
The rounds he had spoken of Nicholas did next day himself, while John le Grant waited for him. They were simple enough: the churches, the hospices, the homes where he had worked with Abul Ismail. The villa. And another call.
None of it was very easy, for he was weak, and could walk very little, although he had the sense to take servants with him. It was trying in other ways also, for he saw how much he was needed. Seven weeks of adequate food had not yet brought life and bloom back to the faces he recognised and some had gone, stricken with illness. But now there were children, one or two; and a new baby who wouldn’t know the cold brick of the church of St Anna. In the hospice of the Knights of St John he found the brethren he knew and many others newly come and already busy, scouring, cleaning, replenishing and looking after the sick in their ward-cots with martial and relentless energy. They had brought the silver dishes, the porringers, the drinking-tubes; the sheepskin coats for the trip to the privy. Zacco was right. Kolossi was empty.
Louis de Magnac and de Combort were among the brethren. Now Nicholas was greeted with warmth, his trespasses more than forgiven. He returned the greeting as readily, for he saw the Knights himself through different eyes. They too fought and nursed. They too had studied both faces of war and yet persevered. These men had defied the cannon of Famagusta, had walked unarmed through the night in the quiet procession that had delivered the city. Theirs was a sober act of courage and charity that stood apart from the intrigues that had led to it. He didn’t have to be told what the