Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [311]
In those months in Famagusta during which he had been forced into manhood, Diniz Vasquez had learned to understand Katelina, the odd, impatient second wife of his uncle, as he had learned to know Niccolò vander Poele, the unacknowledged son of the first. The bond between the two was now plain, and he could at least guess at some of its history. Also, alone of survivors, Diniz knew why she had come to Famagusta, and why she had stayed there. And he was prepared, as she had been, to protect so far as he was able the man whom he now, in his thoughts, called Niccolò.
He was afraid of his grandfather, but he was not a coward. He had left Famagusta in good faith, persuaded by the doctor Beventini that vander Poele would be better off without both of them. On entering Nicosia and the villa, his first resolution, almost forgotten now, had been to challenge Bartolomeo Zorzi, the Venetian who had made his escape from the dyeyard so simple.
The doctor had restrained him. ‘Nicholas wants to interview Zorzi himself. If you’d like to watch an artist at work, go and listen to him when he does it. If he lives to do it. When are you leaving?’
Diniz had flushed. ‘I can get a room somewhere else.’
‘No,’ the doctor had said irritably. ‘To go home. You’ve got a mother, haven’t you? If she doesn’t know that poor girl is dead, she can’t take steps to help with her baby. What will happen to it?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Diniz. ‘She left letters for Simon and my mother. I haven’t opened them.’
‘Well, the longer you languish about here, the longer it’ll be till they open them.’ The doctor’s words might be harsh, but Diniz saw he was worried, not angry. In any case, he himself would never leave before vander Poele came. He had no idea, then, that Niccolò intended to settle his score with the Mameluke. He had been stunned, as had all Nicosia, by the news of the massacre at the Mamelukes’ camp. He had been terrified by the news from Famagusta, brought by Beventini, who had bounded into the room in a swirl of medical oaths. ‘I knew it! The stupid, vindictive young dummy! While Rizzo di Marino was clearing out Mamelukes, Nicholas was engaging Tzani-bey in a cut-throat fight to the death in Famagusta.’
The big negro called Loppe was in the room. He looked up and waited. ‘What happened?’ said Diniz.
‘He chopped off Tzani-bey’s hand. Delightful. The emir’s dead, and Nicholas is at the Franciscans’ getting patched up.’
‘You’d better tell his lady wife?’ said Loppe after a moment.
The doctor said, ‘She knows. She told me. They’re all in a state at the Palace. And Crackbene’s back from Salines. They’ve crowned him with flowers and assigned him a royal apartment. They don’t know whether they’re ringing the bells for the surrender of Famagusta or the happy demise of the emir. The King is expected to ride in today to give Crackbene his victory medal. I’d better get on the road and see to that damned fool in Famagusta. They killed Abul Ismail.’
‘What?’ said Diniz.
‘The emir did it,’ said the doctor. ‘Found out somehow the Arab betrayed him. They’re a mad race, but he was a good doctor. I suppose they fight it all out in Paradise. I’ll be off.’
The negro said, ‘Master Tobie. If Master Nicholas is with the Franciscans, they will care for him. And Master John is still there.’ He used formal speech, as he always did, but Diniz was surprised by a glance which, quick though it was, was less than formal. Loppe added, ‘I don’t suppose there is news of the prisoners? The men who arrived on the Adorno?’
The doctor stopped and frowned at Diniz. He said, ‘Well, I might as well tell you. Yes. Crackbene brought back the Adorno prisoners.’
Diniz said, ‘And Simon my uncle is with them?’ He felt sick. Simon was probably here. By now, Simon would know that his wife Katelina was dead.
‘No,’ said Tobie. ‘Not Simon. It’s that shameless great bladder that gave Nicholas the scar on his face. Your grandfather, Jordan de Ribérac. And stay away from him, boy. You had your chance with the axe. You’ve blabbed enough