Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [322]
The next morning, he woke to find Astorre at his bedside. The captain, fully dressed and freshly returned, no doubt, from a practice bout in the courtyard, said, ‘I thought I’d have a word before the rest finished at table. You’re not married any more?’
With extreme clarity, Nicholas remembered that he was not married any more. He said, ‘Dispositions are being made, I hear, to end the arrangement. Why?’ He moved cautiously and found his limbs, although stiff, seemed to answer him. He contemplated what appeared to be a permanent condition of nausea.
Astorre said, ‘Thomas told us it wouldn’t work. I can’t say I’m sorry. But what about the fat Frenchman?’
The fat Frenchman. Nicholas said, ‘Oh. The vicomte de Ribérac. He’s here to cause trouble. I don’t think he’ll manage it. Anyway, he’s going to be paid for and sent home. Waves of hate coming from Portugal, but I suppose we can deal with that. Astorre friend, I did promise a conference. Can this wait?’
Astorre twitched back the bedclothes, inspected the bandages and flung them over his charge’s body again. ‘I said you should’ve dodged that one,’ he said. ‘But you weren’t bad. No. If I wait, they’ll make up your mind for you. You’ve seen two nasty sieges, and you’re recoiling against the whole thing.’
He was awake now. Nicholas battened down the entire seething entity of what was actually happening and put himself in Astorre’s place. He said, ‘You’re wondering about the future of the army. It seems possible that I’ll be offered the citadel of Sigouri and its estates, which would give work for a garrison, unless Cairo has other ideas. If the Turks begin to prevail over Venice, Cyprus may well be in danger, and Zacco will need all the help he can get. On the other hand, we’ve done what we’ve contracted to do. Would you go for a war somewhere else?’
Astorre sat back. ‘You’d think of it?’
‘I might not go with you, but I’d think of it. Unless you’d rather be on your own?’
‘I could. It comes expensive,’ said the captain.
‘The Bank would back you. It amounts to the same thing. You know the best wars, in any case. What is there?’
He got up in cautious stages and limped to the privy, and thought afterwards that Astorre had hardly noticed, in his enthusiasm, that he was barely within earshot. He dressed. ‘… Skanderbeg?’ Astorre was saying. ‘Doing fine. Paid by Venice to create diversions against Constantinople. Limited, of course. Asked the Pope to give him land in Italy in case he has to retreat. God-awful discipline and terrible sheepskins. I wouldn’t think of Skanderbeg, not at the moment.’
‘No,’ said Nicholas.
‘The Naples war’s finished. Ferrante holds all the kingdom except Ischia, where John of Calabria’s been stuck hoping, they say, for a fleet. He might get one ship, like the Adorno. I don’t think he’ll get even one ship. Naples is safe. Dripping roast. Hell of a pity. They don’t need an army.’
‘No,’ said Nicholas.
‘England and France have made peace, God damn them both. Scotland wasn’t included, although that Flemish Queen of theirs was supposed to back the Lancastrian Queen, the daughter of René of Anjou. But they say the Flemish Queen’s dying. D’you want to support the daughter of René of Anjou?’
’emphatically not,’ Nicholas said.
‘Oh? Well, there isn’t much else. The Malatesta war’s finished. He got beaten. You wouldn’t believe it, after all those years. Piccinino’s dropped John of Calabria and gone over to the Duke of Milan. The French King’s causing plenty of trouble – you knew him?’
‘Louis of France. Yes, I knew him.’
‘He’s trying to lord it over Savoy, and he’s persuaded that old fool of Burgundy to sell him back all his frontier towns. He’s going to cause trouble.’
‘Is that all?’ said Nicholas.
‘It’s not very good, is it?’ said Astorre in a depressed way. ‘There’s only the Crusade.’
‘The what?’ said Nicholas. He was dressed, and hunting a hairbrush. His bandages stuck, and someone had