Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [331]
They faced one another. The young man called David said, ‘I am amazed. Of course, they will pay you in full. I must whisper to you, of course, that such a pretty opportunity will not come your way again.’
He laid the plan back on the lectern and picked from its groove the rings he had laid down when writing. They were expensive and heavy, and he assumed them like beads on an abacus. His nails were curved and worn long, and the skin of his hands was like satin.
He said, ‘We have a policy, Messer Niccolò. Small firms encroach on our trade, interfere with our plans, dilute our market. We are swiftly overcoming this problem. When the time comes, we shall offer you a reasonable price for your business. You and your colleagues. A man’s business colleagues, Messer Niccolò, quite often enjoy the feel of a coin in their palms. It is better than suffering frequent losses, long disappointments. There is only one Vatachino, and it is irresistible.’ He paused, almost smiling. He said, ‘We go to Africa next. You stay in Cyprus?’
Nicholas looked into the assured, agreeable face and said, ‘I have a home here, M. David. But like you, I have business in several places. I should expect to find myself, now and then, where you are. Or even, perhaps, there before you.’
He left the Palace soon after that, and within a week had moved his household out of Nicosia. The King wanted him gone from the capital, and he had no wish to cause further embarrassment. Kouklia could hold all his company, and once he and they had perfected their plans, he could instruct his agents, and take ship for Venice.
He returned to the King’s chambers once, for his formal leave-taking. Unwanted encounters had threatened to fill his last days at the villa: he had escaped all but two. In the first, he had been descended upon, close to suppertime, by the Patriarch Ludovico da Bologna who had lectured him on Prester John and the bee-land of Egypt, and to whom he had listened patiently, because of a procession that had come just in time and for which, he could see, he would be asked to pay many times over. In the second, he found himself summoned by the King’s mother who, overturning his formal excuses, sent a guard to his door with instructions not to come back without him. So Nicholas walked into the presence of Marietta of Patras as he was, in everyday pourpoint and boots, and stood to formal attention as a prisoner might.
He owed her nothing. The last time he was here, she had allowed Jordan de Ribérac to vilify his own grandson; she had announced that his marriage was ended. From the moment of his first arrival in chains, she had plotted. She had sent Katelina to Episkopi, hoping that he would win her away from Carlotta. Markios her bullying brother had dropped the hints that provoked the Mameluke rising, and in protecting himself and his sister had caused Abul Ismail to die. The escape of Diniz from Nicosia meant that Katelina, no longer useful, would be likely to follow him: in both departures, one could glimpse the hand of the King and his mother. And above all, because of this woman, Primaflora had been encouraged to come to the King – to appeal to the King, when the King’s mother appeared to dismiss her. He hoped she knew now what prize she had brought to her son. So far as he was concerned, that was her punishment.
The King’s mother received him unveiled. Above the velvets and jewels her painted eyes glittered. Below, she had left undisguised the raw carmine snout of her nose. She said, ‘Well? You have many things to accuse me of. Say them.’
He met her fierce gaze with his own, and said nothing at first, because whatever he might feel, there was no place here for an outburst of violence or spleen. It was why he had not wanted to come. He had always recognised her unshakable purpose. She fought for the King and for Cyprus; as in Persia, the lady Sara served none but her son Uzum Hasan. Sara was Uzum’s courageous instrument, but Marietta of Patras was the rudder which kept Zacco’s brilliant career on its course. Nicholas said, ‘Ruthlessness will empty your