Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [56]
He said nothing aloud. His mind said, without reason, I wish I were dead, and had sown no seed, and had left no one to suffer. He thought, not of the usurping royal bastard and his Egyptian hordes, but of a Greek with a wooden leg listening somewhere, amused. And of his grandfather, Jordan. He didn’t know why he thought of them. He turned without speaking and went below, and stayed there until he was called to the boat that would land him on Cyprus.
In the event, they took their prize to the south coast of Cyprus at night; standing off the bay called Episkopi long after the sun had sunk to their left. Ahead in the darkness spread the land conquered and held by James the Bastard, who had had Nicholas brought here by force. Beyond the seas at his back lay Beirut and Damascus and the Syrian coast. Below, on the water, the ship’s boat had been lowered for its passengers. The September night was sticky with warmth. Nevertheless, leaving the Doria, Nicholas had been given a cowled cloak to put on, and so, he saw, had Primaflora and the woman her servant. The maid looked frightened. Primaflora descended into the skiff like a court lady entertaining the poor. He had seen her brace herself for the rôle, withdrawing even from him. He thought she was afraid, but was too wise to console her. In the boat, he did try to speak once, but instead of answering she glanced over her shoulder to where the seigneurs from the cabin were ensconced. The boat-master said, ‘You will be silent.’
He could make nothing of it and sat weaponless, his hands clasping his knees, thinking of Crackbene, who was not present and who must therefore still be on board. But Crackbene, like Astorre, was a thorough professional, and would be treated well no matter who employed him. And, unlike Astorre, he had no prior allegiance to the Charetty company. Crackbene was unlikely to do anything rash, even had he had enough men to support him. Nicholas was therefore alone, he and Primaflora, in the hold of the Bastard. Should Nicholas decline to co-operate, he had been told, the Bastard James in his mercy would free him. Nicholas had learned, with some pain, never to believe what he was told, especially by strangers.
The skiff laboured on. At first, it seemed to make for the river where he had heard the Corner jetty lay. Then it turned south and east and instead, rounded the whole squat peninsula that lay between Episkopi and the hamlet of Limassol. In Limassol was a castle, and the seat of the bishop who had been James’s envoy in Rome, and perhaps even James’s agent at Silla. But once more, instead of going to Limassol, the boat turned, and the journey suddenly ended. They had been brought to shore just round the cape, at a place where the beach receded to shadowy flats and a glimmering cluster of lights told of some group of low buildings far inland. He was made to exchange the boat for a firm timber jetty, and the fresh air of the sea for the miasma of land, warm and rank and smelling of citrus and brine. A sea bird cried and was answered by a low mellow sound, whispering over the sands. Across the pale rise of the beach a shadow fled, dark as a shred on the eyeball, to be followed by several others. He stopped, and somebody chuckled. ‘There is nothing to fear, Messer Niccolò. You do not know the name of this cape?’
It was the voice of his interviewer from the cabin, come in a rustle of silk to his elbow. Today he wore a round hat of cut velvet, below which sweat was trickling. ‘I don’t know it,’ said Nicholas.
‘You will find out. We are taking you to a place where your name-saint has been honoured for eleven hundred years. Over there is the monastery of Ayios Nikolaos, where the abbot has spread us a feast.’ His voice was encouraging. ‘You have been patient. Soon you will learn what is wanted of you.’
There was a vague path of sand mixed with dust, pale in the moonlight, and chequered with the shadows of men who led the way without torches. The remaining two from the cabin walked behind him in silence – one surly as before, and the other