Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [63]
The woman called Cropnose was seated on a chair of state when Nicholas was brought in. Most of the things of value had been taken from the apartments either by Carlotta, or by the Dominicans when they fled; but in two years the deficiency had more than been made up by the Usurper. His mother’s attendants stood against walls hung with silk and wool carpets, reversed for the summer; the carved service table was laid with tapestry and piled with objects of bronze and ivory, silver and gold as well as fine glazed ware from Syria. Chained to a stand made like a tree was a red and blue bird which nibbled its foot and turned its head quickly now and then.
The King’s mother, whom the Greeks called Comomutene, looked like the parrot: spare and quick, with a brilliant cap on her hair, which was the dead russet of henna. Her eyes, which were black, were outlined with kohl beneath high shaven brows. Below her eyes, she wore a thin cerise kerchief in the manner of Saracen women, its hem heavily jewelled. The kerchief hung straight from the bridge of her nose, and blew in and out with her breathing. A burly, coarse-featured man, leaning against the back of her chair, studied the rings on his fingers. The Usurper’s mother said, ‘What can my son do with that? He is dead.’ She spoke in whistling Greek, her words timbreless; dead as her hair.
The emir Tzani-bey, who had let the chain slacken, lifted it up so that Nicholas was pulled by the neck from the floor. ‘Dead, Madame Marietta? No, there is good service to be had from him yet. Better than you would have got from him yesterday. He was insolent yesterday. Now he is merely tired; a little thirsty; a little footsore perhaps. It amused the men, to see how fast he could run.’
The woman said, ‘How dare you bring him before me like that? Is he deformed? I cannot see him for blood and for filth. What use can he be to the King? Markios?’
The man behind her said, ‘I would not, myself, make him Grand Bailie, it is true. What did Zacco want him for?’
The emir said, ‘My lord, I was not told. The person came ashore as a prisoner of the Venetians. He had a woman with him, a courtesan employed by the lady Carlotta.’
The man called Markios said, ‘So he is Carlotta’s man, captured for questioning. It must be so, or Zacco would hardly have kept him alive. What has he said?’
‘He speaks insolence, my lord, but withholds information so far. I have not the skills of Monseigneur the King. I can extract nothing from him.’
‘But he is Carlotta’s man?’ said the woman in the chair noisily. ‘He can hardly deny that. Are you not?’ She made an impatient movement. ‘What language does he speak? Pull him. Are you not?’
Hearing and speaking were two different things. Nicholas, staring at her, did not try. The bald, painted brows drew together. Tzani-bey said, ‘He needs the whip again.’
The man behind the chair said, ‘He needs a lesson, certainly, but I should like to hear him speak first. Unshackle his throat, and give him water. The emir has our thanks, and those of the King, for taking upon himself an unwonted commission. We should not detain him.’
The emir stood, his hand on his whip. He said, ‘He is somewhat violent. I will send in two of my men to protect you.’
‘Do that,’ said the man by the chair. He glanced down at the woman, and drawing a ring from his hand handed it to her. She in turn held it out. ‘You have our thanks. Our own men-at-arms will defend us. Go and take your ease. You