Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [7]
‘So long as she passes it,’ Nicholas said. He watched the girl run away.
The friar contemplated him. His hair was so black and so plentiful that even when shaved, his crown and his jowls were as blue as fish-hide. He said, ‘Well, you’re giving thought, I can see, to your fellows in trouble. You would let the lady ride without extra help to Bologna, while these fellows risk the wrath of their lord, sleeping here while she went by unknowing?’
‘I probably should,’ Nicholas said. ‘But it’s going to be all right, because you’ll tell the captain.’
‘Well, the lieutenant,’ said the friar. ‘The captain is not wholly in touch with his intelligence.’ He was watching the road. It struck Thomas that he was watching the road quite intently.
Nicholas said, ‘Is there something wrong?’
The friar redirected his gaze. ‘Wakened up, have we?’ he said. ‘I don’t know. I thought I saw something.’
Thomas looked out of the window. He said, ‘There is something. A man. Riding this way from the south.’ He got to his feet. He said, ‘A man wearing livery, wounded.’
Nicholas rose, and so did the friar, as if their interlocked gaze had been hefted. The wounded rider came nearer. He was shouting. The tavern door opened, and two of the soldiers ran out, accompanied by three of the Poles. Nicholas said, ‘You knew this was going to happen.’
Fra Ludovico da Bologna would never, surely, look gratified. He said, ‘Am I a necromancer? But that’s the device of the lady. And thieves and cut-throats love travellers. That man has been sent here for help.’
Now there was a crowd of people in the yard, helping the man from his horse. The lieutenant passed out of the room at an uncertain run. By the hearth, the captain lay snoring. Nicholas said, ‘Then isn’t it lucky that there’s a whole squadron of horse here to help him?’
‘With no captain,’ said Ludovico da Bologna.
Thomas looked from one man to the other, and out of the window, and across to the hearth. He said, ‘Someone’s been attacked on the road. Did you hear that? There’s a mob besieging a farm with some travellers in it.’
The friar smiled, still looking at Nicholas. Nicholas said, ‘So it seems.’
It puzzled Thomas. He said, ‘Then shouldn’t we rescue them? I don’t mind.’
‘There you are,’ said Ludovico da Bologna. ‘There speaks the professional soldier. Will you let him go? You don’t appear to want to go with him.’
It seemed to Thomas that his employer was being accused of something. He said, ‘Master Nicholas can handle himself in a fight.’ He paused and added, ‘Nowadays.’ Outside, horses were being brought and men were mounting, and running back and forth with helmets and swords. They included the Poles, and quite a number of other men who were not soldiers.
Nicholas sighed again. He said, ‘I never thanked you for what you did in Florence, did I? Well, let me thank you for everything now. Thomas, get the grooms and the arms and let’s go.’
The cloud disappeared from his companion’s face. Thomas said, ‘Well, it’s the right thing. Especially if it’s a lady. Who’s the lady in trouble, Master Nicholas?’
‘She’s not a lady,’ Nicholas said. ‘She’s a Queen called Carlotta.’
At the time of the attack, Carlotta by the grace of God Queen of Jerusalem, Cyprus and Armenia was twenty-four years of age; small, and trim, and sharp as a triple-split needle. Setting out from Porretta, she could have wished herself back in the warm baths, except that she was out of temper already, over days wasted in Rome and further days of fruitless wheedling in Florence. At Porretta, the Pope’s fifty horsemen had left her, but very soon she would meet her next escort. Messer Sante had begged her to wait for them, but she was tired of old men’s advice. Of any advice. If she had listened to Luis her consort she would never have won free of Cyprus. He was still besieged on the island, complaining about