Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [78]
He said, ‘There was no need, demoiselle. A little rough usage, but I won free before worse could happen. And you?’
‘I am well,’ she said. ‘No princess of the blood could be better treated than I, and my Queen will hear of it. And you? You travel to Rhodes?’
‘To join my army. We may travel together. Brother, we are guests at your board. Place us where you wish.’
He was seated beside her. She talked to her partner, and so did he. Beneath the board, her hand found his, and her foot. He smiled, all the time he was talking. Then, at last, she turned to him. She said, ‘What did he do?’
‘Tzani-bey? Enough to deserve a little reciprocal attention, which he will receive, one of these days. As you see, I have my life and my limbs, and freedom to rejoin my army.’
‘In order to do what?’ Primaflora said.
‘To reach a decision,’ Nicholas said. ‘But perhaps we need privacy to discuss it. Why are there so few at the table?’
‘Half of them are at work. The sugar ship is due soon. And a few have gone off to Kouklia, including someone you know. Do you remember a priest called John de Kinloch at Bruges? I met him there with the Hospitallers. Of course, he has no idea you are in Cyprus, and I somehow failed to tell him. He will be the most surprised of men on his return. Is that awkward?’
She knew so little about him. There was no need to tell her all he recalled about the middle-aged, narrow-faced Scotsman who had served the St Ninian’s altar in Bruges. John of Kinloch knew all about the boyhood of Claes the apprentice in Bruges: how often he had been flogged for his escapades; how many girls he had tumbled; whom he had enraged to the point of unreason. It didn’t matter what he knew. All that was behind him. Nicholas said, ‘Not at all. I’m delighted. I might be more delighted if Master John wasn’t an idiot. But as it is, all Bruges knew we were joining Carlotta, and what he has to tell will confirm our credentials. When is he due to come back?’
‘In four days, he told me. You have time to improve on your story. Is your army really at Rhodes?’
‘So they say. I’ll know when I get there. Are we the only guests?’
‘All but two Portuguese. They are eating outside, I suppose.’
He would have to check who they were. He did not, even then, experience a real sense of danger. ‘I must meet them. From Bruges, or the Duchess of Burgundy’s suite? Does John of Kinloch know them?’
She smiled. ‘No. They are Portuguese from Portugal, going to Rhodes: nothing sinister, that I can see, about them. The son would like to take me to bed.’
‘So should I,’ Nicholas said. ‘We must arrange it.’ Her eyes responded; he smiled and turned his attention elsewhere. His mind dwelled, as it should not, on Primaflora. It was an effort, when dinner ended, to think of anything else. He took her with him, cloaked against the bleak afternoon, when he left the castle to stroll round the sugar mill and the factory. They had hardly walked to the mill race before she pointed out the two Portuguese, standing conferring by the cold, rushing water. The younger, seeing the girl, walked forward eagerly. His face, changed by adolescence, was mildly familiar. The face of the elder was one Nicholas recognised instantly. It belonged to Bruges as well as to Portugal. It belonged to the family that, of all others, abominated Nicholas vander Poele. Nicholas spoke to Primaflora. ‘You didn’t say the son was a child.’
He felt, without interpreting it, a fleeting surprise, followed by pleasure. Then she said, ‘Sixteen, and a virgin.