Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [8]
In any case, she was not unescorted. With her, since she landed in Italy, were the chief of her courtiers from Cyprus, and her personal household, and enough soldiers to guard the roped boxes that contained all she had left to barter. Since they held neither ducats nor jewellery, she had not looked for trouble, but had ridden vigorously. The Greeks and the high-born, as ever, were the women who snivelled and faltered. She gave them the edge of her tongue. The others kept up, as expected. Carlotta believed in professionalism.
The attackers came from a copse. But for the snow, she would have seen them more quickly. She was riding so fast that the flying flakes made a tunnel, obscuring everything. Then she saw racing towards her a crowd of glittering shapes; the long Roman noses of horses; the studded ellipses of shields. She screamed a warning and dragged her horse round, as the others jostled behind her. The wagons halted askew. And she saw, far behind, another troop of alien horse, approaching fast and spread to encircle her.
She turned her horse round and round, alarmed and angry. The snow, lifting, showed the wall of a steading with behind it an orchard, a byre and a big, solid house with closed shutters. Through open gates, the yard showed the slush of much recent trampling: there was a child’s swing in a corner, and a hobbyhorse. The Queen of Cyprus said, ‘There!’ and, whip-hand working, set her mare to make for the gates. Her women followed. She heard the voices of de Bon and Pardo organising the rearguard to hold off the attackers while the wagons drove through. They jolted round the side of the house and disappeared, led by a group of Ansaldo’s men. Outside, arrows flew and swords clashed as Pardo and the rest began to retreat into the yard and force the gates shut. She waited to see that, before she marched up to the door of the house and struck it with the butt of her whip. ‘Open!’ she said. ‘We are the Queen of Cyprus, and we command your assistance.’
It opened. Doors always did, for Carlotta. There was a hubbub. Then Pardo came in and said, ‘We’re secure. Madama, don’t be distressed. I’ve sent someone to Silla for help: there will be men: there’s a tavern. And meantime, the archers are ready.’ He turned to the farmer and his servants, crowded into the end of the room. He said, ‘The Queen thanks you, and will show her gratitude. The rogues outside have hackbuts, and might fire through the windows or door. Is there a secure room for the Queen and her ladies?’
They took her to a room at the back, along with the women. One of them was snuffling. The others knew better. One was missing. She knew which one that would be. She said, ‘They are brigands? How many?’
De Bon had answered. ‘There are fifty, madama. Mostly at the front, but some here at the back where the other gates are. They won’t storm the walls: there are too few of them. You are safe. And the wagons.’
The wagons. She said, ‘Ansaldo is with them?’
‘In the barn,’ said her major domo. ‘He will protect them with his life.’
He left. The Queen stayed, biting her thumb, while the farm servants snivelled and her own ladies huddled together like hens. All but Primaflora, who would be watching the barn, not her Queen, because her lover Ansaldo was there. Court women! Imbeciles! Or if they were not, it would seem that they became so. Primaflora spoke Greek, as she must, but she was a Savoyard like Luis, and a worker. She had been thrown to Ansaldo to keep Ansaldo happy: it was her duty; she knew it perfectly; she had never given trouble before. So why act like a hen when the cock struts? The Queen marched up and down the small room, kicking her skirts, hearing the shouting outside, and the increase in noise from the front of the house. It sounded ominous. She found and slapped her page and said, ‘Go! Tell me what is happening.’ She pulled her dagger out of its waist-sheath, just in case, and saw the woman nearest