Scales of Gold - Dorothy Dunnett [9]
‘Expected it?’ Margot said. She was pale, from shock and from running. ‘Expected an attack on his life? On his homecoming?’
Gregorio didn’t answer. She had read that letter from Cyprus, as he had. They should have realised what it meant. He watched the big boat coming near and said, ‘Lopez. He will stay here. It must be made perfectly clear to the household –’
‘It will be,’ Margot said.
The boat berthed. Nicholas stepped ashore and smiled at them all. He said, ‘Welcome home. I thought I should perhaps say it for you. Gentlemen, I do beg your pardon. If you’ll give me leave to settle affairs with the Magistrate – Goro, will you come with me? – then I shall be delighted to come back at leisure and meet you. Don’t, on any account, delay your dinner.’
The water was still full of boats, and people exclaiming. Across the canal, men and vessels were clustered beneath the Palazzo Barzizza. A dead man lay in the boat at his feet. Gregorio could see the official craft approaching between them. He said, ‘Your clothes …’
‘Blood, I know,’ Nicholas said. ‘I paid a lot for this coat. I wanted to make an impression.’
A cursory dent appeared in one cheek and then vanished. It was meant perhaps to signal distress, masked by a kind of grim humour. Without an accompanying glance, it looked merely indifferent.
Under the coat, his doublet turned out to be clean. He threw the stained garment to his servant and turned, adjusting his expression, to deal with the Magistrate. Gregorio said, ‘Do you know who it was?’
‘Oh, I should think so,’ Nicholas said. ‘But I shan’t say if you don’t.’
Later, returning with Nicholas to the Bank, Gregorio thought to count his blessings, which amounted after consideration to one. There would be no prosecution.
Nicholas, who could always act, had acted with awful aplomb. Who wished for his death? He feared – the enemies of the Venetian Republic. There were those who, whatever their oaths, hesitated to join the Serenissima in her crusade against the infidel Turk. He laid no personal blame on the Duke of Burgundy or on France, although today’s news must shake the credit of every bank, and not only his own. Neither would he point to the city of Genoa, which might resent a soldier and merchant whose deeds served the nobler Republic. Indeed, he saw here no Christian crime. The name of Niccolò vander Poele was well known to be cursed by the Infidel.
Gregorio, at this point, had swallowed. The Magistrate, on the other hand, had exclaimed, ‘He used a Mameluke bow, the assassin!’
‘Even here!’ Nicholas said. He said it after a moment.
‘… But of course he is unknown. He entered the Palazzo unseen. Nevertheless, you are right. Whatever his colour, the Egyptians have paid him. Didn’t your army in Cyprus annihilate the entire Mameluke force in that island?’
‘They died, certainly,’ Nicholas said.
‘And their leader, in single combat with yourself?’
‘I did fight the Mameluke emir, it is true. I have his rather fine bow.’
‘And you killed him?’ The Magistrate was entranced.
‘The King killed him. I cut off his arm. He had no further need of his bow as a consequence,’ said Nicholas helpfully.
At this point, the Magistrate got up and insisted on shaking his hand. So did his secretary and one or two clerks. Something kindly was said about permits for weapons, and Nicholas was full of contrition. He had hesitated to apply. The Signory might consider he overvalued his services, to think himself endangered because of them. The Magistrate shook both hands, reassuring him.
Gregorio, who was feeling queasy, sat mute. He hardly opened his mouth for the rest of the interview. He might have found himself pointing out that nothing Nicholas had ever done had been intended for the profit of Venice. Venice had simply been lucky.
Returning in the official boat, Nicholas broke without hesitation into Flemish. ‘You’re all right? I can see Margot is. And the soul of discretion as usual. I thought