The Spring of the Ram - Dorothy Dunnett [107]
Absent from the ceremony was their Imperial passenger, her priest and her servants. A separate droning issuing from somewhere under the poop confirmed the crew’s suspicions. The robed and bearded figure with the lady Violante was indeed a Greek priest, and liable to pray in the Greek manner. Later, the repressive figure of the female servant issued, wrung the neck of a hen, plucked, gutted and cooked it on a small personal stove, and then vanished again.
There was no question, it appeared, of the lady her mistress joining the ship’s officers for entertainment or refreshment of any sort. She remained in her quarters as the galley sailed on through dusk and nightfall. In due course the priest emerged, made his way to the common cabin, bowed and, saying nothing, unfolded a mattress and, lying down, went at once to sleep. Shortly afterwards, the eunuch emerged from the curtain of his mistress’s quarters and took up his position cross-legged before it. From inside the cabin could be heard snatches of the lady’s voice talking in silvery Greek, punctuated by someone playing the flute in a way that could only be regarded as melancholy.
Halfway through the night, which was spent sailing, the wind rose and extra seamen were roused from their sleeping-benches to see to the sheets. The flute had long been silent. The scream, when it rose above the roar of the elements, was therefore all the more startling. Nicholas, who had been in the bows, dodged the length of the gangway and was brought up by John le Grant, his voice stoical. “The doctor’s got it in hand. Nothing fatal.”
“Oh, good,” said Nicholas, his arms hanging loose.
John le Grant’s white-lashed eyes glinted. “The serving-woman came out with a slop-pail, and one of Astorre’s men went at her with his breech clout undone. You mind. No shore leave at Modon.”
“Which of them yelled?” Nicholas said.
“Oh, he did. She knifed him. Nothing serious. Nothing too serious. Astorre says the gomeril’s got thirty-five children already to his absolute knowledge.”
“And Tobie’s got it in hand,” Nicholas said. “Well, that leaves us with ninety-seven entire soldiers. Who needs perfection?”
“Perfection would spoil you,” said John le Grant. “The passengers knifing the crew, half the galley in holes, two priests and a whistle on board and the Turkish army ahead. It’s not a ship. It’s a nervous wreck, laddie.”
Perfection did spoil him. Recalling his duty as patron, Nicholas straightened his face and made his way along the plunging, wind-buffeted gangway to drop down to Tobie’s quarters and inspect the suffering injured. The doctor was not so much reassuring as resigned. “He’ll do. I’ve never heard language like that since I was with Lionetto. I learned fourteen new words. Did you see the woman?”
“No. He didn’t hurt her?” said Nicholas. He got up from speaking to the would-be assailant, whose complaints had reduced themselves to heart-rending groans.
“That one?” said Tobie. “She wiped her knife like a butcher and marched straight back to her mistress’s cabin. I thought she’d come back for his kidneys. Are you going to apologise for this fool? Or I’ll do it.”
“You’re tired,” said Nicholas. “Learning all those new curses. Leave me to deal with the lady Violante.”
John le Grant, who had followed him, clapped his shoulder. “You do that,” he said. “She’ll set you to rights. There’s a pair of sure hands on that lady. She’ll clip you, stamp you, take the ticks out your ears, and you’ll come out that door without touching the ground with your trotters. I’ll have a drink waiting.”
After that, it would have seemed like cowardice to put it off until morning. Nicholas vaulted down the poop steps and knocked on the princess’s door-frame. Afterwards, he was sure he had knocked, although of course the Archimandrite was not there to hear, and the eunuch had deserted his post on the threshold. So, hearing a voice upraised