The Spring of the Ram - Dorothy Dunnett [122]
She found she was shaking; and caught Pagano’s hand, and held it tightly. She knew she was young, and had a lot to learn. She understood that she was frightened, and would be again; because this was a great world, and she wanted to enter it, and that was the price you had to pay. She was willing to pay it. She didn’t want to stay in a dyeshop. She could do anything, now she had Pagano to learn from.
Rising, she looked across for the tall figure of her mother’s husband, and found it, and trained upon it all her joy and her defiance.
Julius said, “There he is.” He kicked Nicholas, and repeated it.
Nicholas said, “I have still, thank God, the power of sight. That is the Protonotarios, who came to see us. The man with the hat like a basket is Amiroutzes, the Treasurer. The man bringing up the rear is either the Count of the Walls or the Prefect of the Guard: tell Astorre. The man greeting them in the doorway is the Patriarch, with his clergy. The man—”
Julius said, “You don’t want to know? There, facing you over the path, is Pagano Doria, who set fire to your ship and nearly got John and me killed by the Turks. The girl’s behind him, with her hair all wired up and her skin bare down to her neckline. You don’t mind?” He waited, expecting support from Tobie and Godscalc. But Tobie, standing behind him, said nothing, and Godscalc behaved as if he wasn’t there.
Nicholas said, “Go and hit him, then. That’s what he’s praying you’ll do.”
Julius went on breathing hard. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to ruin the business,” he said.
“That’s the spirit,” said Nicholas. “Anyway, he’s wearing an Imperial coat. The Emperor must have called him to the same audience. He and I will have the chance of a civil word or two on the way. I’ll convey your good wishes.”
“You should kill him,” said Julius. He felt Godscalc’s hand on his shoulder and realised that within the church, the Easter service had begun, and he should be silent. Incense hung in the air, and the sound of men’s voices chanting, clear through the doors. Plain chant, without instruments. Julius, who had little interest in music, stared across at Pagano Doria, who gave him a smile full of charm, and then murmured in his wife’s ear. The girl laughed. Julius tightened his fists. He was almost better now. Well enough to hit someone.
Tobie, behind, caught Godscalc’s eye and then looked round for Loppe, who appeared to be reading Nicholas’s mind from the back. Godscalc’s hand remained where it was. After a while, he gave Julius a light, private cuff and removed it, as if satisfied with a restive horse. Julius remained gazing at the Genoese and occasionally frowning at Nicholas, who appeared to be committing to memory every person in sight, and had not looked towards Catherine again. Blurring the reverent silence imposed on those nearest to the church door were the murmuring sounds of conversation among the many hundreds standing further off in the open, and above and beyond, the commonplace cries of the City. Nicholas had stopped looking about. Godscalc said, in a voice that just reached him, “Acrostics. I told you.”
He was given the impression, unexpectedly, that his voice wasn’t wanted. Then Nicholas said, “Yes. I hear it.”
Within, the strong voices had turned from the canon to the great Akathistos Kontakion with its refrains, repeated over and over. Between the powerful charges of music the service began to unfold: there would be a passage of chanting, or a solo voice: Who is great like our God? You are the God who performs miracles. Or wordless prayer, in absolute silence. All must stand still, for the master of the house has come. The master has come, and will hear you.
The passion of the divine liturgy of the Greek Church climbed