The Spring of the Ram - Dorothy Dunnett [136]
Nicholas said, “Given health, I will come when the Basileus asks.”
The figure on the bed stirred. “And meanwhile, are we so unapproachable? Is that the book? Bring it here.”
It was possible that a discussion about al-Jazari was about to take place. Nicholas carried the book with care to the bed.
The Emperor said, “What is it? You are trembling, boy! What do they call you? Nikko? Niccolino?”
They were not going to discuss al-Jazari. Nicholas said, “My lord, it is dangerous. My complaint may pass to the Basileus unless we remain apart.”
The noble face smiled. “We are not afraid,” said the Emperor David. “The Turk claims to fear nothing, so sweet is his heaven. We make our heaven on earth, and it is worth some small risk. Come. Show me the devices and see, we shall put our hand on your shoulder. It steadies you.” The Emperor turned to his chamberlain and said, “We are busy. Return in an hour.”
In a little under that time, Nicholas left. The chamberlain, summoned by bell, took him through many passages and into a booth where his clothes were. At first, he sat without dressing. Then a bath eunuch appeared, and came in and helped him, and started him on his way to the gates, with a page to carry the box.
Doria was there. Since they had separated in the bath house, Nicholas had forgotten him. Now he could see him ahead, strutting down through the Citadel grounds to where the Genoese suite, reduced by the dinner hour, waited to take its consul home. The Greek steward Paraskeuas held Doria’s horse firmly. Mounted, he sat in the magnificent coat and smiled broadly as Nicholas walked up. Doria’s face, a silvery pink, had slackened since early morning. He said, “And how, my lord consul, do you take to Byzantine customs? If you will keep them from the ears of my wife, I shall keep them from her mother your bedfellow. Some day, we have notes to compare.”
“Indeed,” said Nicholas. “Just think what Anthimos and Alexios are comparing at this moment.”
Doria, he saw, had no qualms about what he had introduced him to. No qualms, and no doubts. The Genoese laughed, even while making a sound of reproof. He said, “What will our confessors say? Although your Godscalc appears to be liberal, as is wise in monastic communities. You look tired. You have done justice, then, to the occasion?”
The sweat, cooling in his hair and on his face, tickled his skin. Where he had been hot, now he was cold; and his clothes smelt of scent. “You should see the others,” said Nicholas.
“Then until this afternoon,” Doria said. “Wife or no wife, I propose now to go back and sleep. There are limits to what one should ask of oneself.” He set his horse in motion, with languor, and led off downhill.
Nicholas watched him a moment. He remarked, “Famine and death go with you,” and turned aside. Of the waiting Florentine escort, there were only a few men-at-arms and, of course, Loppe, preparing to ride with him back to the villa. The men at least had been out of earshot. Loppe, naturally, would have found out all there was to find out. The African came up and said, “How will you kill him?”
He forgot what he had been going to answer. “With kindness,” said Nicholas. He took a shallow breath and produced a short speech. “We are due at the Meidan, the arena, this afternoon. I have some instructions for you. Between now and the festival, I want to see no one. Unless I send for him, no one. And especially not Master Tobie. Do you understand?”
Loppe said, “Master Julius can lead the company to the Meidan. It is only a festival.”
“No,” said Nicholas. “No. This is important.”
Loppe was silent. He supposed Loppe knew, as he did, that Tobie would have to be sent for. But not for a while. Not so soon. Not until he had come to terms with the road that now lay before him; the aspect of merchant adventuring which was not what anyone had either promised him, or warned him against.
In the name of God and of profit, the