The Spring of the Ram - Dorothy Dunnett [145]
John le Grant turned his red head. He said, “He means he ought to have thought that’s what Doria meant. The little service. Captain Astorre has performed the service Doria wanted. That is it, surely?”
He had a sensible face, with blue eyes with sandy lashes, and a head that treated every problem as if it were soluble by plain mathematics. Tobie said, “That is it. Doria brought the man for no other reason. If Astorre didn’t kill him, I suppose Julius would have done it.”
“I should hope so,” Julius said. “He and his fire did for three men in Modon.”
“And now he can never implicate Pagano Doria. What about Astorre?” Tobie said. “The fool left Doria alone, but he’s still killed a Genoese in front of the Emperor.” He saw, as he spoke, a swirl of movement in the Emperor’s box. Someone had been sent on some mission. At the same time, the upheaval within the Genoese benches was lessening. Men with a stretcher appeared, and began to make their way over. Doria himself was now visible. Once, he turned and Tobie saw the glance he threw to them all. Under the seemly appearance of grief, there was the glitter of mischief.
Nicholas said, “The Emperor wants the protection of Astorre and his men. So does Doria. I’d guess we’ll be asked to pay compensation, and that will be the end of it. And, of course, I’ll get my letter.”
Of course. As soon, thought Tobie, as the stretcher goes, and the Charetty company march themselves off, and the next performer prepares to take the arena. He saw all that happen, and Doria actually rise to come over, but the Imperial messenger reached Nicholas first. Immediately, the Florentine consul was to appear before the Vice-Regent of God on his balcony.
Tobie looked at the Florentine consul and Nicholas looked damply back. He appeared to have accepted the summons. It was probably, Tobie thought, no worse a prospect than the censure he must know awaited him back at the villa. Tobie said, “Take Godscalc. He can’t object to that.”
“No,” said Nicholas. “I expect it will be all right.” He got up.
Julius said, “Of course it will be all right. Your friend Alexios will be there. I remember him. He’s the Emperor’s nephew.”
Nicholas glanced at him. Under his eyes, the skin had thinned and darkened since morning. “Pagano’s boy was well born as well. Caesar’s boys, Caesar’s bidding.”
Julius said, “The Emperor offered the young men of his family to you and Doria?”
Praise God, he spoke in Flemish, as Nicholas had done. Whatever language he spoke, it was blasphemy. Tobie drew in his breath, but Nicholas answered with hardly a pause. “Doria would like you to think so. He went off with the lad, but was given a substitute.”
Godscalc spoke. “And you?”
“Not the Emperor’s nephew,” Nicholas said. “No.” From the pitch of his gaze, he was calculating how far he had to walk. The Imperial messenger waited, resenting the barbarian tongue.
“Who?” said Julius.
“Who did Alexios take me to? To the Emperor,” Nicholas said. “You might have guessed. I had all the right qualifications. He was most distressed over my fever, and he won’t be in the least harsh. I don’t need Godscalc. I told you.”
Tobie watched him climb the steps. He did so quite successfully. In a while they saw him appear on the balcony beside Amiroutzes, who paced with him to the Emperor’s couch and withdrew. The Emperor’s face, turned to Nicholas, contained more animation than was his habit: but whether from anger or the opposite was impossible, at that distance, to say. Courtesy demanded that they pay some attention to the next event, which made much use of braziers and firebrands. At the end of it, Nicholas rejoined them, walking alone. He looked slightly drunk. Instead of sitting down, he said, “That’s all right. Astorre will come to no harm. I have leave to go. Will someone…”
The bench rattled under his hand. Tobie, rising, made a doctor’s automatic assessment. “I’ll take you. Godscalc?”
Godscalc said, “Wait. The letter. Let me get it.” He moved away. Nicholas stood looking after him. Tobie said, “You got immunity for