The Spring of the Ram - Dorothy Dunnett [178]
But of course, it would be Simon and Doria, with the Florentine franchise, who would remain ultimately in business in Trebizond, and the former allies of Nicholas who would ultimately find their way, profitless, home. Simon, man of fortune and grace, seated in the house of his forebears in Scotland with a lovely woman as bride and a son of five months to smile at him every day from the cradle.
Forget Simon. Forget Simon, and think about Pagano Doria.
He had reminded Godscalc and Tobie that Doria was awaiting his chance; but had not repeated the warning, and if one of them had pursued the same line of thought as himself, he didn’t say so. Acting only from instinct, Nicholas had prepared himself and his men as if for battle, and it had come almost as a pleasure to be told, the day before he left Trebizond, that he had been right. Pagano Doria was planning to follow him.
The information came from their own informer in the Doria household and by a Godgiven fluke, it had come to him alone. Reports from the Greek Paraskeuas had kept the Charetty informed, day by day, of what Doria was doing, and how his wife Catherine did. It was why Nicholas had taken the chance long ago, on the way to his audience, to try to sever Doria’s connection with Violante of Naxos. He didn’t know if he had.
But now, on this one auspicious day, bringing his news, Paraskeuas had been pressed for time and, glimpsing Nicholas, had disobeyed orders and reported to Nicholas.
The news this time had not been routine. Pagano Doria was gathering men, horses, supplies for a hunting trip. Or so he had told his wife and his colleagues. Paraskeuas thought differently. The men he had picked were servants and intimates, and had several horses apiece. They were heavily armed and carried, done up in packrolls, extra weapons and tents, and blankets and cloaks for cold weather. He had also packed, discreetly disposed, a large number of packets of silver, as if about to make costly purchases of men, or of goods.
“Of men,” Nicholas had said thoughtfully. “He’ll hire men in the mountains who’ll disperse later, and won’t talk.” He had dismissed Paraskeuas with a generous present before anyone came. So Pagano Doria was coming after him, and no one knew of it, except himself.
He had given five minutes’ thought to the question of whether to tell Julius and the others. Before the bitterness of the last few weeks, he would have given it none. The result was the same. Doria’s quarrel and Simon’s were nobody’s business but his. Warned, he could turn the tables and stop something worse happening. Godscalc, damn him, ought to be pleased. And more than that, he would have once more the satisfaction of planning and managing an operation as it ought to be done. For leadership was a dangerous drug. To watch other men’s errors was once an idle amusement: now it was an ache. He couldn’t have borne it much longer; whatever they would say after this; whatever they would do to him. So he had waited, and told his men only last week why they had so many weapons; and they had cheered. The Genoese were easy to despise. Well, they would see.
It was dusk. From what he had been told, it seemed that Doria’s party would reach this spot before morning. They would know how near he was, from his tracks. Beyond this short defile was exposed country: if they were wise, they would attack soon, in darkness. Of course, he might have misread Doria. Attack might not be in his mind. Perhaps he meant only to trail him, or even to accompany him to Erzerum. Or to overtake him in secret, although he seemed