The Spring of the Ram - Dorothy Dunnett [191]
He was stunned with delight, and let it show. He gave her the broadest of smiles, regardless of what she thought of him. He said, “Lady, I bow to you, and to all of your family.”
Her eyebrows rose with the greatest delicacy; but she was not displeased: he could feel it. “And my great-niece?” she said. “You were, it appears, far from trusting my great-niece.”
Nicholas said, “Khatun, I trust you, and your son, and the lady Violante.”
The monk turned his head. “You have shown otherwise,” he said placidly.
“I was mistaken,” said Nicholas. “Tell her so.”
Her gaze, also relaxed, held a sort of amused pity. “Ah, you may trust me,” said Sara Khatun. “And the lord Uzum Hasan. But it is a foolish man who sends a message of commitment to Violante of Naxos. Diadochos will not contradict me. That is all, then. Tomorrow, you may go to the compound and negotiate for your goods. Word of your ambush by brigands has already been sent to the Palace. They will be relieved to hear you are safe. I do not expect you to mention these encounters.”
“They have not taken place,” Nicholas said.
“So. When you are ready to travel, you will be given what you require for each journey. You will take the Kerasous train yourself?”
“It is the most valuable,” Nicholas said. “Khatun, I hope one day to be able fittingly to thank you. You know your own danger.”
“I?” she said. “In the lands of my son? But I am touched by your solicitude, despite the rough handling we have subjected you to. And it may be that, one day, I shall call on you for a favour. You are strong, for a youth.”
“Mother of Uzum Hasan, what you see is what you have called forth,” Nicholas said. He knelt before her and, rising, left. Outside the door of the tent, his escort were waiting. He detained Diadochos to ask a single question. “The lady Violante is not here?”
“She is in her proper place in the Palace at Trebizond; where else, Messer Niccolò? Her movements do not concern you.” It was what he had wanted to know.
This time, walking back to his tent, he saw clearly where the big caravanserai had been built. Tomorrow he would go there with Julius and, moving from stall to stall in the great building, sit crosslegged drinking cups of strange liquid and talking (at first) of everything under the sun except the dyes, the gall nuts, the jewels and the feathers, the silk and the gold that he wanted to purchase. He had studied, and listened and taken advice. He knew how it was done, and what he wanted. He was glad none the less that Julius was with him and thought again of the courage that had sent Julius after him, virtually alone, to overtake Doria and warn him. Which was not to say that he would not now hear, from Julius, exactly how angry he was at his conduct. But then, one could use that as well. One could use everything.
He did not go in at once, but stood in the tent entrance, thinking. Julius was there, limping briskly about with a second pallet and bedding. The roses were still on the table, fully opened in the warmth from the brazier. They must have been carried for her from the south: their presence had given him less reassurance, perhaps, than she had expected. While he was gone, someone had retrieved his saddle and harness and placed them, cleaned, at the end of the tent. There was also a small pile of his other possessions and a chest, stoutly locked, whose contents he thought he could guess.
The silver with which Sara Khatun had so guilefully endowed him. The silver Doria had so triumphantly amassed in Trebizond and brought to spend at Erzerum. Well, he had never reached Erzerum. Someone had been instructed to see to that. One wondered if it had scattered during the fight, or been cut from Doria’s saddle, or if he had even been forced to ransom himself with it.
At first, the jest seemed wonderful. Then, sobering, Nicholas remembered the dangers inherent in the rest of his plans. There would be nothing for Doria in that small part of the caravan that would travel to Trebizond. His silver also had gone. His mission to Trebizond