The Spring of the Ram - Dorothy Dunnett [205]
“And the Venetians, Despoina?” the priest said.
“I hope your letters tell you that,” said Violante of Naxos. “For it was a matter your Messer Niccolò and I touched upon when we were sailing. The Venetian agent at Erzerum had instructions to make his purchases on the spot but not to send them to Trebizond. All the Venetian cargo is going to Kerasous.”
The red-haired mechanic said, “Why?”
He, too, had set aside courtesy. She took her time before she answered the question. “There is less fear the Turks will attempt to land there. It is immensely strong, and has less to offer than Sinope and Trebizond. Its offshore island is hated by seamen. With the right ship, cargo could be uplifted from Kerasous and slipped clear to the West through the Bosphorus if other circumstances allowed.”
The priest said, “You are suggesting that we, too, send our purchases out to this Kerasous?”
“That is for you to decide,” she said. “I have nothing further to say on these points. I now come to my errand. I wish to hire your ship for a week, crewed by men of my choice.”
It was le Grant the ship-master, of course, she was looking at. He said, “Yes, Despoina? And where were you hoping to sail her?”
She said, “East, to Batum. There is some special cargo to be delivered quickly and in secret. It is not a ruse of Messer Doria’s to deprive you of your galley, but I understand you will hardly believe that without sufficient proof.”
“No, I shouldn’t, highness,” said the red-headed man. “It would take a lot to persuade me to agree to anything, these days.”
She said, “I thought that it might. On the other hand, had I wished, I could have sent someone else on this errand. I have a clear conscience. If you have been used, it is by your own side.”
The red-haired man did not answer. The priest, looking from one to the other, chose to return to the subject in hand. “Certainly,” he said. “Before we lose sight of our ship, you would have to show us good reason, Despoina. What can you offer that would make us consider it?”
“Who reads Greek?” she said.
It was the doctor who took the scroll she brought out from her robes, and paused at the seal. The silk and the wax with its one-headed eagle, emblem of the Imperial Comneni. Then he broke it and read, and then passed it wordlessly to the priest. The man John le Grant said, “What is it?”
And the doctor said, “We are asked to take the Empress to Georgia. The Empress Helen.”
She said, “The Empress’s daughter is Queen of Georgia.”
“Secretly?” the doctor said. He had a small, twitching nose like a ferret. “Not, then, a family visit. She wants an army to set out from Tiflis to Trebizond?”
“Or Tiflis to Erzerum,” the engineer said. “I expect Uzum Hasan could do with a little help.” The Scots inflection, when he was angry, sounded coarsely through the Italian.
The doctor said, “But it was the Empire of Trebizond, surely, that our friend Fra Ludovico and his party was seeking Christian help to preserve. There was a Georgian envoy among them. I can’t remember how many soldiers he promised. A lot.”
She said, “You would require to take her to Batum on the Georgian border, and wait for her message. It is only a hundred miles to Batum, and less than that to the Franciscans inland at Akhalziké. By the time the galley returns, the Turks’ plans will be clearer. You might even wish to anchor this time at a spot less conspicuous than the road off Trebizond itself. You would call your absence a trading voyage. It is always the season for slaves.”
The priest said, “Will the palace children go with her?”
“It is not an escape,” said Violante of Naxos. “The children remain, and all the other women. The plan is not at present known to the Emperor.”
“But the oarsmen will be Venetian?” the red-haired man said. He had read the situation already. The others, she saw, would not be far behind.
She said, “They will be the best we can get, who are also trustworthy. They will be paid by us.” She addressed herself to the priest, since none of the others had emerged as