The Spring of the Ram - Dorothy Dunnett [213]
Pagano said, “You might miss a bargain.”
“I might pay dear for something I could have got better later. No. Let’s find out what’s happened.”
How to do this was not at all clear. Above their shoulders, camels continued to pass, forcing a way through onlookers and merchants. The last, a high-bred riding camel with silken reddish-brown flanks, paused beside her and she turned her head aside, having learned how men with shawled heads and robes dealt with women with uncovered faces. Then the rider said, “Houtch, houtch, houtch, houtch…” in an irritated voice, and the camel, restarting with a shiver of bells, took up its soft, dancing gait. As it passed, she saw the soft kid of the man’s boot was sewn all over with silk like a comfit-cake, and had a long tassel of gold at the heel. Then he disappeared in the crowd of his fellows.
Dust rose and hung in the air. The caravanserai, when they reached it, was a jostling throng of men and horses and camels laboriously kneeling or rising, while their bales were loosed and carried off to the room of each owner. Pagano, with the Bailie at his side, pushed his way through to where the palace officials could be glimpsed, and a figure whose forked beard and tall black-draped hat proclaimed him a monk. Then he turned, and she saw he was the Archimandrite she had last seen with Violante of Naxos. He appeared to have come with the train, and indeed still held the reins of his horse. Then he turned and saw the Bailie. “Your excellency?”
The Bailie wasted no words. “Where are the rest of the camels?”
The Archimandrite’s Italian was excellent. He said, “Have no fear, your excellency. The consignment for Venice is safe. Because of the brigands, and the White Horde activities, the merchants took counsel at Erzerum and made your purchases there. They are on their way through to Bursa, from where they will cross to your agent at Pera, and then home. I have letters from your agent at Erzerum.” He turned to Pagano. “And I see the Genoese ambassador is here on the same bent. I can give him the same reassurance. The goods for Genoa, Messer Doria, were selected at Erzerum by Genoese agents and are on their way to Bursa as well.” He raised his brows. “I am not sure if I should have been so afraid of the journey to Trebizond but, although some tried, they would not be persuaded. And indeed, perhaps they are right. For his own sake, the Turk will protect the markets of Bursa, whereas the Turcoman hordes might not be so careful of merchandise. Hence, as you see, only two hundred of the thousand came here. But still. Sixty thousand pounds’ weight of prime stock is worth something. You should go to see what there is, even if you cannot buy anything. There are some fine spices, they tell me—pepper and cinnamon, myrrh and spikenard. Bales of kermes. And some exceptional jewels. The lady your wife would be delighted to see them. Turquoises, of course. Balas rubies. And a hundred strings of magnificent pearls, with seventy-four to the string. Go and see them.”
Catherine wanted to wait, in proper style, until his servants and her attendants had found them, but Pagano set off as soon as the Bailie stopped speaking and she would have lost him had she not broken into a run. A coil of hair broke from its careful binding. There were wooden steps, which caught the little heels on her slippers, and then she was in a small crowded room, where a cloth had been spread on the floor, and two men were unfastening a bale under the eye of its owner. To everyone who came in, he said, in broken Italian, “Later. Later. It is not unloaded yet.” She could see the gleam of silk, and lacquer boxes.
The voice of Amiroutzes, behind them, said, “Is it not exquisite? The next room is