The Spring of the Ram - Dorothy Dunnett [216]
The priest, who was big, had been staring down at Pagano and frowning. Now he lifted his head with a different expression. He was looking past Pagano and herself to the street. A moment later, Pagano also withdrew his gaze and turned quickly. Then she heard and saw what had attracted them. The mule-train was coming. Already, you could hear the clatter of hundreds of trampling hooves at the head of the long sloping street from the Meidan, and see the jostling backs of the beasts, and the switching scrolls of the ears, and hear the snap of hide whips and men shouting. There were horsemen among them, and herdsmen dragging them on, for they filled all the street and the end of the train was not even visible. Outside the yard, Pagano’s men were talking excitedly among themselves in Italian, and beginning to spread over the street. The chaplain, Godscalc, said, “But you couldn’t stable so many.”
He had given in. Pagano, who never bore grudges, gave him one of his white-toothed, delightful smiles and said, “Let us worry about that.”
“And fodder? The drivers will expect to be paid.”
“For forty-five thousand pounds of raw silk?” Pagano said. “It will be a pleasure.” The leading mules were already halfway down the road, and the Genoese, unimpeded, were running forward to seize and divert them. The doctor, who had made an involuntary movement, stopped himself and stood still.
“I’m glad,” said the priest. Attracted by something in his voice, Catherine looked at Pagano. The delightful smile was already fading. He was staring, against the sun, at the oncoming mules. He said, “Where are the bales?”
The priest looked down at him calmly. “Why, knowing nothing of it, I can only take your word that they were carrying bales,” said Father Godscalc. “But if they were, and if they were for us, I imagine they have been taken to our newest premises inside the Citadel. The beasts, I imagine, are being sent to their stabling. I hardly know where we should have put them, but for your generous offer.”
“It is a problem you still have to solve,” said Pagano. He had to shout, such was the turmoil out in the street. His face, tilted up to the priest’s, looked pale, the way it had at Sumela. When he turned to her, it didn’t alter at all as it usually did. He said, “Tell them to let the mules go and get back to the Leoncastello.”
She wasn’t a servant. She had only one shoe, and her gown was torn, and her hair was coming down, and he had made a mess of their business. She stared at the lord Pagano Doria her husband and moved not an inch. After a moment, he turned on his heel and strode towards the open gates, where the guard opened ranks to accommodate him.
Still as a drawing, a racing camel stood in the entrance. It was what they called a thoroughbred. Pagano had pointed one out at the khan, because you didn’t see them very often. It was supposed to have a neck thin as a swan, and a sneer, and a tawny colour of coat, silk as the sides of the jumping-mouse. A jumping-mouse was something they had in the desert. Although stupid, camels were elegant animals. More elegant than mules without bales. She surveyed the rider. Freed of his headcloth, he sat perfectly still, as if part of the camel. He had a beard which was the yolk yellow of floss dyed with kermes and fustic, and his soft boots were embroidered like comfit-cakes. He said, “They have been told.”
Everything became quiet. The Negro Loppe, who had walked with quick strides to the doorway, became suddenly still, his eyes glittering. Behind her, when she turned, she saw the priest Godscalc look up with a sudden, brown glare. Then he lowered his lids and, taking his beads in his fingers, stood silent. The doctor Tobias took a step forward, and swallowed, and without warning broke into a fit of furious coughing. The ship-master put a hand on his shoulder.
Pagano said, “Praise be to God. You survived.”
Then she looked at the man and saw that she knew him; that this was the boy who had once hoisted her to