The Spring of the Ram - Dorothy Dunnett [217]
“Madonna,” said the rider. He didn’t move, nor did his mount. Nor did his eyes remain on her. He said to Pagano, “You may leave.”
Pagano’s face, from pale, had become yellow. He said, “I saw you fall.”
“Oh, I fell,” said Nicholas. “I was left for dead, I believe. Fortunately, I wakened in Erzerum.”
Erzerum. The mule-train. The Venetian and Genoese diversions to Bursa. The truncated caravan, with its merchandise already spoken for, which had blasted their hopes today in Trebizond. All had been arranged. All had been arranged by Nicholas. Who was alive.
Pagano said, as if involuntarily, “The silver?”
“What silver?” said Nicholas. There was a silence.
Then, with an effort, Pagano spoke. “Who can know the truth, when one report denies another? Trying to save you, I and my servants saw you fall and thought you dead. Catherine’s entreaties were all I had left.”
Camel and rider, unmoving, stood in his way. “You are fortunate,” Nicholas said, “in your wife. You may leave.”
He had hardly glanced at her. But half-shod in her torn gown with her dishevelled hair, Catherine de Charetty looked up and up at the apprentice who had married her mother, and saw a man, brown-haired, golden-bearded, contained, who had nothing in common with the affectionate, generous vacuity of Claes but the directness of his immense gaze. She said, “We are going.” And without looking round, walked stilted through the gates and took the road to the Leoncastello. She did not need to look round to know that her husband had followed her.
Behind, the camel moved, and entered the courtyard. The rider said softly, “Ikch, ikch, ikch!” and it knelt while its master swung stiffly over the saddle and stood. His coat was of silk, and the cloth which had protected his head lay on his shoulders, its gold edges glittering. The beard glittered too, new-emerged like the dragons’-teeth army, obliterating both dimples and scar. Set in the beard, the familiar lips had a different aspect, their corners deeply indented. His skin was brown, making his eyes large and neutral and light. Only his hair was the same, brown as mud and curling in screws and fingers where it had become damp. He took his hand from the camel and said, “Her name is Chennaa. The boy will care for her.”
Loppe said, “I too, Messer Niccolò.” Their eyes met. Loppe said rapidly, “But—”
Nicholas said, “If you please.” After a moment, Loppe dropped his eyes and, with the boy, led the camel away. Le Grant, without speaking, had walked out into the road among the mules and their drivers and was beginning to impose some sort of order. The guards, it seemed, were ready to be helpful.
In the courtyard, Godscalc said, “We have to thank God, and we do. You were the only survivor?”
“It’s a long story,” Nicholas said. “Perhaps I should tell it indoors. Astorre will be here soon.”
Tobie said, “We have thought you dead for a month.”
“On what proof?” Nicholas said. “Believe every rumour, and your business will die. You should know that by now. I hope you did nothing to spread it.”
Godscalc said, “No. We sent no letters. We studied the documents we had been left, and put them into effect, so far as we were able.”
“You sound like Henninc,” said Nicholas. “Of course you put them into effect; you’re not in your dotage. Shut the door, and sit wherever you like. Doria claimed the company?”
Godscalc said, “As soon as he returned. Injured, trying to save you from bandits. With the consent of the Emperor, we were prevented from leaving the villa this morning so that he could buy on behalf of the Charetty company. Julius is dead?”
“No,” said Nicholas. “Act, however, as if he were. He came to warn me that Doria was in pursuit with a party of Kurds. Doria stood aside and watched the Kurds slaughter our party. We can’t prove it. It’s our word against his.”
“Leaving you and Julius for dead?”
“He hardly had a chance to decide one way or the other,” said Nicholas. “Another party of Kurds had been detailed to rescue us.