The Spring of the Ram - Dorothy Dunnett [229]
In the middle of June, the Ciaretti returned from Batum. As already arranged, she anchored out of sight of the bay and sent her message by boat. John le Grant brought it himself. The Empress had failed in her mission. Despite the affirmations of all their envoys quartering Europe with Friar Ludovico, no army was coming from Imeretia or Mingrelia, Akhalziké or Tiflis to help fight the Sultan. The Empress Helen had remained where she was, a permanent and beautiful advocate; but she did not think her daughter’s husband would change his mind.
It was Astorre who swore, hearing it; and Nicholas who explained to John his special vehemence. “We’ve heard from Julius. There’s something going on at Sinope.”
“I know. The Turkish fleet’s there,” said le Grant. “What else have you heard?”
“That the Turkish land army is near there as well,” Nicholas said. “We know the town can’t be taken, and we know a siege would suit us quite well. But the story runs that the emir of Sinope has been frightened into helping the Sultan. He’s given money and food to the fleet, and sent an army under one of his sons to fight for the Ottomans.”
John le Grant said, “That’s foolish. The Sultan will treat the son as a hostage.”
“The emir has another,” Nicholas said. “He’s also, of course, the Sultan’s brother-in-law. The Karamanid emir has sent his son to the Sultan as well. The Sultan has reassured Sinope that he’s bent on a religious war against Trebizond, but I wonder. Julius says the emir of Sinope has an annual income of two hundred thousand gold ducats a year, a quarter of it from copper mines. Do you think the Sultan could resist that? I don’t.”
“What are you saying?” said Tobie irritably. He had chosen to stay in Trebizond rather than rejoin the galley as ship’s physician, and was under-employed and over-apprehensive as a result.
Nicholas said, “I’m saying that I think the emir of Sinope will surrender. Julia Felix. And it could take the Turkish admiral about eleven sailing days to reach here.”
“Someone needs to tell Uzum Hasan,” said John le Grant. “No army from Georgia. And no protection on his western frontiers, if Sinope gives up.”
“He’ll know about Sinope,” said Nicholas. “But, yes: someone needs to warn him about Georgia. We’d better get up to the Palace. And then we have to arrange to send on the galley to Kerasous. John, she can do three more days without putting in, can she? There’ll be time to attend to her once she gets there. Also, we have to decide who to send with her and who, if anyone, to take off.”
“And if we’re asked where she is?” Tobie said.
“She never came back from Batum,” said John le Grant. “And if she’s seen, she still doesn’t belong to us. Different sails, different paint, different name. Christened by Nicholas. He’s called her—”
“—Argos?” said Tobie.
“—after his camel,” said John le Grant.
At the Palace, John conveyed to the Emperor the letters his wife and his daughter’s husband had sent, and Nicholas remained for some little time trying to turn the Emperor’s mind from the festivities for the birthday of St Eugenios and towards the fact that the war between the White Sheep and the Sultan might not last quite as long as had been hoped. The Emperor thought it of little consequence. The Sultan would be a fool if he marched. For one thing, he didn’t know that the Georgians weren’t coming. For another, the traverse from Sinope to Trebizond would take an army on foot half the summer, even without all Hasan Bey’s well-manned forts and blockaded passes. By the time the trip was half over, the Sultan would have to make his way back to Bursa. Then, the fleet? Once those ships got into Sinope, they were unlikely to want to sail anywhere else: there was no other harbour so convenient and good. Next year, of course, they would be glad of any help the West could find to send them. This year, if the Sultan took Sinope, he would have done all he could.
John