The Spring of the Ram - Dorothy Dunnett [252]
Indeed, unlike other times, there was good order within Trebizond for this siege. As soon as it was clear that the thing was going to last, the food and the wine and the wells were all commandeered, with recompense for those who had a surplus; and what the populace needed was handed out fairly. The exception, of course, was the Palace; but no one but Nicholas and Astorre were in a position to see the secret hoards; the greedy haggling that went on from chamber to chamber. The noblemen of the court were the Emperor’s personal friends, and the Vice-Regent of Christ was beyond criticism.
Nicholas spent half his time at the Palace where he and Astorre were treated as joint ringmasters of some crude but enjoyable circus. The spectacle of the devices which greeted the first Turkish landing had set the tone for the Emperor’s attitude to this little war. For their presumption in landing, the Ottoman soldiers deserved to be teased into slaughter. Of course, many remained. But, bored and disgruntled, they would withdraw when the weather grew rough, while the God-protected Basileus and his circle reclined on the heights, creating satirical poems; hazarding money on the firing pattern of the enemy guns; setting one another perilous quests: to slip at night from the postern and come back with an Ottoman head, or a flag, or a sleeping man’s drawers.
Eight courtiers lost their lives and two familiar spiked heads gazed at them now from the Ottoman side of the gulf. One of them was that of the elegant man Nicholas had last seen in the baths, having his fingernails tended. Quite recently, the baths had been closed because of the fuel they consumed but, before that, their custom had dwindled. What had taken place with decorum in that elegant setting took place now behind closed doors and curtains, and sprang from the rough promptings of war, and danger, and fear; and not the languid devices of boredom. The professional soldiers revelled in favours. Astorre, while controlling his own men with oaths, took every woman he was offered and three times as many who came unsolicited. Nicholas, beset from other quarters, had sought, ingeniously, the highest protection.
The Emperor had been amused. “You are their talisman. They hope to share your success, your good fortune.”
“Excellency,” Nicholas had said, “how could I squander something so precious, unless it were upon the highest of altars? And that I cannot do. An astrologer told me.”
The Emperor had frowned, touching the silk of his beard. “To sacrifice the best to the highest: what can be wrong with that?”
“Nothing, my lord,” Nicholas had answered with sorrow. “Save that, the astrologer says, the essence of my luck and my carnal being are one and the same. To disperse one disperses both.”
“Hah!” had said the Emperor. “So you are content to live your life as a celibate? There is a man there. I have seen him.”
“My life?” had said Nicholas. “My lord, no. When Trebizond rejoices in freedom, so shall I rejoice; for my luck and my essence will be well lost together for joy. Meanwhile, chastity is my offering.”
“Then,” had said the Emperor after a pause, “we must wish our captains good progress. We commend you. You will report to us daily.”
Astorre, apprised of the exchange from very particular sources personal to himself, went in search of Nicholas, cackling. “My boy, they’ll take an interest now in their war! Urbino never thought of that, I can tell you! Or Sforza! First prize for winning…”
“And second prize, yours,” said Nicholas briefly.
Both of Astorre’s eyes were sparkling. He said, “You’ll have to do it. Will you mind?”
“How should I know? I’ll give you a detailed report, if you like. Meanwhile,