The Spring of the Ram - Dorothy Dunnett [268]
“You assume the Emperor will give up?”
“Of course,” said Doria. “Didn’t you believe what you heard? The Emperor has already replied, most unwisely. Surrender, of course, and the girl Anna to wife. I hope the Sultan isn’t really expecting a beauty. But impossible terms, couched in the most imperious manner. The Emperor expects this kind of settlement, and will accept nothing less than that value of property. Amiroutzes would never have advised such an answer. The Sultan was almost provoked into storming the place in his anger, till that clever lady Sara set herself to pacify him.”
“He couldn’t have stormed it,” Nicholas said. “Unless George Amiroutzes has imprisoned all the defenders.”
“You’re thinking of your captain Astorre,” said Doria fondly. “No. Of course, George would do nothing that would damage his public reputation. Indeed, rumour has it that he’s had to offer a hostage to Mehmet. He has chosen his younger, less intelligent son, the godson of Cardinal Bessarion. Basil will, of course, cling to his faith despite torture, and the cardinal will hasten to ransom him. Is there anything else you wanted to know? You will have to talk quickly.”
Tobie, too, had heard the tramp of approaching feet, and the jingle of metal. He thought of all the things that Nicholas had not been able to say; and wondered if he could have found the hardihood to remain silent. Not to proclaim that Julius was safe, with goods and galley waiting at Kerasous; for Doria would rush with the news to the Sultan. Not to deny that they were spies of Uzum Hasan, for it wouldn’t help the Khatun, who had acknowledged them. Doria blamed him for the wreck of his marriage. But, prevented by Godscalc, Nicholas had left Catherine alone until she herself had asked for asylum.
The search for Catherine, he was sure, would be ugly. He only hoped Godscalc and the rest would escape what was threatened. It had long been agreed what should happen if he and Nicholas failed to return. The sailing date had already been passed on to Julius. No matter what happens: no matter who comes or does not come, set out for home by the eighteenth day of August.
It was the fourteenth today. Four short days. If he were a praying man, he would pray the others got to Kerasous before the ship left. And home to Bruges, to tell the demoiselle her young husband was dead, and warn her of what was now coming. For what had happened last year would be as nothing to this.
The booted feet stopped outside the tent, and Noah drew the flap once more aside. Nicholas rose. Between the dyed hair and the beard his face was pale and quite composed, as it always was in extremity. The page Noah stepped inside the door, ignoring Tobie, and like a talking bird with only one phrase announced, “There he is.”
There were Janissaries, five of them, who strode forward. There was also not only Tursun Beg, but the Grand Vizier Mahmud his master, the wound on his nose and his lip inflamed but healing. The Janissaries seized Pagano Doria by the arms. The Grand Vizier said, “You have lied. There are no arms where you said they were buried; and when our men went to lift them, they were ambushed and killed every one, save for the man who escaped to inform us. Take him away.”
It was as if lightning had struck. On the floor, Tobie let his head drop suddenly back. A great pain seized his bowels, and he squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them quickly, although they were wet. The pain died down, but his face pricked hot and cold as if blistered.
Nicholas had also flushed. He stood, breathing fast, and Tobie saw a tremor had begun in his hands. But there was no surprise on his face.
Of course, there wouldn’t be. He makes a wicked enemy, he remembered saying to John. Of his innocence, Pagano Doria