The Spring of the Ram - Dorothy Dunnett [277]
Soon, in a normal year, dancing feet would beat out the grapes for the black wine, and the nuts would be spread on the beach; and the cranes would come flying, and the air above the Zigana pass would turn black with migrating quail. In a normal year, there would be festival before the autumn storms closed the seas; and festival after it, when the land would be left to its own until the spring came, and brought the ships once again.
This year, it would be different. Nothing would be normal this year, unless the garrison high on the hill, where the citadel glittered, managed to hold out until winter. They were well led and well provisioned, and they had extra arms now, and good armour to help them. From the sea, Nicholas saluted them with his guns; and they answered. Then they became small and dim in the mist, and the next headland hid them from view.
The Black Sea was empty. It was more than they had hoped for. For the first few days, both ships were silent, and men watched, high in the rigging, for the blur on the horizon that meant a Turkish trireme, or a cutter to report them. All they saw were fishing vessels; for the fleet had closed around Trebizond, and the captured ships from other ports had long since been sent west. Eight days out of Kerasous, they crept past enemy Sinope in darkness, and saw from the mast lights that no big ships were left in harbour. Here, they were at the narrowest part of the Euxine. From here, it was quicker to go north to Caffa than to continue west to the end of the Black Sea. No one spoke of it. That battle had been fought, and the choice had been made. They continued to sail, towards the guns; towards home.
It was not quite the voyage Julius had expected. Nicholas was eternally busy, or else Loppe or Godscalc or Tobie were in the way when he wanted to chat to him. It was a while before Julius realised that the blockade was a form of protection. What was unclear was the purpose. Sometimes he thought it was to shield Nicholas from other people. At other times, it was obvious that it was needed to shield other people from the way Nicholas felt.
Why? Released from three months of boredom, Julius gave little thought to the dangers ahead. He felt rich, reckless and joyful, and found it an irritation that others did not.
John, of course, remained equable, and had the sailing to see to. Crackbene, at first an object of suspicion, had shown himself to be what he seemed: a highly competent professional seaman who fulfilled one contract and moved to another with no ill-will on either side. Astorre, at first plunged into gloom, was now preparing, with some hopes, for a fight to replace the one he had had to abandon in Trebizond. To be let down by your lord was a bad thing for a mercenary. It spoiled the good name of warfare. Only Nicholas had come out of it clean, and with that bastard Doria done away with.
Julius had lost no time in discovering the exact fate of Doria. Tobie, questioned, had been curt. “He was killed by the black page he presented to Mahmud. Noah. No need to tell Catherine.”
Julius had been amazed. “Noah protected you? Why?”
“He didn’t protect us. I told you. He killed Pagano Doria. He might have betrayed us as easily. But it was Catherine he resented, not us.”
It was still not very clear. “And Doria,” said Julius.
“No. He loved Doria. That was the trouble. You wouldn’t like to go and talk to Catherine?” Tobie said.
“No. I’ve had enough of Catherine,” had said Julius without hesitation.
The trouble there, of course, was that