The Spring of the Ram - Dorothy Dunnett [286]
Tobie’s eyes met and held his. Then Tobie said, “Ottoman trash. I sold it for gold to buy girls with. All right. I will take the powder.”
“If you really need it,” said Nicholas, surprised. “I took some the other day, and it had me over the side for two hours.” He ducked Tobie’s blow, and went on packing, and smiling.
And so he had forgotten. It was not until he heard the anchor go down in the lagoon the next morning that he sprang out half-dressed, and looked about, and saw what sort of place he had come to.
The galley floated in boundless grey light, with sky and water suspended within it, smudged by islands and mudflats, and hatched by the trickling shadows of reeds. In the silence, the lapping of water now dwindling along the length of the galley was quiet as sounds enclosed in the head; and a bird calling unseen from the mist was faint as the creak of a door. A water hen’s sharp flip and scutter was shocking. Then from one of the islands a boat pulled out and away, three men looking inquisitively over their shoulders in a jumble of spears and netting and hampers; and a dog barked in the distance and somewhere else, a woman’s voice, out of tune, started to warble. There was a smell of fish, and mud, and fungus, and baking.
Somewhere too, no doubt, there were dunes and men were hunting rabbits there. And beyond the mist was a city with wharves and cranes and belltowers and churches and taverns and workshops. And canals with small bridges with men hanging over them, talking to other men as their boats glided under. And squares where they held carnivals, and other squares where processions took place, with flags and drums and apprentices. And houses with parlours in them; and braziers; and Marian.
At Modon, Catherine had found someone to dress her in black. She said, “Where are we? I don’t see anything. Why don’t we sail in?”
“We wait,” said Nicholas. “And they come for us. And then we shall see everything that we want.”
Chapter 41
THERE FOLLOWED A DRAGGING delay, so that his patience with the Venetians had worn thin long before the party of welcome arrived. But at least it gave time to dress, and to have the ship shining and decked with her flags and all the seamen and soldiers in the piercing blue of the Charetty colours; and the great damask awning in place at the poop, embroidered in gold, and weighed down with bullion fringes. It would do no harm for word to reach the Rialto. The Venetian cargo from the Black Sea had arrived. And more. Much more, of consequence.
In the end, the Signory sent a dozen boats; some of them to take off the Venetian passengers (and, with less speed, the Genoese), and the rest bringing in state the cavalier of the Doge, accompanied by senators and procurators of the Republic, several clerks, a canon and three customs officials. With them were two long, gilded boats from the House of Medici conveying a group of factors, under-managers and servants led by Alessandro Martelli, for thirty years man of the Medici in Venice.
They came aboard, and the trumpeters did their duty while the introductions were made and the courtesies exchanged. The Signory wished to welcome those who had taken part in the heroic evacuation of Trebizond. The Signory wished to thank the gentleman who had brought her goods and her citizens safely from the hands of the Turk. If the occasion were other—this tragedy—this loss to the whole Western world—they would have caused his arrival to be publicly celebrated. As it was, the Most Serene and Excellent Lord Pasqual Malipiero would give Messer Niccolò audience in the Ducal Palace tomorrow, followed by a repast of honour. In token, a gift of a little wine, mallard ducks and some capons awaited him at his lodging.
The cavalier thought it understandable that Messer Niccolò might wish to repose. He ventured nevertheless to ask if he would set aside an hour later today to call at the Hall of the Collegio, where the chairman and councillors wished to question him about his