The Spring of the Ram - Dorothy Dunnett [79]
“No. It’s too risky,” said Nicholas.
“Riskier than staying on board?” said the priest.
Nicholas said, “We want Doria detained, not the Latin Church. You’d never get out of the harbour. Anyway, if anyone boards the Doria, it’s going to be me. I think she’ll still be there when we arrive.”
“Because he’ll have told the Sultan about Astorre’s army?” said the priest.
“He might have,” Nicholas said. “He’ll do one of three things. Keep quiet and let us sail through to Trebizond, because he wants Astorre’s protection almost as much as we do. Or keep quiet and threaten to tell if we make a nuisance of ourselves over the girl. Or betray us and Astorre, and get rid of us without going further.”
“Or just leave,” Godscalc said.
“No. He’ll wait.”
“Because he wants to be there at the slaughter?” Facing such impervious calm, Godscalc heard his voice roughen. He was frowning at Nicholas.
One dimple appeared and disappeared. It was a sign of impatience. “Because I sent messages by a dozen different fast boats from Modon announcing a state visit to Constantinople by the lord prince Pagano Doria, Genoese commissar of the bank of St George. If they don’t shoot him out of the water, they’ll kill him with welcoming parties while privately racking his servants for secrets. I wrote the Venetian Bailie as well.”
“About the girl?” Godscalc said, after a moment. He began to understand the look he sometimes saw on Tobie’s face.
Nicholas still looked, if anything, impatient. “Well, of course. I told the Bailie I believed Doria’s wife was a kinswoman, and I should be glad if he’d call and ask her to wait for me. Of course, Doria can refuse to let her be seen. But that itself would tell us something.”
You couldn’t tell, Godscalc thought, if it was true self-assurance or another aspect of the veneer he had assumed ever since Modon. Godscalc said, “You really think the Doria will be there?”
“Yes,” said Nicholas. “I consulted an oracle.”
“Well, now kindly consult me,” Godscalc said. “Once you arrive in Constantinople, you won’t be able to move anywhere without being seen. But someone could land before then. There is a house of Franciscans just inside the Marmara wall. We will pass it.”
Nicholas looked at him. “Would it harm them to help us?”
“I don’t see why it should,” Godscalc said. “I disembark there while you continue to sail round the city, taking your time about arriving. The Franciscans take me the quick way on foot through the city, and ferry me across to where Doria is staying in Pera. Then I join you. Bring her back with me, indeed, if I can.”
“All right,” Nicholas said. “You go. And I’ll come with you.”
The Universal Creator, tired of Catherine de Charetty’s complaints, decreed that the ancient capital of the world should receive her with a welcome that, at last, managed to exceed her expectations.
It began with the sound of trumpets and cymbals; and continued with the approach of a fleet of caiques hung with streamers and silks and manned by crews of picked oarsmen in livery. Then people started coming aboard: thundering up the companionway in furs and jewels with scented gloves in their hands; and followed by servants carrying boxes and vases and bales, all containing gifts for Pagano.
It seemed they thought he was a representative of the bank of St George and the Republic. Even when that was corrected, they seemed to esteem him none the less. For he was, indeed, Genoese ambassador to the Empire of Trebizond, and deserved to be fêted. The envoy of the Venetian Bailie, especially, made a point of it.
At first, she thought Pagano was a little bewildered by the extent of it all. In the middle of some of the earlier speeches she saw his mind was clearly elsewhere. But soon he returned to himself, replying to each verbose compliment with wit and vitality; dispensing wine and sweetmeats with a princely and prodigal hand. And for the first time she took her place unveiled at his side, and received the open admiration of well-dressed men who were not