The Spring of the Ram - Dorothy Dunnett [80]
Pagano, of course, had tried to explain that they were leaving immediately, but had been overruled. He had begun to insist, when the elder leaned over and murmured something in Pagano’s ear, and Pagano nodded and then, smiling, changed the subject.
Afterwards, when she asked him, he said that after all they might have to stay for a day or two, since the merchants, it appeared, had gone to a great deal of trouble to prepare feasts and entertainments for them both. Also, as a matter of courtesy, he was to be invited to visit the Sublime Porte itself: Constantinople, which the Turks called Stamboul.
Catherine didn’t care what they called it, but was wondering what gown to wear for the Sultan. When Pagano said that the Sultan was not in the city, and in any case did not receive women, she suspected him of deceiving her. Then the thought was swept aside by the excitement of disembarkation, and the journey, with music, to the elder’s little house with its courtyard and gallery; and then the feast at the Bailie’s that night.
She wore her velvet gown, with pearls embroidered over the mildew, and led her dog. The Bailie was especially taken with it, even when it worried his gown-end. The Bailie, a sallow Venetian with an affable manner, spoke to Pagano as if really concerned about the course of their journey, even though Venice and Genoa were rivals. He then enquired about the Florentine ship, the Ciaretti. “Owned, I understand, by Madonna’s own kinsman, this Messer Niccolò. I look forward, as you must, to his arrival. A delightful man, I am sure. You will permit us to give him a reception.”
She was speechless. For a moment, Pagano too looked taken aback. Then his face slowly smoothed out and cleared and became attractively pink. It was a look of relief and success, and she had seen it before, when he had been short of time, and dependent on finding her willing. She could see no connection with Nicholas.
Now Pagano said light-heartedly, “You have news of Niccolò? Monsignore, I am glad. He fell into some trouble at Modon, and we had to leave him behind, as I fear must happen here. But we shall meet him in Trebizond. We count on it.”
The Bailie had turned to her, gallantly chiding. “He hoped very much you would wait for him, madonna. What does a day or two matter? Indeed, you will meet, I am sure. None of us is likely to permit such a charming pair to leave Pera lightly.”
In their chamber that night she found Pagano briskly attentive but disinclined to waste breath on chatter. He said he supposed some fishing boat had brought news of Nicholas’s coming. What did it matter? He must be a week behind them at least. Perhaps they would see him; perhaps not. It depended on the Sultan’s viziers as much as on their good friends in Pera. He did not want to offend the Bailie. He must not offend the Sultan. She would understand that.
She understood that, more or less. They spent the whole of the next day visiting the other residences of the colony, taking wine and being entertained. She received a great deal of praise, although the men were inclined to stand in corners and speak in low voices together. One woman commended her courage in going to Trebizond but, before she could reply, another broke in to ask why a new bride should care for such things? It could be war in Bosnia, Belgrade, Albania. If one hesitated every time there was a rumour, one would never go anywhere.
They were talking, she knew, about the Turks, but she had no fears. Pagano had said there was no possible danger and if there were, did she not trust him to protect her? And meanwhile they would receive, undiluted, all the court had to offer.
Her only concern, then, was her wardrobe. She found the matter solved by the Venetian Bailie who, tireless in service, sent her presents of velvet and silk and asked merchants to call on her