The Spring of the Ram - Dorothy Dunnett [89]
“They have the plague,” said the dragoman. “My master’s barber knows the signs well. You cannot stay here.”
“Can’t I?” Nicholas said. He hopped, and pulled one stocking up to his ankles with its laces in knots. “All right,” he said. “But you’ll have to find me a lodging. I suppose I’d better meet the Grand Vizier and sort out this business of le Grant and my notary. What prison…My boots. Wait until I put on my boots. What prison are you putting them in?” His speech, though happily slurred, was quite easy to follow.
“They are to stay aboard,” said the dragoman rapidly. “You are all to stay aboard. You are to sail without going ashore. Water and supplies will be brought to you, but no one else will set foot on this ship.”
Nicholas rested his toes on the deck. “We were expecting the Bailie!” he said. He sounded more surprised than aggrieved. “And the Florentine agent. And Messer Bartolomeo Zorzi and his partner.”
“None of them,” said the dragoman.
Nicholas looked bemused. He said, “Well, of course. If you say so. You don’t have any laws about where I’ve got to sail?”
“Where were you going?” said Tursun Beg softly. The dragoman translated.
“To Trebizond,” Nicholas said. “I thought you knew that. We’re to stay there, to represent Florence.”
“Then,” said Tursun Beg, “I think, Messer Niccolò, you should pursue your excellent plan. I think you should take aboard what you need, and set sail directly for Trebizond.”
It was the last pronouncement he made. He said something aside. A whistle shrilled, and voices shouted from one end of the ship to another. There was an urgent shuffling of feet. With dignity, Tursun Beg and his entourage turned and descended the companionway followed, with fearful alacrity, by the host of their Janissaries, their hatchets glistening, their plumes jerked by the wind. As their rowboats cast off, Tobie ran down the steps from the poop and crossed to where Nicholas stood surveying the general departure with the greatest good will, waving frequently from the outrigging while he attempted to get the other leg covered. When the sea round them was empty but for the far-distant unhappy circle of guard boats, he finally put both feet down and looked about him. Every man left on board seemed to be crowded about him. “Three cheers,” said Tobie with careful sarcasm. They gave them, in a whisper.
Nicholas failed to look embarrassed. “Well, I should think so,” he said. “Look: for Christ’s sake, get down and start sawing the woodwork. Astorre and the rest’ll be dead. Loppe, I insulted you. You are reckoned a three-ball man from this day for services rendered. St Nicholas, patron of pawnbrokers. Tobie…?”
All but a touch, the thickened speech had vanished. Nicholas was sober. He had always been sober. “John’s all right. You’ve got a fine, battered notary, though,” Tobie said. In a mess of cut ropes, John le Grant sat up rubbing his arms and seeking tenderly the lump where the Turk’s mace had caught him. Someone had dumped straw all round Julius and Tobie had slit his shirt and was strapping him up prior to moving him. Julius, in between being stoical, was gasping and swearing under his breath, largely at Nicholas.
“Now, now,” Tobie said. He felt silly with elation. “We thought Doria was going to report our hundred soldiers, and planned accordingly. And it worked. All those beautiful fitments they made at Modon, and boxes, and barrels. They’ll have cramp and arthritis for weeks, but it saved them. Not to mention my convincing plague paintwork.”
“You mean it was lucky we had the two dead men,” said John le Grant. “I think I know what Julius is complaining about. But Doria outplayed us all. It was clever.” He paused. “What was that about a letter from Bessarion?”
Tobie said, “The Medici bank promised to back us provided we received a clean bill of health from the cardinal. The clean bill of health seems to have come, if at an inconvenient moment. We’ll get copies from Florence. Right; let’s lift him now.”
Nicholas and two of the seamen helped carry Julius to the cabin. The senior helmsman