The Spring of the Ram - Dorothy Dunnett [90]
Nicholas grinned. Behind them, small drifts of laughter were beginning to pass from one side of the ship to the other. The cook’s fire flared. Men were gathered in groups round the main hatch. Nicholas said, “Well. We all want to relax, but I suppose we mustn’t look like a happy ship. And whatever else, Captain Astorre and his men must stay below until dark. What about getting the canopy up, and some wine broached? Don’t bother Messer le Grant: you can do it amongst yourselves. But quietly, yes?”
He stayed with Tobie and Godscalc until Julius was bandaged and settled. Tobie said he had seen worse from a hunting fall, but it was still a matter of broken ribs and a collarbone and some cuts and heavy bruising. Godscalc went off and came back with something hot, with a powder in it. Sipping it one-handed, Julius was reminded for the first time, drowsily, of his other grievances. He said, “That poor little brat. What went wrong?”
Godscalc said, “She wouldn’t come, Julius. She is actually married, and he is being a good husband. She is happy, and clearly adores him. He has written, she says, and told her mother.”
Julius said, “You believed her?”
Godscalc said, “She had no reason to lie. Doria wasn’t there.” Tobie, methodically repacking his bag, wondered why Nicholas was not being allowed to speak. Reclining on the next pallet, the inebriated Florentine consul had helped himself to a cup of the very good wine someone had brought and was this time authentically draining it. He then poured another.
Julius said, “But Trebizond, if there’s war? She shouldn’t go there. And he won’t stay a good husband. It’s only her money he wants. I say we abduct her regardless.”
Tobie said gravely, “We could. We have to pick up passengers at Pera.”
Godscalc said, “Have we? I didn’t know that.”
Nicholas said, “People going to Trebizond. Tobie got word from the Greek’s brother Zorzi. It’ll have to be done at dark, on the Bosphorus side, since we’re supposed to be a ship with the plague. Julius, we can’t force her away: she’d just run back to him. And anyway, where should we take her? We’re going to Trebizond ourselves.” He paused, and then said, “If turning back would help Catherine, I would do it.”
“It wouldn’t,” said Godscalc. “If you had been with us, Julius, you would agree.”
Julius gazed at him for a while, with a puzzled look, until quite suddenly the opiate sent him to sleep.
Watching him, Tobie asked a soft question. “Will the war involve Trebizond? What did the Franciscans tell you?”
Godscalc said, “You saw the fleet at Gallipoli. They say there are three hundred Turkish ships gathering there. The Sultan is not in Adrianople, but has installed his second Vizier there, as if against a long absence. Meanwhile Mahmud Pasha the Grand Vizier is here in Stamboul, with all his household. He’s a successful general: he quelled Serbia, where his father came from, three years ago. If the Sultan takes his army to war, Mahmud will probably lead it.” He halted.
Nicholas, Tobie noticed, was watching them all, but not really listening. He had heard it before. The chaplain said, “The strongest rumour agrees with what the Bailie told us in Modon. The Sultan has his eye, of course, on all the Black Sea ports, including Trebizond. But his first quarrel is with Uzum Beg, who insulted him. And he may want to act quickly, just in case the West listen to Fra Ludovico da Bologna and send a rescue fleet over this summer.”
“First Uzum Hasan. And then Trebizond?” Tobie said.
For the first time, Nicholas spoke. “It’s anyone’s guess. But remember. The Empire of Trebizond is just a two-hundred-mile strip along the Black Sea coast, about forty miles deep. Between that and the rest of Asia Minor are those mountains. They’re why Trebizond has remained protected so long, and they may still protect it. The campaigning season is short. At the end of a long expedition against Uzum Hasan, the Sultan is unlikely to tackle the Pontic Chain.”
“What if he beats Uzum