The Spring of the Ram - Dorothy Dunnett [92]
Long before that, the sea prince Pagano Doria returned to his loved one in Pera, leaving behind him a critical and not unsatisfactory interview with the Grand Vizier Mahmud in the New Palace, and a short, humble one in the painted paraclesion of the church of the Pammakaristos, the home of the head of the Greek Orthodox Church in the Ottoman Empire.
Clearly, the Ottoman Empire needed the skills of the Greeks, and the Greeks needed some sort of local controller. Hence, with his usual clemency, Mehmet the Conqueror had spared the required number of churches in Stamboul and had appointed as Patriarch the man George Scholarius, of all Greek theologians the one least likely to support or promote union with the Church of the West. Once, at the Pope’s famous council in Florence, Scholarius had spoken and voted for union like Amiroutzes and Bessarion. But there is no man firmer in his opinion than the man who has changed it. The Sultan gave the Patriarch a new jewelled cross and allowed him to instruct him in the Christian Faith. Know thy enemy.
Recrossing the Horn, Doria saw that the Ciaretti was no longer delightfully jostled by guard boats and deduced that le Grant and the poor fellow Julius must have been removed already in chains, with Master Niccolò presumably running after wringing his hands. Because of the Florentine connection, Mahmud would probably leave the ship and the young man alone. Doria suspected, also, that the Venetians were keeping an eye on the Charetty company. The actual fate of the two accused men hardly troubled him. The case would keep the galley hanging about for a very long time. That was all he cared about. That and giving another tap on the chin to this poor bemused youth who had thought to best a Doria. It remained to be seen, of course, if it had been a tap and not a blow that could kill. He hoped not. One should conduct such matters with artistry.
He rode with his immaculate retinue into the elder’s courtyard, dismounted, and was immediately accosted by his captain, who had apparently been waiting for him. Running down the steps behind Crackbene was the manservant he had left to serve Catherine. And at the top of the steps, her hair unbecomingly loose, stood his wife Catherine herself, looking agitated.
Pagano Doria said to Crackbene, “Quickly.”
He was an experienced captain who ran the ship, and did what he was paid to do, without comment. He said, “The Ciaretti was boarded, but they didn’t take off the prisoners. They say they have the plague on board.”
“They haven’t,” said Doria.
Crackbene said, “It’s possible. There is an outbreak at Patras.”
Catherine’s servant had arrived. “My lord! He came. As you thought he might. Messer Niccolò of the Charetty, to see the Madonna. I allowed him to—”
“Be quiet, fool,” said Doria. He said to Crackbene, “So, you see, there is no plague.”
“They showed them bodies.”
“They searched, then? What did they find?”
“Only two bodies,” said Crackbene. “Half the crew were missing, deserted or dead. They had taken some fishermen to help them through the narrows. The rest were all the original seamen, and the officers.”
“Then they’ve given up,” Doria said. “They let the soldiers go while they were still in Venetian territory. Unless he hid them somehow on board. Is it possible?”
“Hardly,” said Crackbene. “In any case, I looked at the load line. They hadn’t discharged cargo since Modon, but the ship was riding much higher.”
Doria gazed at him. He said, “So we frightened him. He dismissed the soldiers, and he’s going to Trebizond with nothing.” He swore to himself, and then again, as his eyes were drawn to Catherine. Doria said, “If he’s even going to Trebizond now. Wait here.”
“I shall, of course, monseigneur,” said the captain civilly. “But I shall have to see to matters soon. Since the patron of the plague ship visited the madonna, we too have been ordered out of Pera. We have until tomorrow to leave.”
It was, of course, what Pagano Doria had once wanted