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By Root 2642 0

to sit on was heavy, and gold like a throne. Above her swung a lamp made of some thin greenish glass worked in silver. The oil it burned was scented, and its light fell, in the main, on himself. Today, she wore a high-necked, narrow gown that could have been either Venetian or Trapezuntine. Its cuffs, thick with fur, half covered her folded hands, corded with rings. Where before her hair had been covered, she now wore it folded beneath a little crown-veil stitched to a narrow jewelled headband. Below it, silver earrings flashed with points of red, each brushed by the hair that spiralled, loose as gold wire, from her temples. The hair showed, too, bright as foil for an inch under the band. Between her legs, he thought, it must be the same. Duke Philip, I salute you and your Order.

It had been a long time, and for a moment, he was stifled.

She said in Italian, “We have met. Do you know who I am?”

“Indeed, madonna,” Nicholas said.

“Highness,” the monk’s voice corrected him. Outside, the stamp of feet and shouting reached a crescendo. Nicholas braced himself as the ship gave its lurch on the sail breaking out. The heavy chair before him didn’t move, but without compunction he heard the monk sidestep and recover himself. Take note. I am not to be patronised.

Nicholas said, “Highness, your name is the lady Violante. Your father rules Naxos. Your mother is niece to the Emperor David of Trebizond and you, and each of the ladies your sisters, are married to lords of the Republic of Venice. I came to wish you welcome on board the Ciaretti. And your chamberlain.”

“Diadochos,” she said. The monk inclined his head. She said, “We accept your greeting, and thank you. You will discuss with Diadochos practical matters to do with the journey. I should like, first, to command ten minutes of your time. Is this possible?”

She spoke as Marian might, at a business meeting. But no. With no remotest expectation of being refused. Before he had even agreed, the big servant had parted the tapestry and, advancing, set a stool for himself and the monk. They were not from his stock. He began to wonder how much baggage they had brought on board and what it would do to his load-line. As he sat, she said, “And so. You have brought the soldiers?”

His pause had already given him away, so he threw a glance towards her attendants.

She said, “They will not repeat what they hear. You have brought the soldiers and you have not changed your intention of staying in Trebizond?”

“The Emperor will have the soldiers,” he said. “And I couldn’t recoup my voyage, as you know, unless I stay through the trading season.”

“You didn’t, then, ask Zorzi to accommodate you,” she said. “Certainly your profit from Trebizond will be many times greater.”

He said, “Trebizond is where my post is. Although I hope Messer Zorzi and I will be able to put business in each other’s way. Much depends on the possibility of war between the Sultan and my lord Uzum Hasan. It would help to know the intentions of my lord of Persia.”

The heavy domed eyes turned to the monk. She said, “Ask Diadochos. Diadochos serves the wife of my lord Uzum Hasan, and sometimes his mother.”

“His mother?” said Nicholas.

“A Syrian lady,” said the monk. “She shares the women’s household with Hasan Bey’s wife, and her children. The Christian women’s household.”

Nicholas looked round. On the throne, the young woman regarded him calmly. She said, “The lady my aunt is Hasan Bey’s premier wife. It is unusual in a harem for a Christian to hold this position. He has, of course, several others.”

“I see,” said Nicholas. “And he is preparing for war?” He returned to the monk.

The bearded face held no more expression than the woman’s. He said, “My lord Uzum Hasan has many battles behind him. He hopes for peace, I am sure. But if the Sultan threatens his lands, his passes, his safety, he has strong allies who will help him fight. Georgia. Sinope. You have met their envoys in Europe.”

“And that is why he challenged the Sultan?” Nicholas said. “He and the Emperor?”

“Challenged?” said the woman. The lines of amusement