The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [245]
Demurely the monk held the gold. A muscle twitched in his cheek.
‘Amen,’ Nicholas said. ‘I am ashamed. Does the Lord give receipts?’
Chapter 34
FINDING NICHOLAS GONE, John le Grant cursed, got hold of Achille, and set to work reassembling and apportioning his cargo. Tobie looked in on him once to mention that he and the girl were moving to the Genoese fondaco immediately. It annoyed John profoundly. He had counted on Tobie’s support in handling Nicholas de Fleury.
He retreated thankfully to his chamber at noon and found Nicholas walking about, a rib of meat between his bared teeth, sorting out garments and flinging them over his shoulder. There was a powerful smell of hot candle grease.
Told to put on his second-best coat, John said, ‘Be damned to that, I’m hungry. What happened?’
He caught, just, the shank Nicholas threw at him. It looked as if it had come off a market-stall. ‘Tell you later,’ Nicholas said. ‘Hurry up. Meetings, meetings. We’re late for the Emir.’
In fact they were not, and the ensuing conference at the palace covered all the pre-arranged ground and ended with some worthwhile concessions. It was the unscheduled conversation that followed that made John uneasy. Rejoining their cumbersome retinue, he was unable to remonstrate, being hauled in turn to the Persian and Syrian fondaci and the houses of two wealthy Egyptian merchants. He noticed that Nicholas, all of a sudden, seemed to have discovered his bearings.
The business talks were reasonably successful, being with people John le Grant knew and regularly negotiated with. Nicholas acted as the padrone, evincing ignorance when it would serve, and using his weight when that would serve too. They worked well as a team. The topics were cotton and corn; the glass and sugar handled by their Damascus sub-agent; the raw silk that Turcoman merchants could send them. They discussed and apportioned their interest in the spice fleet, which would arrive in September.
It came twice a year. Too big for the Red Sea and its shallows, Chinese junks and heavy Indian ships which had left Calcutta in February would unload their jewels, their silks, their spices, their perfumes and their parrots at Jeddah. From there, taxed and packaged, the sacks would travel by fleets of small vessels to Tor, and thence by camel-train to Cairo and the north. No foreign traders, of course, were permitted in Cairo, the capital. Foreign traders dealt in Alexandria, or nowhere.
Every meeting, having dealt with the spice, went on to wring its hands over the war which had half emptied the harbour. Across the sea two weeks ago, a Turkish fleet big enough to cover six miles of sea had sailed to Euboea, the prized island possession of Venice, and deposited soldiers there. Three days later the Ottoman Sultan himself had led an army to the opposite shore and was now confronting the capital, Negroponte.
Negroponte was the chief naval base of the Venetian fleet in the Levant. Without it, merchantmen would have to beat their way to Modon and Corone; local rulers would riot; the Turks, owning the harbour, could use it to attack whom they pleased. What happened to Negroponte would affect every man’s business, every man’s country. Alexandria was full of rumours, and each day a new scare would run through the city – the Sultan had brought his heavy artillery, the straits to the island were bridged, and even greater armies were pouring across. Nicholas, listening, made soothing remarks about Venetian strength, but said little else. John was glad when the last meeting ended.
On their way home, they passed the Tartar fondaco. Even at the fading of day, the slave market was busy and full, the sellers proclaiming, the handlers with their short sticks expertly tumbling, exposing, clinically presenting their wares at fifteen ducats apiece. The slaves were from the Black Sea and beyond, and of all shades from ochre to tawny.
John ignored them. Nicholas said, ‘Krim Tartars. We’ll call there