The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [325]
She had been silent on the voyage; watching M. de Fleury; sympathising with whatever dilemma was producing all the hurried anecdotes of Dr Tobias. She knew, in the part of her mind that her tutors admired, that Cyprus was a vast, fertile island in the eastern part of the Middle Sea; and that Venus had been born there a long time before St Catherine, and that Cleopatra, who had lived in Alexandria without meeting St Catherine, had been presented with Cyprus by her lover Mark Antony.
She saw Dr Tobias was afraid, and that there was therefore no point in mentioning that she personally was panic-stricken. And that someone had to do something about M. de Fleury.
She stood grasping the rail as the vessel bucked its way into the harbour at Famagusta, seeing nothing but a large crowded port smelling of fish, tar, weed, wood smoke and hot cooking-oil. It did not seem to her odd that the trader, instead of waiting for guidance, dropped its sails and rowed in a busy way past all the other vessels swinging at anchor until it reached a spot immediately under the city’s sea-gate, where it lodged.
On the quay before the sea-gate was a carpet, upon which stood a man in elaborate half-armour, flanked by two files of soldiers. One of them held the Lusignan banner, the crimson lion and the Cross of Jerusalem, which also flowed from the walls of the city and from the building she took to be the Citadel. A skiff put off, to the sound of trumpets. A skiff painted in red and gold.
She saw M. de Fleury look round. The master of their little vessel was suddenly nowhere to be seen. The skiff arrived, and M. de Fleury walked down the steps and crossed to the ladder. Then he came back to Dr Tobias.
‘The Royal Bailie is waiting to welcome us. We are to go to the Archbishop’s Palace. Leave the boxes. Servants will bring them.’
‘We were expected?’ said Dr Tobias.
‘We were brought,’ said M. de Fleury.
Of course, he was right. From the moment they stepped foot on Cyprus, it was obvious that everything had been planned: the day and night in Famagusta, with its luxurious lodging and deferential ceremony. Then the journey of over thirty miles to the King’s capital, performed with every attention to the rigours of the late summer heat, the requirements for rest, shade, delicious refreshments.
Veteran of seven months of travelling, of the angularities of the journey to Rome; of the discords of Alexandria and Cairo; of the miseries of the wilderness, Katelijne blamed her recent weakness for the loathing which Famagusta instilled.
She was used to ceremony. She was not vain: the glorious silks of Damascus, swiftly sewn into robes, veils, chemises, were grand enough for her standing; as they provided suitable coats and doublets for the two men, who were treated like princes.
Her sense of terror came from the two men: from the doctor, who walked through his part stony-faced; talking, bowing; conversing. And from M. de Fleury, who behaved at the beginning like the man in black at Leith strand, amused, urbane, wholly detached from reality. Because, to begin with, he was dealing with strangers.
Then, later, he was not. Entering the Palace, he stopped when a monk, gliding forward, clasped his hands. At the banquet, which their deprived interiors could barely enjoy, a nursing brother of the Order of St John had stepped forward and holding his arms, had embraced him. When he was entertained at the Citadel the following day, a woman had broken from the small crowd at the door and, kneeling, had kissed his feet. She had had a child at her side.
He had knelt and raised her, and spoken to her for a little, before the procession moved on. Beside her, Katelijne could hear Dr Tobias swearing in various languages he thought she didn’t know. When they caught up with M. de Fleury, he smiled at her