The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [332]
‘She was a prostitute!’ Zacco said.
The name of Primaflora had not been mentioned, and he didn’t propose to mention it now. He said, ‘My lord, I have to go.’
‘No. I want to talk. Bring him,’ said Zacco. Di Marino tightened his grip, then released the King’s reins. The escort moved close.
Nicholas said, ‘My lord, I have a journey to make, and it is late.’
‘An excuse. What journey?’ said Zacco. ‘It is night.’
He had been going to lie. Instead, he said, ‘I have to ride to Famagusta on an errand. It is so that I can decide on my answer tomorrow.’
The lustrous eyes studied his without changing. Whoever knew that particular secret, it was not Zacco. Nicholas found he was very glad. Then Zacco said, ‘It is more than thirty miles. On that horse?’
It was a hired one; well enough. He had begun to explain, but was stopped. The King said, ‘You will take one of mine. Or something else. I remember you once had a racing-camel.’
‘It will be barren,’ Nicholas said. For a moment the King looked at him; then dismounting, he threw back the reins and walked off, without looking behind, over the courtyard. The chamberlain glanced at him, and then followed. The escort waited, then scattered. Nicholas watched for a moment, then moved. Before he had turned to the road, a groom was at his side, calling.
With him was the horse which Zacco had been riding, still saddled, with the red Lusignan lion on its horse-cloth. ‘My lord says,’ said the groom, ‘that this will be sufficient to gain you entry to Famagusta, should the gates be shut when you arrive.’
He looked at it; then, dismounting slowly, took the velvet reins and laid his hand on the horse’s white neck. The groom said, ‘What of your own, my lord? I am to ride it home for you, or stable it.’
He didn’t want questions. He said, ‘Stable it. I shall send for it tomorrow,’ and gave the man a piece of silver once he was mounted. There were lanterns hung among the lemon trees. Outside Nicosia the grape harvest had begun: it would be the fig festival soon. Riding from Nicosia in the past, the road to the south was the one he had been used to: the road that lifted over the hill and wound down to the sea and to Kouklia, and his estate; and the shrine of Paphian Venus.
It was warm. The sky, sprigged with stars, had none of the clear, open quality of Sinai, even at night. Two hours before dawn, the star of St Catherine, of Venus, would hang to the east and south of the monastery. It was the same sky: it would shine upon Cyprus as well. The Bride of Christ, the pagan goddess, born both in one isle.
He it is who appointed for you the stars, that you may be guided by them in darkness on land and on sea.
A hatchery of chicks is ready and will be emptied tomorrow.
He was not tired, but clear and empty, like the air over Sinai.
At first, when Nicholas didn’t return, Tobie tried to get the girl to retire and then, failing, settled down with her to wait for an hour. After that, she seemed to agree that it would be better to sleep, taking her reassurance probably from his manifest state of annoyance. She was actually asleep, he thought, when the hammering came to the door and the porter led in Ludovico da Bologna, under the delusion that he was about to discuss something with Nicholas.
The idea that Nicholas was not in the house was not one he readily entertained. Striding here and there, flinging doors open, he wakened not only the household but Katelijne, who sat up and gazed at him in astonishment. ‘So where is he?’ demanded the Patriarch.
‘With King Zacco, I should imagine,’ she returned crossly; moving Tobie to a mixture of admiration and alarm. The Patriarch grunted and withdrew.
In the chamber, ‘Is he?’ he said.
‘How should I know?’ said Tobie. ‘I haven’t seen him since we were all at the Palace. What are you doing here?’
‘Sometime,’ said Ludovico da Bologna, ‘I’ll tell you, when you’ve managed to get that man under control.’
‘I’m only his doctor,’ said Tobie. ‘If you’re talking about spiritual