To Lie with Lions - Dorothy Dunnett [327]
Most of the night, he sat by the window. When Tobie came he rose, his eyes on the round smooth-skinned face, all its colour faded from tiredness.
Tobie said, ‘Before you go. What have you done about David de Salmeton? You know he has left Famagusta?’
‘I know. I have laid a formal accusation against him: abduction with intent to murder. Filipe’s deposition will support it.’
‘De Salmeton will have escaped by that time,’ Tobie said.
‘I doubt it,’ Nicholas said. ‘After this, the Venetians will want someone to blame.’
After this. He added, ‘Would the King see me now?’
‘He has asked,’ Tobie said.
The room was empty of spectators this time. Zacco lay still, his hair combed, his arms loose on the sheets. His lashes, always ridiculous, laid shadows like leaves on his skin. Nicholas approached, and knelt on the step.
The King said, ‘I hear that you were prevented from coming. They knew you might have saved me. Have you brought your magic with you?’
He had forgotten Zacco might know about that. The pendulum lay in his purse. Nicholas opened it, and laid the jewel on the bed. The King did not move. ‘Show me,’ he said. ‘Show me what it says.’
He knew what it said. Neverthless he lifted the thing on its cord, and held it suspended. The King’s eyes and Tobie’s were on it. It hung without movement, because he willed his mind to stay empty. Nicholas said, ‘I am sorry. There is no magic, sire. It merely finds what is lost.’
‘A soul? A country?’ the King said. His voice, sapped of all timbre, held a shadow of its old mockery.
The jewel glinted. Of its own volition it described a small circle, and then another. The movement was soft on the skin; far from the sharp angry flaying that tore the blood from the hand.
The King said, ‘It moves. What does it say?’
Nicholas said, ‘It says that birth and death are but rearrangements. It says that nothing is born, and nothing dies. It says that there is nothing to fear.’
‘I fear nothing!’ said Zacco.
‘Then neither do we,’ Nicholas said.
Their eyes held.
After a while, Zacco said, ‘I asked you to stay. Many times. You could have given to Cyprus all the riches, the labour you lavished on Scotland. Did you love that King James so very well?’
From Zacco, dying, a spear in the side.
Nicholas said, ‘There is only one James. There is only one Zacco, and I am his to command.’
‘Then we would have you command Death to go,’ Zacco said. ‘There are great things afoot; and we are too busy to leave.’
His face convulsed. Tobie said, ‘Go.’
Next day the Queen came from Nicosia in a litter, accompanied by her household and by her mother’s sister, the lady Violante. Nicholas watched Catherine approach, small, globular, pasty, progressing towards the royal apartments, evacuated to receive her. She looked frightened. Violante, catching sight of him, turned, her eyes wide. He saw the Queen flinch at the door of the bedchamber, and hoped they had dimmed the lamps, or found a way to deaden the King’s sensibilities as well as his pain. He had been weaker this morning, keeping his voice and his rage for his doctors.
After the Queen there came from Nicosia a stream of officials and clerks, who were silently met and dispersed by the Constable. Among these was the royal chancellor and notary, accompanied by many strong boxes. The transfer of power had begun.
Last of all, there came to Nicholas a visitor of his own: Michael Crackbene. Nicholas greeted him tersely, for he felt angry, and Crackbene was coldly defensive and probably right. Even had he been brought back at once, Nicholas would have been too late to prevent what had happened. It wasn’t Mick’s fault that de Salmeton had been forced to leave his prisoner unattended. Filipe had done what he could, and was now in safe hands in Nicosia. And Crackbene had sent Tobie to Zacco.
Crackbene said abruptly, ‘I’m sorry about Zacco. Was it the Venetians?’
Nicholas looked at him in surprise. Then he answered, ‘I think