‘I am beholden,’ said Nicholas.
Word came in two days. No shipmaster came to the house. Instead Nicholas, mildly resistant, was given into the hands of a servant and, blindfolded at night, was pulled up and down steep muddy alleys and finally thrust through a low doorway and left.
The atmosphere, warmly rank, was familiar and, when you thought of it, not so surprising: Ochoa de Marchena spent a long time at sea. Nicholas said aloud, ‘Well, have you got two for me? Or do we have to make do with each other?’ And the next moment his eyes had been freed and, embraced by his shipmaster, he was being led into an empty room in the best seafront brothel in Soldaia.
Nicholas had been almost twenty-four years of age when he had hired a Spanish pirate at Lagos in Portugal, and placed him in charge of the Ghost, one of the little fleet of two ships with which he had sailed down the west coast of Africa. With Gelis. With Bel. With Diniz. With the priest Godscalc, now dead, whose dream had been to reach Ethiopia, but who had not been equipped with the brutal qualities of a Ludovico da Bologna.
In ten years, Ochoa had hardly altered at all. The pock-marked face, toothless, elastic as wax, was pleated into the same patterns of joyous enthusiasm; the black eyes snapped; the voice swooped; the hands, relieving Nicholas of his outer clothing, probed the new-crusted scars and the plentiful corrugations of the old ones. ‘And they said you were a banker, my dear!’
‘The girls find it exciting,’ said Nicholas. He viewed the captain. ‘What about you?’
Ochoa cast a glance at his clothing. ‘The wool cap, the sheepskin, the boots? The merest expediency, in crossing from Bielogrod. Let me once get to my boxes, and you will soon see the old Ochoa.’
‘I am pleased enough to see the new one,’ Nicholas said.
He let the interview set its own pace, putting ten years of experience into the handling of it. To an ebullient free spirit like Ochoa, subservience to the Knights of St John had been embarrassing. He had, Nicholas deduced, made several unsuccessful attempts to escape before at last winning his present precarious freedom. Plied with rich food and wine, paid for by Nicholas, he found his greatest satisfaction at first in relating the successes of the past years: the conquests he had made for the Knights, but also the happy occasions on which he had totally misled that worthy Christian foundation, to their detriment. No one mentioned gold.
Some time later, further fortified, the captain had progressed to boasting of his recent adventure with the Sicilian mercenaries on the Dniester, when King Stephen had achieved a great victory over the Turks, with the consequence to Mánkup which Señor Niccolò would of course know.
Nicholas was waiting, with patience, to hear of his gold. Instead, he found himself learning of an upheaval in Mánkup, the mountain fortress of Isáac of Gothia, in whom the shadow of the empire of Trebizond persisted still. But Stephen, King of Moldavia, was building his own empire on the west coast of the Black Sea and, friend of Poland and arch-enemy of the Turks, was suspicious of Isaac.
‘Of course, the lovely prince Isáac was exchanging sweet messages with the Turks — who is not? — but King Stephen, a nervous man, apparently thought that he was about to surrender. Such a hot-head! At any rate, he sent Isáac’s brother Aleksandre to Mánkup with my friends, the three hundred Sicilians (one of them was my cousin). Aleksandre obligingly murdered his brother and will now rule as prince in his place. Gothia is secure from the Turks. Are you pleased?’
‘Not especially What happened to Abdan Khan?’
‘Isáac’s Circassian general? He survived. They need him. The mountain Mamelukes were all trained in Cairo, and share the Sultan’s hatred of Turkey. Anyway, you should be pleased. Your Ochoa is here, because his friends helped him to cross the Peninsula. And now you will hear what I have done for you.’
They had been speaking before in Italian. Now, for safety, Ochoa turned mostly to Spanish. It was the story Nicholas had already received, in gist, through Brother Lorenzo. At the end, Nicholas stared at him thoughtfully. ‘Of course, you should never have allowed yourself to be captured by the Knights in the first place. All you had to do was sail home with my gold. Slovenly seamanship …’
Ochoa jumped to his feet, his bared gums a short seam in their gusset. ‘I told you! The storm!’
‘And then all those years working for them before you actually managed to escape and make the effort to find me. But since you did, I owe you something,’ Nicholas said. ‘Even though you would have walked off with the extra had you been able to. How did you persuade the Knights that they had everything?’
‘I am very persuasive,’ said Ochoa. ‘And so how much do you owe me?’
‘Your wages, I suppose. As for the gold, I have to get it yet,’ Nicholas said. ‘And as you tell me yourself, nothing can be done until the seas open. The trouble is, I have to travel south with the Patriarch next month.’
‘And the pretty woman?’ said the shipmaster. ‘I hear about the pretty woman. But surely you will go and get the gold first? You know I cannot do it.’ He brightened suddenly. ‘Perhaps the pretty woman could get it. She and I, while you go south.’
‘Her name is the Gräfin von Hanseyck,’ Nicholas said. ‘And she is someone else’s pretty woman. Do I take it, then, that you are going to stay here until spring?’
‘Why, it is kind of you to suggest it,’ said Ochoa. ‘It is a little expensive, but there might be somewhere cheaper nearby, and it would be worth the outlay to you, I am sure. I could ask my cousin, but then he would insist on sharing the gold, which would only spoil him.’
He could never keep a straight face with Ochoa. ‘But it wouldn’t spoil you?’ Nicholas said. ‘What will you do with your share? When I have decided, that is, what it will be.’
The toothless face expressed exaggerated surprise. ‘But what you and Paúeli decided. A third each, and the use of the Peter.’
‘Wait a moment,’ Nicholas said. ‘Paúeli? Paúel Benecke? I made no arrangement with him. I wasted a whole bloody winter trying to get him to say where you were, and the bastard sailed off without telling me. I’d never have known, except that his daughter wanted to spite him, and told someone.’ He stopped and drew breath. ‘You’ve been talking to Benecke?’
‘We communicate,’ said the Spaniard coldly. ‘Yes, he sails the vulgar Baltic, where a real seaman prefers the great Middle Sea, but there are rivers between. Messages pass. I am Catalan; I do not always sail galleys; I know the Western Ocean as your friend Crackbene does; as you do. We all know that the Portuguese hold on the gold trade has weakened. With the Peter there is nothing we could not do, given the gold to finance the voyage.’
‘To Africa,’ Nicholas said.
‘You are slow,’ Ochoa said. ‘The love nest with the pretty woman has made you slow. I tell you, keep to your plan. Go back to Caffa tomorrow. But excuse yourself from your trip to the south. Collect the gold. And then put it to use. What better way is there to spend the rest of your life than at sea, in a venture with seamen?’
‘I see,’ Nicholas said. He fell into silence. Ochoa drank, occasionally missing his mouth with the flask. Muffled, from behind the closed door came the somersaulting notes of a guitar, and high voices giggling, and the occasional hoarse shout.
Nicholas said, ‘There is a month to decide. I have to go back to Caffa, but I shall pay for your keep in Soldaia, or wherever you think you will be safe. If and when I go for the gold, I shall tell you.’
‘My dear, of course,’ said Ochoa de Marchena. ‘For if anything were to go wrong, our friend Paúeli would be very distressed. Now let us consider the details.’
They considered the details. It did not take long, and it was Ochoa’s idea to celebrate the occasion by calling upon the house’s resources.
‘Girls. Or boys. Or both together, if you wish. Come. Unless you have been mating with elk, you must have a mighty hunger to satisfy. Consider the young Tartar wenches — so modest, so lissom! They have this delightful practice: a gentleman sits, and they kneel
, and then —’
‘I can imagine. What must it be like with two or three? Here. Purchase what you want, and there is my purse for your keep. I must go,’ Nicholas said. ‘I suppose I have to find my own way back to the trading-quarter? Why all the precautions?’
‘I did not know,’ said Ochoa simply, ‘whether the Niccolò that Benecke told me of would be the same crazy young señor that I knew. But as soon as I saw your bruises, I knew that it was.’
TWO DAYS LATER, after long absence, Nicholas set open the door of his parlour in Caffa to find Anna alone and in tears, cradling a frayed, loving note from her daughter. A moment later and, somehow, she was fast in his arms.
Chapter 24
OCHOA HAD BEEN RIGHT: it had been a long time since Nicholas had touched a woman of his own kind. Closing his arms about Anna had been an instinctive gesture of comfort. But then what had been distant was transformed into light, yielding substance, scented and warm, and all his senses awoke with a shiver. For a moment, they held each other unmoving; he felt her hands spread at his shoulder and waist and, looking down at her profile, saw the tears below the closed eyes. Then her brow creased, and she loosed herself from his embrace, but instead sought his right hand and clasped it tightly.
She said, ‘I have been so afraid. Come and sit by me.’ And kept his hand as they sat close together, his free arm laid in a sheltering way along the wood of the settle behind her. She said, ‘You didn’t come home. The Patriarch said you left by yourself. I was afraid they had killed you.’
‘The bears?’ Nicholas said. Her lips were quivering.
She made an attempt at a smile. ‘Worse than that. Nicholas, have you not heard? Did you not see the change at the gates?’
It was safe to say that he had observed the change at the gates. The guard had not wished to let him through, and he had been stopped several times in the streets. There were soldiers everywhere. By now, he also had a good idea of the reason, but he let her tell him. He had been fishing, and she had steered the business alone through an upheaval that might well have wrecked it.
For, it seemed, the Khan Mengli-Girey had not persuaded the Genoese to appoint the Tudun he wanted. Politely, he had agreed to discard the possibly traitorous Eminek. He had even agreed, a very special concession, to ride down from his snowy mountain to Caffa and attend the installation of Eminek’s successor. The outrage occurred when it was discovered: the Khan proposed that the successor should be his secretary, the noble Karaï Mirza.
‘Of course, the Genoese had been bribed to appoint the widow’s son Sertak, and they forced the Khan in the end to agree. But it was ugly, Nicholas, for a while, and they are still suspicious of anyone who has had to do with the Khan or, of course, with Karaï Mirza. They questioned Sinbaldo, and came here to talk about the business. I thought I had persuaded them to leave us alone when —’ She stopped.
‘What?’ Nicholas said. ‘The Genoese are your friends. They won’t harm you. And I can look after myself. What frightened you?’
Her face was pale, looking up at him. ‘The furs came,’ Anna said.
‘All the furs that you and Julius were owed? But that is wonderful!’ Nicholas said.
‘More than we were owed. An ox-cart full. Ermines, martens, sables, everything. A surplus more than we could ever pay for if it wasn’t a gift. If it wasn’t a bribe from the Khan, made possible by his friendship with Moscow and Mánkup.’
‘A bribe to do what?’ Nicholas said. He rose quickly. ‘Look, I’m going to give you some wine. It’s all right. They can’t prove we did anything.’
‘They think we did,’ Anna said. ‘They think the Khan gave us silver to buy support for Karaï Mirza, and that the furs are our reward. I told them they were wrong. So did the Patriarch, when he came back.’
‘Well, that ought to convince them,’ said Nicholas. ‘At least it can be proved that you had nothing to do with it. If they have to blame someone, it’ll be me. Do you know why the Khan agreed to give up so easily? After all, he is the lord of the Crim Horde.’
Anna put down the cup he had given her. Colour had returned to her cheeks. She said, ‘Mengli-Girey’s worst enemies are two older brothers who wanted to rule in his place. The Genoese threatened to release them from prison, unless the Khan appointed the Tudun they wanted. Nicholas, where have you been?’
He smiled. ‘Fishing,’ he said. ‘And just as well, perhaps, although it left you to bear all the brunt of this nonsense. Fishing, and visiting Soldaia. Can you guess why?’
Her eyes flamed. ‘Nicholas!’ And then, as her eye fell on the pendulum that he held in his hand: ‘The gold is here! You divined it! That is why you came back?’
He sat down, and touched his cup to hers. ‘Because of the gold. It isn’t here yet, but I did see Ochoa, and have paid him something, at least. Now we have to wait until ships can sail.’
‘And then it will come here, or to Soldaia? Where is it coming from?’
‘I don’t know. Neither does Ochoa. That is why he couldn’t trace it without me. I have to divine when it is coming.’
‘But why? Who has it, if not Ochoa? Is it safe?’
‘He assures me it is. The Knights were hounding him: he had to lay a false trail. But it is coming. For you and for Julius. For us all.’
‘For us all? Does Ochoa approve of your plans for it?’ Anna asked.
Nicholas refilled her cup. ‘He doesn’t know. He wants me to invest in a new expedition to Africa with himself and Paúel Benecke.’
‘But you won’t?’ Anna said. ‘Shall I tell you why I was weeping when you came in? Why especially I was weeping, after all the anxiety?’
He said, ‘I saw it was a letter from Bonne. You would have told me if it were bad news. So you are homesick, and wish to go back?’
‘Not when Julius is coming,’ she said. ‘But yes, I was homesick and yes, I miss my little daughter, as you must lie awake, missing Jodi. Do you know that Gelis went to see Bonne?’
‘Gelis?’ he said.
‘She was at Neuss, not far away. She was so kind, Bonne said. She spoke of Jodi … Nicholas, send for your wife. She needs you. You must long for her, and your son. And I know what it is like, to dress for no one, to smile for no one, never to touch, or to caress. You may pay for your pleasure, but it cannot be the same. And I do not have even that.’
‘What are you asking?’ Nicholas said.
She was weeping again. She said, ‘To let me sit like this, with my head on your shoulder.’
But it was not enough, for after a while she spoke again, her voice blurred, her hand like a stranger’s, guiding his. ‘Nicholas, help me.’
HE DID NOT see her next morning, being much occupied with the business that had accumulated in his absence, and with reacquainting himself with the city and its gossip. As soon as he returned, Anna asked him to receive her.
It was formally done, and she stood in front of him in his office as a client might have done, rather than a mistress. She was again very pale. She said, ‘I thought you might have left for another house. I am grateful that you have stayed. I wished to make you my apologies, and to tell you that I now know, if I ever doubted it, what a staunch friend Julius has. I shall be eternally ashamed that I asked, and I shall be eternally grateful that you walked out of the room.’
There was a long pause. Then Nicholas said, ‘Any other man would have remained. But I shot Julius.’
Their eyes held. Anna said, ‘Then do you still want to work for him? With me? We should keep together, for safety.’
‘Of course. It never happened. And if we are careful, all will be well. Leave it to me,’ Nicholas said.
• • •
HE THOUGHT at the time that he could control it all. He thought so up to the moment next day when he was taking stock in Sinbaldo’s fur warehouse and the Patriarch’s secretary trotted up, fell off his mule and, forgetting all prudence, cried ‘Signor Niccolò! Signor Niccolò! Come quickly!’ Then he added his news.
Ochoa had been
captured.
No one had heard Brother Orazio’s words. Pulled into the warehouse, he recounted his story, shaken by whooping fur-induced coughs. Listening, surrounded by deep, lustrous pelts, Nicholas suddenly discovered a seething hatred of fur, especially sleek fur in exotic colours: smoke and silver and black, cream and tortoiseshell, orange and butter.
Ochoa had been surprised in his lodging and taken. He was in the Genoese fortress at Soldaia, accused of piracy and theft. The Patriarch was on his way there already to provide Christian solace.
Nicholas spoke to Sinbaldo. He took Orazio back to the house, merely to collect a packbag and horses, and leave a message for Anna. Anna was already there, barring his way, ordering the grooms to forbid him the stables. ‘You are not to go. They will kill you. They are suspicious already.’
Her Genoese gossips had told her. She was ashen. All she felt showed itself, in essence, as anger. It would serve no purpose to show her his own.
‘Do you think I would leave him?’ Nicholas said. ‘And really, you underrate my ingenuity.’
‘You are not going. You are not going. Nicholas, I forbid you to go. I know Ochoa once was a friend. I know how you feel about Africa, and all who remind you of it. But he has had his life, and made little of it, and you are at the threshold of yours. Nicholas, leave it to the Patriarch. He will do what he can.’
‘He doesn’t seem over-confident,’ Nicholas said. ‘He has sent Brother Orazio for me.’
‘Then he is a fool, or he doesn’t realise the risks you would run.’ Her frowning eyes, scanning his face, opened suddenly. ‘Or perhaps the Patriarch knows of the gold?’
Despite himself, Nicholas smiled. ‘Father Ludovico, plotting to appropriate funds for the Church? No. I think your first guess was right. He doesn’t know they suspect me of anything. He simply knows that Ochoa has served me, and thinks I should help him in trouble. I think so, too.’
The frowning eyes returned to his face. ‘They may imprison you, also. They may find out who you are.’