Race of Scorpions

  ‘I have extended it,’ Zacco said. ‘I have also arranged for you to be given the castle within the new boundaries. You already have the right to live in my manor of Kouklia. You will have two properties now. When you come to Nicosia, which I hope will be often, I shall have rooms prepared for you at the Dominicans’. And if you accept the post I am offering, you will have a residence, naturally, here. What do you say?’

  Nicholas was silent. He said, ‘The fief. Is that dependent on my appointment to Famagusta?’

  ‘You are going to refuse it?’ Zacco said. The lines had returned to his face.

  Nicholas said, ‘My lord, you show me trust and favour beyond what I deserve, but this is a matter not only for me, but for my officers and my company. I would beg the King’s leave to postpone my answer. There is, too, another matter which has a bearing.’

  ‘I hardly know,’ said the King, ‘if I want to hear of another matter.’

  His face showed anger, and something else besides anger. Nicholas said, not all that quickly, ‘It concerns the King’s safety.’

  Silence. Then Zacco said, ‘You had better tell me.’

  Embarking on his monologue, Nicholas was aware that he was not in the fittest state to lay this particular trail. To begin with, he had hoped to keep Abul Ismail’s name from the story; and then had realised that it could not be done, and had gone to the Arab, and asked his permission. He had given it.

  Through all the days that Katelina lingered, and after, Abul Ismail had tended her like a daughter. The only rite he had not observed was the ceremony she had asked for herself: her burial in the Cathedral of St Nicholas. After that, the physician had seen to the ordering of the room, and had her clothes boxed, and found and taken to Nicholas the three letters she left, one for Simon, one for Lucia his sister, and one which contained no message for Nicholas, although it was inscribed to him. The physician had also brought to Nicholas an object he did not know how to pack. It was a dried and broken chaplet of reeds, hastily plaited, and it had been stored with a veil. Nicholas had taken the package, saying, ‘I will see to it.’

  It was that evening, when speech was impossible, that Abul Ismail had waited until Diniz was out of the room and then had said, ‘I wish to speak on the subject of Cyprus.’

  It was true that Cyprus still existed, and the rest of the world, and one was not a child. Nicholas said, ‘Would you have preferred Carlotta’s rule?’

  ‘I am not sure if I wish the rule of Uzum Hasan,’ said the Arab.

  Once, by Kyrenia, they had spoken of this. Uzum Hasan, prince of the Turcomans, sometimes allied with the Sultan of Cairo, sometimes ignored him. But against the great army of Osmanli Turks under the Sultan Mehmet at Constantinople, both were united. Ludovico da Bologna had toured Western Europe with envoys from Uzum Hasan, promising combined Muslim and Christian troops to combat Mehmet’s forces. Uzum Hasan, as an ally of Cairo, could rid Cairo of its obstreperous Mamelukes. But the cost would be a Turcoman alliance, perhaps a Turcoman power in Egypt. And instead of a Mameluke-ruled overlord, Zacco would have Uzum Hasan.

  Nicholas said, ‘I have thought of this. I have studied Uzum, and Sultan Mehmet. I think the Mamelukes are dragging Egypt to destruction, and may overrun Cyprus. And if Venice is occupied with the Turk, Zacco will not be able to stay, even as a puppet king, even if I remain with my army. It is my belief that Uzum would prove a tolerant prince, and an acceptable ruler.’

  ‘That is what Tzani-bey is afraid of,’ said the Arab.

  ‘He knows of this?’ Nicholas said.

  ‘Not from me,’ said the physician. ‘I gave my word, and I have kept it. But someone close to the Palace knows that you have been in communion with Uzum Hasan over this matter. You may guess who it is. You remember who was present at that meeting at the Dominicans’. For his own ends, the same person has told Tzani-bey al-Ablak of the threat. If the power of the Mamelukes fails, then he loses his post and his life. He will do all he can to prevent it.’

  ‘By returning to Cairo?’ said Nicholas.

  The physician smiled. ‘Do I appear as simple as that? I have been watching you. You know that Tzani-bey is out of favour in Cairo. He is here because, at home, he is a troublemaker. To advance, he needs a coup, a service that will dazzle his Sultan, reinforce the power of the Mamelukes, make it difficult if not impossible for Uzum Hasan to persuade Cairo it needs an alliance. The coup is the murder of James of Lusignan and all his officers.’

  Nicholas stopped breathing, and then smoothly recovered himself. He said, ‘The emir has four hundred men.’

  Abul Ismail nodded. ‘So, not enough for an open rebellion. He will seize control in Famagusta. He will come to Famagusta at night, seeking admission. Once into the castle, he and his men will massacre the King and all within, and then ride to take Nicosia. With no leaders, the island will fall into confusion. Then he will send to Cairo, and the Egyptian fleets will arrive. That is the plan.’

  ‘For when?’ Nicholas said.

  ‘Two days after the King enters the city of Famagusta, the attack will take place. They will kill James of Lusignan first. Then Markios, the Archbishop, the Chancellor. But not you.’

  ‘Why?’ said Nicholas.

  And Abul Ismail had said in his prosaic fashion, ‘The emir Tzani-bey wishes to take his amusement with you. Cyprus is his prize. You are to be his entertainment.’

  ‘I see,’ said Nicholas. He said, after a while, ‘I don’t know why you have brought this news to me. There is no recompense worthy of it, except that which you will receive from God. But at least, you will not suffer for it: you must be protected. The person who told Tzani-bey of our meeting will have told him, perhaps, that you were present. You knew about Uzum Hasan, but failed to advise the emir of his danger. If he learns that, he will not be slow with his punishment.’

  And at last the Arab had smiled. ‘Why do I do this? Because I find I am concerned, as are you, with the land that I occupy. There have been good men in my country. Not all Mamelukes have been decadent. But it is time they were checked; and even the threat of Uzum Hasan’s plans may be sufficient. On the other hand, this emir is a man of great power, of limited gifts, and of an evil nature. As for protection, who could save me, if he were to suspect? I am safest where I seem most in danger. I shall return today to his camp, and tend his sick, and tell him all he wishes to know of your defences. After that, it is for you and the Lusignan to keep him out.’

  Nicholas said, ‘The man who betrayed the plan of Uzum Hasan to the emir may now betray the fact that the King has been warned. A later plot, and a worse, may emerge.’

  ‘No,’ said Abul Ismail dryly. ‘No. I think you are a better planner than that, my lord Niccolò.’

  Now, telling the story to Zacco, Nicholas used the name of Abul Ismail. Without it, he would not be believed. But from that moment, Abul’s safety was in the King’s hands.

  He could not tell, as he spoke, how Zacco was receiving it. The King listened unmoving, his wine forgotten, his eyes fixed on his as if he were courting him. At the end, he said, ‘I have been deceived more often than you. I think this is a trick.’

  Nicholas said, ‘Abul Ismail is an old man, a wise man, and one who has dedicated all his days to the healing of the sick. He has returned himself to Tzani-bey’s camp. He has nothing to gain, and his life to lose. The only deception could lie in the form of his warning. The attack might come before he says or after, or might take a different form. The plan was made before he entered Famagusta.’

  ‘More than a month ago,’ Zacco said. ‘Tzani-bey has been planning this for six weeks. Through the festival.’ He stopped, and then gave a laugh. ‘At least he was sure that Famagusta would fall. Of course. He tried to poison their food.’

  ‘He knew they were starving,’ Nicholas said. ‘You saved them. You and the Church.’

  Zacco turned from the door. ‘Rizzo is coming,’ he said. ‘You will tell this to him. Nicosia should be warned.’

  ‘And you will leave the cit
y?’ said Nicholas.

  The King turned his head, his eyes alight once more, the colour returned to his skin: rescued from the oppressions of the day by the promise of action and danger. ‘What! And remove the bait from the trap? I shall stay here,’ he said.

  ‘An open invitation to four hundred Mamelukes?’ Nicholas said. ‘A trap means a battle. I suggest we try to scotch this before it erupts into Famagusta itself. Meanwhile, it might be best if you spent your nights at the Palace, but put it about that you stay in the Citadel. If there is an attack, or an attempt at one, then Conella Morabit will deal with it.’

  ‘We shall see,’ said the King. ‘Here is Rizzo. We should send for Pesaro and Conella. You will repeat your message, and we shall debate. My Nicholas, what am I to do with you? I wrest your dyeworks away, and you present me with my life. Rizzo … this is Conella’s new deputy. A king among men.’

  He had not agreed. It didn’t matter, not at the moment. He waited until they were all gathered, and explained it all over again.

  They let him go to the villa several hours after that, with orders to return to the castle by dusk. By then he had had wine, and not very much food, and the headache had started again that Abul Ismail had explained very simply, and which meant merely that he should rest, and eat lightly, and sleep. Diniz suffered in the same way. He wondered how in God’s name he was going to manage without Abul Ismail, and then remembered that he had nothing to manage: the city was full of monks and Hospitallers and there was no one sick any more in his villa. He actually sat down for a moment in the broken loggia, thinking of that, and collecting energy to get up and go in. Loppe found him there.

  Being Loppe, he simply sat down beside him, and waited. After a while, Nicholas said, ‘Look. Grass growing there, by my foot. I saw a mouse, yesterday.’

  ‘The flamingoes are back at Salines,’ Loppe said. ‘And Akrotiri. We are getting ready for all the new cuttings. It’s pleasant, down there.’

  Presently he said, ‘Astorre was called away to the Citadel. Master Tobias and Master John are still here. The young man Diniz left, but is coming back. They will let you stay here?’

  He was right; it was getting cold, and waiting didn’t make it any better. ‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘Let’s go in. I have something to tell you.’

  The third time of telling, the story seemed to lose credibility. Not to his hearers, who received it with fury, but to himself. They looked odd, John and Tobie and Loppe in the stuffy parlour with its assortment of stolen furnishings where for six weeks he had been accustomed to seeing other faces. He said, finally, ‘Of course, Tzani-bey may have changed his mind. We need more than this before the army could act. In any case, Abul Ismail’s life depends on secrecy. I think therefore that it’s better Diniz shouldn’t have to know.’

  The voice of Diniz, behind him, said, ‘We don’t trust one another?’

  Nicholas stood. He wondered if his face looked like the boy’s, and supposed that it did. He said, ‘We do. I thought you might find ignorance easier. Abul Ismail tells us that the Mamelukes plan to kill the King in Famagusta and take the island.’

  The boy said, ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He’s gone back to the Mameluke camp,’ Nicholas said. ‘Otherwise they would suspect him. I have to get back to the Citadel now. Have they told you you’re free?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Diniz.

  ‘You could sail from Salines,’ said Nicholas. ‘Or Episkopi. No, not Episkopi. They might think you were smuggling cuttings.’

  The boy didn’t smile. No one smiled. He felt stupid and alien, like one of Prester John’s poor Ethiopes, not allowed to concentrate on rolling his egg. He said, ‘Where’s the Patriarch?’

  ‘In Nicosia,’ John le Grant said. ‘Collecting dues and keeping pots boiling. He said to make sure you came back. What did that mean?’

  ‘That he’s well informed,’ said Nicholas, sitting again. After a moment the boy did, as well. Nicholas said, ‘I’ve been asked to stay in Famagusta and help govern it.’

  ‘And will you?’ said John. The boy’s eyes on his were deep and extremely bright.

  ‘I haven’t said,’ Nicholas said. ‘It seemed best to see if we were going to keep Famagusta first.’

  ‘If you do,’ Diniz said, ‘I could help you.’

  Everyone looked at him but Loppe. Nicholas said, ‘I’m not interested in that kind of authority, Diniz. For a while, until they find somebody else. But probably not even then. Cyprus has nothing for you. Your mother needs you.’

  ‘She has Simon,’ said Diniz. ‘And we are –’

  ‘We are friends,’ Nicholas said. ‘And you have to be my ambassador. I would like you to go to Nicosia. Not to the dyeworks: the King, as it happens, intends taking them from us. But to the villa. Then to Portugal by the first ship you have news of.’

  ‘The dyeworks? Why?’ said John le Grant.

  ‘He has obligations. We are to lose the villa as well. He plans vast, if remote compensations.’ Loppe’s eyes were on him, and he refrained from looking at Loppe. He said to Diniz, ‘Go home. It would be best.’

  ‘I could sail from here,’ Diniz said. ‘If I sail. I saw Famagusta surrender to Lusignan. I don’t want to see it given over to Mamelukes.’

  John le Grant cleared his throat. He said, ‘Just in case you were thinking of it, Nicholas, I don’t think any of us has plans to leave Famagusta at the moment, no matter who is on his way to Nicosia from Salines.’

  ‘You read my very thoughts,’ Nicholas said. ‘No one knows who was on the Adorno?’

  ‘No,’ said Tobie. ‘Not yet. But whoever they are, they’ll all be in Nicosia by now, and no doubt we’ll hear soon enough. The boy’s better here. He’d foment trouble.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Nicholas, and gave a half-smile, gazing at Diniz. He said, ‘I expect that, like me, he hasn’t the energy. I must go back. Tobie, I have something to give you.’

  They all looked at him with suspicion. Anxiety and suspicion, when he came to think of it, had been the keynote of the whole conversation. Then Tobie got up and followed him from the room.

  The paper addressed to himself was locked away in his box. It was the only one left, since Diniz now held the other two. Nicholas retrieved it rather slowly, and turned to where Tobie was watching him. Tobie said, ‘Why are you ill? Zacco sent wagons of food.’

  ‘It needed to be the right kind,’ Nicholas said. ‘And everything in the city was tainted. Also, I have been practising your trade. Dame Trotula of Salerno. You’ve been duping us for years. Medicine’s easy.’

  ‘He was a good doctor,’ said Tobie. ‘Abul Ismail, when he wasn’t burning the guts out of people. We thought we might get somewhere. On the sugar sickness, I mean.’

  ‘I don’t think we should have survived without him,’ Nicholas said. Then, since it seemed the subject ought to be mentioned by somebody, he said, ‘He nursed Katelina. She died thinking the relief ship had come. Chance. But God-given chance.’

  Tobie’s voice was tentative, his face moist. He said, ‘You made friends with Diniz. And the lady too?’

  ‘Since the summer,’ Nicholas said. ‘Tobie? You and Godscalc know her son isn’t Simon’s. You gave your word to keep quiet so long as Katelina was alive. I have to know what you think now.’

  Tobie’s face turned a deeper red. He said, ‘You want the child back?’

  Nicholas sighed and sat down. He said, ‘No. We spoke of it. She wished me to have him, but it would have been wrong. I want Simon to continue to think the boy his. If I do, will you and Godscalc be content to keep silence?’

  ‘You don’t want him?’ said Tobie.

  Nicholas could feel himself flush. He wound his hands hard together and said, ‘What do you think?’

  When concentrating, Tobie’s eyes became pinpoints of pupil in two sea-blue pebbles. He said, ‘I think that’s probably the boy’s only chance of surviving. If the good lord Simon suspected, he’d kill him. On the other hand –’

  ‘I k
new there’d be another hand,’ Nicholas said. ‘That’s why I brought you here.’

  ‘Why?’ said Tobie.

  ‘Because Katelina had the same thought. Somewhere, in case it matters: in case Simon dies and the boy is in trouble, there should be a record of who he actually is. And so she left me one.’

  He didn’t want, when the moment came, to hand it over; but it was sensible. Tobie took it, and opened the covering sheet, and took out the paper inside. The writing was large, and not very black, because she had been so weak, but it was perfectly distinct. It stated that the child known as Henry de St Pol, son of Katelina van Borselen, was not the offspring, as commonly accepted, of the lord Simon de St Pol of Kilmirren, but had been conceived and born to Nicholas vander Poele, burgess of Bruges and presently of the House of Niccolò, Venice. The date of birth was inscribed, and the date on which the letter was written. She had signed it, and had it properly witnessed.

  Tobie read it. He had become rather pale. At the end he said, ‘It isn’t wise. Simon may find it.’

  ‘He won’t find it if you carry it,’ Nicholas said. ‘Take it. If you like, give it to Godscalc if ever you get back to Bruges. I’d say send it, but it might not be safe.’

  ‘You don’t want it?’ Tobie said.

  And Nicholas said, ‘It’s better in neutral hands. It’s better out of Famagusta as well. I want you to go to Nicosia and take Diniz with you. Whoever gets killed in a Mameluke attack, it shouldn’t be you or him.’

  ‘But you don’t mind getting killed?’ Tobie said. ‘You only think you don’t mind. You’re so low in health that you don’t know what you’re talking about, never mind being able to fight for anybody. Leave Astorre and get out of it.’

  All the time they had been talking, he had been conscious of a racket outside: a banging, followed by voices. The door opened. ‘There you are!’ said Astorre. ‘Will you come back? He said to be back by dusk, and he’s murderous.’

  Nicholas rose. ‘You see?’ he said to Tobie. ‘Wanted by everyone. I have to go. Take care of it. Go to Nicosia.’

  ‘Go to hell,’ said Tobias Beventini morosely.