She said, ‘I have my own way of praying. So what can be done about Father John?’ She lay still.
‘Very little,’ Nicholas said, ‘without more help than we have at present.’ He gazed at her, lying still. He said, ‘Where is the Doria?’
She removed and laid down his hand and sat up with a sharpness of manner she rarely showed. ‘You have lost me my mood. The Doria? Probably in Episkopi Bay. Why? You want to kidnap poor Father John?’
He halted then, and said, ‘You’re right. This has nothing to do with you.’ But when he moved towards her, she stopped him.
‘I want all of your attention, not half of it. Go on. Go on. I am truly listening.’
So he smiled and, sitting too, said, ‘I prefer the sweet after the savoury. And it’s best that you know. It really would be inconvenient if Father John met me and spoke to the Vasquez. It would be an extremely gentle detention. If he doesn’t see me, he will never know who was responsible.’
She said, ‘The Knights might mention your name. Wouldn’t they miss him?’
‘He has arranged to be away for four days. Will they be concerned if he is absent for longer? I doubt,’ Nicholas said, ‘if Father John plays a formidable part in their routine. Or am I wrong?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘He pleases himself. But how could you do this alone?’
‘I wouldn’t. Crackbene would help me, or whoever the Venetians have left on the ship. Where is this place John of Kinloch has gone to?’
‘Kouklia. The royal sugarcane centre. The brothers Martini have the franchise …’ She stopped, her hair half-wound on her head. ‘No, they don’t.’
‘I have the franchise,’ he said. ‘Or the option to acquire it, if I bring my men back to Zacco. But how far off is Kouklia?’
‘Not far. You should get there and back in a day. You might even find them all at the Martini warehouses at Episkopi. It’s where the Venetian sugar ship calls. The Knights send their sugar there, too.’
‘I’ve heard. The Martini act as their agents. I’ll go,’ Nicholas said. ‘Can you make some excuse? I’ll get a horse or a mule in the village.’
‘You might take me with you,’ she said. ‘I could show you Venus’s birthplace.’ She held both hands over her head, a strand of bright hair lifted between them. Her breasts were stretched cones made of satin.
However thoroughly he was engrossed, her body spoke to his, insistently, until, like this, it drew from him an answer. His mind, seduced outwards, told him what his unseeing eyes saw, and feeling returned to every surface that made him. Slowly extending an arm, Nicholas took one end of her hair and pulled it all out again. ‘I feel that would distract me,’ he said. ‘No. You stay here and let Diniz exhaust you. Unless, of course, someone has done that already.’ He took her two wrists in one hand and, holding them high, laid her back, arched and intent, on the pillows. ‘I thought you said I had lost you your mood,’ he said. ‘And look, you were absolutely mistaken.’
In the end, he needed to go no further than Episkopi for news of John of Kinloch. It took him two miles to the west in a direction he had not yet travelled. He found the road flat and easy, and, without Primaflora to distract him, laid his plans as he rode.
What Tristão and Diniz Vasquez meant in his life was not something he felt impelled to confide in the lovely woman who was now, he supposed, his accepted mistress. She had been curious already about Katelina. He hadn’t told her that Katelina van Borselen was married, or that the Portuguese she had just met was Katelina van Borselen’s brother-in-law. Seventeen years before, Tristão Vasquez had come to Bruges and met and married Lucia, whose brother Simon years later took Katelina to wife. John of Kinloch knew that. He knew of Simon’s past hatred of Nicholas. If Simon and Tristão Vasquez were partners in Portugal, and hence on the side of Genoa and Carlotta, John of Kinloch would be reasonably sure that, whatever he claimed, Nicholas intended working for Zacco. If that became known, Nicholas would not be allowed to join his army in Rhodes, and Carlotta would feel free to dispose of them. Then Zacco, lacking his help, could succumb to Carlotta.
Therefore Father John by some means must be silenced. And it seemed to Nicholas that he should point out to any Venetians he met that, in this instance, his aims were their own.
He knew no one at Episkopi, but walked his horse down to the jetty where the warehouse doors stood open and carts and barrows squelched over the sand and the mud. Offshore, there were several ships waiting at anchor, but he could see no sign of the Doria, or of the fair bulk of his Master, Mick Crackbene. The sugar ship had not yet arrived. He left his horse, and found his way to where a number of officials were working. There he found and spoke to two men from the Corner plantation and one who worked for the Bishop of Limassol. They could tell him nothing of the movements of the chaplain John of Kinloch, but were more than ready to listen to him on other, extremely pertinent matters. He had finished his conversation and was returning to the larger warehouse and his horse when the warehouse owner stepped into his path. It was Luigi Martini.
In the monastery and on the Doria, Luigi Martini had looked like a man with a grievance, and he had not changed. His face, sallow and lined, was remarkable for its obstinate spade of a chin. Although made of good fabric, his brimmed cap and thick pleated doublet could have done with a pressing. He had the air of a man who was married to business, and who despised every other pursuit. He said now, ‘Messer Niccolò. Your beating, I hear, earned you a profit. You are to manage Kouklia for the King.’
Nicholas said, ‘Perhaps. You would still have the franchise for Kolossi. But I hope the King consulted you about it.’
‘I received a message,’ said the Venetian. ‘As the King was kind enough to remark, half my profit is still better than what I would have if Carlotta returned. You have not even made up your mind to accept the offer, I hear. How delightful to be young and carefree, and in a position to debate what to toy with, and what to throw aside as insignificant.’
Nicholas said, ‘Myself, I avoid such dilemmas. This one, I must remind you, was forced on me. I feel no compulsion, I’m afraid, to apologise.’
‘I didn’t expect it,’ said Luigi Martini. ‘You are here to command a vessel for Rhodes? Your own ship, I hear, has been dispatched on some errand.’
‘My own ship?’ Nicholas said. ‘I have no idea where my stolen vessel may be. I am not here to find her. I want to find and silence a man who could prevent me from bringing my army from Rhodes. He is connected with the Knights Hospitaller, and his name is John of Kinloch. Do you know him?’
‘I know him,’ said Martini. He stepped aside, calling to someone, then returned and stood, his hands on his hips. Sand swirled round them and stuck to their skins. He said, ‘What do you mean? The Knights believe you will fight for Carlotta. Why should they prevent your army from leaving for Cyprus? It is Cyprus she wants you to take for her.’
‘Because,’ said Nicholas, ‘this priest has reason to know that, whoever I fight for, it won’t be Carlotta. He will warn the Knights at Kolossi. He will tell her. And she will prevent my men from leaving. Do you know where he is?’
Luigi Martini surveyed him. ‘You won’t fight for Carlotta?’
‘As it happens, no,’ Nicholas said. ‘I may not fight for James of Lusignan either, but that choice is still open. Meanwhile, where is the fellow?’
The Venetian didn’t immediately answer. His face, full of distrust, had turned thoughtful. Nicholas hoped he was a student of logic. If he refused to help Nicholas, he would incur Zacco’s displeasure. If he agreed to help Nicholas, the plan might still fail and Nicholas be prevented from coming to Zacco, in which case, Luigi Martini would retain the Kouklia franchise. Luigi Martini said, ‘You have missed the chaplain you want. He is on his way back to Kolossi. With a good horse, you might overtake him.’
Nicholas said, ‘I should need more than a good horse. I don’t want to be recognised. I need a man who knows John of Kinloch by sight, and who would help catch him for me, and keep h
im until I’ve got clear of Rhodes. I don’t mean the priest harm, and I should accept any blame that resulted. No one need know your share except, of course, Zacco. Will you help?’
It was hard to remain calm, and talk quietly. There were only two miles to cover, and the priest had already set out. Had there been more time, he would have added another inducement. He had made sure Martini would hear of it afterwards. Then the Venetian said, ‘Yes. I will help you. There is a man who knows Father John, but is not known by him. This horse is fast: he can take it. Tell him what you want as you go. You will remember that the Knights are my employers.’
‘The deed is mine. You know nothing about it. Thank you,’ said Nicholas. He mounted as he spoke, and waited as Martini’s man trotted up, looking puzzled, and then set off up the road. Ahead somewhere was John of Kinloch. And he had to reach him before he got to Kolossi.
He might have managed it, if the priest had kept to the road. Nicholas never discovered why Father John chose to diverge. He only knew that he and his companion raced all the way to Kolossi without catching sight of him. Across the drawbridge, the first person Nicholas met was Primaflora. She stopped. ‘The priest? Didn’t you find him?’
‘He isn’t here?’ Nicholas said. Then, as she shook her head, ‘He set off to come back. I’ve overshot him. We’ll have to go back and hunt.’
‘No, you won’t,’ said Primaflora. ‘Your problem is solved. A ship of the Order is coming to load the Commanderie’s wine. It’s sailing to Rhodes. It will take you and me and both the Portuguese Vasquez, and you will be away from Kolossi before John de Kinloch can meet you.’
Her voice, ending, sounded annoyed because he was looking over her shoulder. ‘What do you wager?’ said Nicholas. ‘There is John of Kinloch, riding up to the drawbridge this moment. And coming in. And dismounting. He’s seen me. Where are the Portuguese? Indoors? Go and talk to them. Have congress with them individually, if you like, on the floor of the Hall, but keep them indoors and happy. You, come with me.’
With Martini’s man following, he began to walk over the yard. He turned. ‘The ship is coming in when and where?’
Primaflora said, ‘Tomorrow evening at Limassol. You can’t –’
‘Yes, I can,’ Nicholas said. He watched her move to the steps. If the priest had seen them together at all, it must have looked the most superficial of encounters. He turned again and advanced. ‘Master John! Do you remember me?’ He spoke in Flemish. No one employed by the Martini brothers would know Flemish.
The chaplain stopped. The lean face and spare body were muffled against the chill weather: the cuffs of his cassock showed under those of his gown, and over all he was wrapped in a black fustian cloak that reached to the ground. On top of his hood he wore a wide-brimmed black hat with a broken cord. His mouth opened, revealing crossed teeth and a lot of gum. He said, ‘Claes. It is indeed the varlet called Claes, from the dyeshop. Well, well!’ He grinned, showing where the teeth ended. ‘It’s well seen you’ve come into money!’
The tongue he used was not Flemish, but the Scots spoken in Fife. Twenty-four years before, John of Kinloch had been chaplain to the Hospitallers’ Master in Scotland. In more recent years, he had served the merchants’ Scots altar in Bruges, and had found no reason to be fond of a high-handed Scots lord, or an upstart dyeworks apprentice. In the hateful war between Simon and Nicholas, Father John would add fuel to both sides. Without knowing, of course, the real issue.
He was not a quick-witted man. At first, the implications escaped him. Nicholas said, ‘And what brings you here? Hospitallers’ business?’
The crooked teeth glittered. ‘Oh, you might say. The canon of Aberdeen had some annates for Rome. Young Scougal’s made Knight, and needed someone to come to Rhodes with him. I took the chance. And yourself?’ The frame of his face ceased to move. He said, ‘By my dear Christ. The lord Simon’s on Rhodes. It’s his Portuguese kinsmen you’re after.’
Nicholas said, ‘You are mistaken. We met here by chance.’ He hardly bothered to say it. No one, knowing his past, would believe it. He trapped the eye of his helper, and looked away again. He said, ‘I mean Tristão Vasquez no harm: what do you suppose I could do? They needn’t even be told who I am.’
The priest’s face became hollow. ‘They don’t know? You haven’t told them? What devilment are you planning? Of course, you’re going to undercut what they grow in Madeira. Cyprus sugar, that’s what you’re investing in!’
‘Perhaps,’ Nicholas said. ‘I haven’t even decided. In any case, what could you tell Tristão Vasquez? He’s never heard of Nicholas vander Poele, or of Claes for that matter. He would think you eccentric. In fact, I should have to tell him you were.’
‘Tell away,’ said the priest. ‘I can tell them you tried to stab Simon at Sluys. I can tell them you ruined his business at Trebizond and fought him in Venice – I heard about that. If they want to know what sort of man you are, I can tell which of your mother’s kinsmen you ruined or murdered, and how you just failed to get the Charetty business when your wife suddenly died, and you found she’d willed everything to her older daughter. Won’t they wonder why? Won’t they wonder why the daughters drove you from Bruges for very fear of their lives? That’s the story going about.’
‘And you believed it?’ Nicholas said. ‘Next time, ask Father Godscalc. Meantime, I’m sorry, I don’t want to distress Tristão Vasquez for no reason.’
‘You’ve come here to kill him. I see it,’ said John of Kinloch. ‘You will not do it. I forbid it.’
He had the valour, if only the silly valour, of righteousness. Nicholas said, ‘All right. Come with me to the Lieutenant. Where are your saddlebags?’
They were on his horse, which somehow had found its way into the stables. Nicholas said, ‘I will wait for you.’ He waited until he heard the scuffle, and then slipped through the door after the chaplain. The Venetian was already kneeling, with the priest lying pinned on the straw. Nicholas said, ‘Father John? I’m sorry. I can’t afford to have my affairs damaged by gossip. You will come to no harm, nor will the Vasquez. You will be kept in a safe place and then allowed to go home as soon as possible. I know the offence is great, and I shall do what I can to make up for it. Do you understand me?’
‘Murderer!’ said John of Kinloch.
‘I think,’ Nicholas said, ‘we should bind something into his mouth.’
‘I think you should,’ said the low voice of Primaflora behind him. ‘What a villainous past! With whom have I been consorting?’
Nicholas finished knotting the rope-ends and turned. She waited, wrapped in her cloak, where John of Kinloch couldn’t observe her. He said, equally softly, ‘With a man. What about our Portuguese friends?’
‘They are safely at table,’ she said. ‘Are you going to kill the poor man?’
‘Not immediately,’ Nicholas said. ‘We are taking him, in the form of a sack of flour, to a house this fellow knows of. You can ask your questions later.’
‘I shall ask one now,’ said Primaflora. ‘Is this why you prefer James to Carlotta? Because you have a vendetta against someone on Carlotta’s side? This man Simon, now waiting in Rhodes?’
The horse trampled. ‘Let us say,’ said Nicholas breathlessly, ‘that someone with interests in Genoa and Portugal has a vendetta against me.’ They were thrusting the priest, a threshing bundle, into a pannier.
She still stood in the doorway. ‘Twice, in Bruges, someone mentioned a woman called Katelina.’
Damn Colard. ‘Yes. Well,’ Nicholas said. ‘You now appear to have heard about Simon. Vasquez married his sister. Katelina is Simon’s wife. His second wife.’
‘And you hate them all?’ said Primaflora.
‘No,’ said Nicholas in sudden anger. He turned, breathing heavily. ‘I don’t hate anyone. Well, Tzani-bey al-Ablak I do make an exception for.’
She watched them lead the horse over the drawbridge and out into the road. Then she went back and was particularly charming to Diniz.
> Chapter 13
NICHOLAS EMBARKED for Rhodes at dawn the following morning, accompanied by Primaflora his mistress. The Vasquez, father and son, went on board with them, and no screaming, dishevelled priest appeared to warn them that they were sharing their trip with a murderer. Before he left, Nicholas met once again the man Martini had loaned him, and sent him back to the Venetian with both advice and information. He hoped, as a result, that John of Kinloch would be securely kept and well treated until he need no longer fear him. He not only hoped, he felt confident.
The galley, flying the Cross of the Order of the Knights Hospitaller of St John, had come straight from Rhodes. It seemed, interestingly, to be already loaded. Nicholas, who had spent some time on the roof of the seventy-foot citadel, had observed no bustle of exodus the previous day from the storehouses. The spreading fields, on the contrary, had appeared singularly peaceful, stretching to the south, and the sea. There had been a smudge of smoke above the distant monastery of Ayios Nikolaos, and a streak of rose-tinted white told of the saltflats, with the winter flamingoes on them.
It occurred to Nicholas that he had never seen Cyprus, except in autumn and winter. He had never really seen Cyprus at all. The birthplace of Venus was unknown to him; and the vineyards of Engedi. He had inclined towards coming back, if Astorre agreed, for a number of reasons. Now, because of Simon, he didn’t know. Whatever happened, he had deceived the Knights, and could never return to Kolossi.
He had formed an inexact strategy, as yet, for dealing with Simon, waiting on Rhodes for Tristão his partner. Astorre should be on the island as well, with his company. He had been told to remain, by the messages the Order had undertaken to convey to him. He had been told Nicholas was arriving from Cyprus. Fishing boats carried such intelligence. Nicholas only hoped that the warning had reached him. If, unwittingly, Astorre took his army to Kyrenia, Zacco would intercept and destroy him.
Meanwhile, wherever Astorre and the others might be, it was unlikely that Simon had not come across them. Rhodes was a small island: it would fit eight times into Cyprus. It seemed to Nicholas that, very likely, the die was already cast, and that both the Queen and the Order would have been told he was working for Zacco. Simon would expect him to come, to extract Astorre and his force from the island. Simon would perceive (and tell the Order), that Astorre was wrong in assigning Nicholas to the Queen’s faction. If Simon’s company favoured the Queen, then Nicholas, surely, would choose the opposite side. So Simon would reason. Simon, who loathed and despised Nicholas, because Nicholas had been born to his first wife.
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