“I’m not,” said Tobie, as they stood at the rail, watching the four men depart. “Not if you remember what mineral that man Giovanni da Castro wanted funds to prospect for.”
Nicholas grinned. “He won’t find it. Anyway, you can’t protect Tolfa from here. My God, Tobie: mention alum and you’d think someone was trying to rape you. What’s so sacred about a monopoly?”
He could feel Tobie scowling. Then Julius, coming up, said, “Well, aren’t you going to pay your respects down below to your passengers? You’re taking their money, so you might as well offer some courtesy.”
The tone of voice was not one he associated with Julius; but then, since the Janissaries, Julius’s moods had been variable. Tobie said, “I’ll go with you, if you like.” The voice was his usual, inquisitive one.
Julius said, “Let him try on his own. The idiot’s got to learn some time.”
Nicholas beamed at Julius, which always annoyed him, and went off to the stern. In the event Tobie, perhaps held down by Julius, failed to follow him.
He thought he knew whom Bartolomeo Zorzi, brother of the Greek with the wooden leg, would have placed in his care, with a priest and two palatine servants, to be taken back to his office in Trebizond. Spiritual stews. He wondered how Godscalc would take it. Instead of Nicholai de’ Acciajuoli he was, after all, to have some sort of oracle.
He thought so all the way down the steps, and up to the curtain over the door, and even when he rapped on the timber, and the hanging was drawn aside by a man in Greek robes, with the forked white beard and black hat of a confessor.
Then he smelled the perfume: harsh, expensive, disturbing; and knew what had been put in his way; and by whom; and why.
Chapter 15
“THE PRINCESSES OF Trebizond are famed for their beauty.” So his one-legged daemon had said to him last autumn in Bruges, introducing this woman. “We need a Medea,” Julius had declared just the other day. Now, Nicholas thought, gazing at the presence enthroned before him, they probably had one.
Violante of Naxos, princess of Trebizond, was then, and long to remain, in the full bloom of her looks. In Bruges, she had been gowned in the rich and dashing Venetian style, as was proper to a lady whose husband had purchased the Charetty company’s silence over Tolfa. In Bruges, her husband had talked of alum, and she had been silent. But Nicholas remembered the gaze of Marian de Charetty his wife resting on her.
Not in envy of her spacious Byzantine eyes, underscored with amusement; or the severe nose with its brief dimpled apron; or the mouth made like grapes on the vine. Not even because of her body, boneless and lithe as a fish. Nicholas, who had long fathomed his wife saw the pain, and understood it owed nothing to simple jealousy. He thought perhaps it sprang from fear, and that there might be cause for it.
He thought so now, standing inside the doorway of the guest-cabin whose damaged wood was already half hung with damask. Behind a wall of silk tapestry a bed was being unpacked: he caught glimpses of two servants, a massive, clean-shaven man and an elderly woman. At his back, the Greek Archimandrite remained standing, black as a keyhole from his stiff veiled hat to his wide-sleeved black rhazon. Round his neck hung an old copper pectoral, lettered in blurred white enamel. He said in Greek, “Lady. The Fleming.”
The chair they had brought for her to sit on was heavy, and gold like a throne. Above her swung a lamp made of some thin greenish glass worked in silver. The oil it burned was scented, and its light fell, in the main, on himself. Today, she wore a high-necked, narrow gown that could have been either Venetian or Trapezuntine. Its cuffs, thick with fur, half covered her folded hands, corded with rings. Where before her hair had been covered, she now wore it folded beneath a little crown-veil stitched to a narrow jewelled headband. Below it, silver earrings flashed with points of red, each brushed by the hair that spiralled, loose as gold wire, from her temples. The hair showed, too, bright as foil for an inch under the band. Between her legs, he thought, it must be the same. Duke Philip, I salute you and your Order.
It had been a long time, and for a moment, he was stifled.
She said in Italian, “We have met. Do you know who I am?”
“Indeed, madonna,” Nicholas said.
“Highness,” the monk’s voice corrected him. Outside, the stamp of feet and shouting reached a crescendo. Nicholas braced himself as the ship gave its lurch on the sail breaking out. The heavy chair before him didn’t move, but without compunction he heard the monk sidestep and recover himself. Take note. I am not to be patronised.
Nicholas said, “Highness, your name is the lady Violante. Your father rules Naxos. Your mother is niece to the Emperor David of Trebizond and you, and each of the ladies your sisters, are married to lords of the Republic of Venice. I came to wish you welcome on board the Ciaretti. And your chamberlain.”
“Diadochos,” she said. The monk inclined his head. She said, “We accept your greeting, and thank you. You will discuss with Diadochos practical matters to do with the journey. I should like, first, to command ten minutes of your time. Is this possible?”
She spoke as Marian might, at a business meeting. But no. With no remotest expectation of being refused. Before he had even agreed, the big servant had parted the tapestry and, advancing, set a stool for himself and the monk. They were not from his stock. He began to wonder how much baggage they had brought on board and what it would do to his load-line. As he sat, she said, “And so. You have brought the soldiers?”
His pause had already given him away, so he threw a glance towards her attendants.
She said, “They will not repeat what they hear. You have brought the soldiers and you have not changed your intention of staying in Trebizond?”
“The Emperor will have the soldiers,” he said. “And I couldn’t recoup my voyage, as you know, unless I stay through the trading season.”
“You didn’t, then, ask Zorzi to accommodate you,” she said. “Certainly your profit from Trebizond will be many times greater.”
He said, “Trebizond is where my post is. Although I hope Messer Zorzi and I will be able to put business in each other’s way. Much depends on the possibility of war between the Sultan and my lord Uzum Hasan. It would help to know the intentions of my lord of Persia.”
The heavy domed eyes turned to the monk. She said, “Ask Diadochos. Diadochos serves the wife of my lord Uzum Hasan, and sometimes his mother.”
“His mother?” said Nicholas.
“A Syrian lady,” said the monk. “She shares the women’s household with Hasan Bey’s wife, and her children. The Christian women’s household.”
Nicholas looked round. On the throne, the young woman regarded him calmly. She said, “The lady my aunt is Hasan Bey’s premier wife. It is unusual in a harem for a Christian to hold this position. He has, of course, several others.”
“I see,” said Nicholas. “And he is preparing for war?” He returned to the monk.
The bearded face held no more expression than the woman’s. He said, “My lord Uzum Hasan has many battles behind him. He hopes for peace, I am sure. But if the Sultan threatens his lands, his passes, his safety, he has strong allies who will help him fight. Georgia. Sinope. You have met their envoys in Europe.”
“And that is why he challenged the Sultan?” Nicholas said. “He and the Emperor?”
“Challenged?” said the woman. The lines of amusement creased fractionally under her eyes. “Ah. The matter of unpaid tribute. I do not know, and neither does Diadochos. But I imagine it is a gesture. My lord Hasan Bey feels himself strong. The Emperor David as well. Both have received slights in the past and would like to repay them. Their people applaud. And the Sultan, with other cares of his own, will threaten but do nothing else.”
“So they hope,” Nicholas said.
“So do we all,” said Violante of Naxos. “Let us assume, then, that Trebizond is in no danger of war. You will arrive with your cargo. You will commend yourself to the Emperor with the greatest gift he could conceive: the pr
esence of a hundred trained soldiers to add to his consequence and his sense of security.”
“Ninety-eight,” Nicholas said. “We lost two. But yes?”
She waited until he had finished, and longer. Then she resumed. “Your company has much to commend it. It has, however, disadvantages also. You yourself are the greatest of these.”
In the game they appeared to be playing, that had always been one of her possible lines of attack. Nicholas said, “It’s a pity. But unavoidable, I’m afraid. My wife owns the company.”
“But you need not appear to lead it,” she said.
“No,” he said. “But I shall.”
She said, “Your wife wishes it? She is loyal, I am sure, and you are happily married, I can see. But others might think that the emissary to an Emperor should be a notary, or a clerk perhaps in orders…?”
“Master Beventini is very able as well,” Nicholas said. “It is their choice that I should lead. They’ll make more money.” She looked her question, and he found himself suddenly smiling. He said, “I have few gifts, highness, but those I do have, I put to good use. I mean to make the Charetty company one of the wealthiest in the Levant.”
The monk moved, but the lady did not. She said, “I have heard of you.”
“Then you knew that,” he said.
“Yes.” She lifted her hand and snapped her fingers without turning. “If it is unpacked, we can offer you a new sort of wine. You don’t take offence?”
“Frequently,” Nicholas said. “I seldom show it. My company works as a team, and my men trust me. Is that what you wanted to know?”
“And you are ambitious. And you are prepared to fight to protect your trade. But pleasant, of course, though your natural attributes are, you will negate all these things unless you learn how to retain the Emperor’s interest.”
Her Italian had a heavy Greek accent which was not the Greek he had heard in the voice of Acciajuoli, for example. He wondered if Trebizond had its own vernacular. He had forgotten to ask. If so, he ought to learn it. He said, since this was where, clearly, she was leading, “But where, highness, could I learn such a thing? Unless you yourself were prepared to waste time teaching me?” He remembered three things he had forgotten to tell le Grant, and wondered what speed they were making, and what the others were doing. He realised he knew what the others were doing. He wished they were right.
“I?” she was saying. Her eyebrows, thin as the thread of a spider, were pencilled together. They rose, blown by the faintest impatience. She said, “I can hardly imagine who else could teach you. Take your wine. You can learn much by observing, of course. But we are not talking of dress or of etiquette, although these, too, are important. The Emperor’s is a high-bred court which values erudite pleasures. What have I said?”
What does a rustic know of Aristotle, of Plato? He stopped smiling and said, “Forgive me. But my want of erudition seems to have struck a number of people of late.”
“But you can read?” she said. “If you are shown something, you can guess at its contents. As for the rest, I do not pretend that Diadochos or I can turn you into a Ficino in three weeks of, no doubt, squally weather. But we can teach you to recognise names, and the themes of current works that might engage the Emperor’s attention. It is unfortunately true that learning is not hard, in some circles, to simulate. When we reach Trebizond, we can offer you perhaps one or two manuscripts with which to familiarise yourself. In these, the Palace is well provided.”
“No,” Nicholas said.
The lips curled. “You are afraid? Trust your capabilities, Messer Niccolò. Making money demands several skills. You have these. You should be more afraid, I would have thought, of appearing a fool.”
“I’ve had practice at that,” Nicholas said. “And it’s carried me far enough. Pretending to wisdom I don’t have is another thing. Manners and etiquette I shall learn about willingly.”
The painted eyes looked at him curiously. “You have no yearning to know more? To enter the world of ideas; consider the fruits of other men’s minds; add to the quality of your own? So what have you to offer the Emperor?”
“Trade. Money. Soldiers,” said Nicholas.
“And, surely, something more,” she said thoughtfully. “You are not uncomely. You can entertain, I am told. What could you do for an Emperor which his circle of wits, philosophers, preachers cannot already provide?”
Nicholas thought. He said, “I could make him a clock?”
He knew, from the sound of her laughter, that she had learned more about him than he thought; and was sure of it when she consented to let him explain. He enjoyed lecturing her. He could feel the antagonism of the Archimandrite behind him.
She made no effort, after that, to force upon him any programme of arcane instruction. She did dictate, with his consent, the time and place for a number of lessons on the court of Trebizond and its requirements. She was concerned, she said, that he should uphold the credit of Venice as well as the credit of Florence. And that above all he should please the Emperor.
He wondered that, through it all, she had never mentioned Louvain University, and then realised it meant nothing to her. It had meant nothing either to Julius, who had always fumed because Felix, son of a dyer and broker, had been forced to go to Louvain. Nicholas knew what the reason was. Towards the end, apprentice to mistress, he had tried to persuade Marian to allow Felix to leave. She had been hard to convince. I felt Louvain was important, she had said. He remembered, too, what he had answered. The demoiselle would find, I think, that it has served its purpose.
Had it? Perhaps. It had taught him real humility, not the humility of the deprived. It had taught him enough to eschew it, when the need came. When Violante of Naxos said, for example, “To sell silk, you must wear it.”
“It depends on the price,” he had replied.
Towards the end, the lady of Naxos had frowned. She said, “You understand what I have said? You are agreeable?”
“Have I anything to lose, highness?” Nicholas said. “Provided, that is, that I keep my head. Sudden adoption might turn it.”
There was no one here who would rush, like his friends, to proclaim what undoubtedly was going to become of his head: capo; capo; cappello; decapitato. The lady said curtly, “We shall begin then, tomorrow.”
He was not quite as ready as she was to end the discussion. He managed, delaying discreetly, to pose one or two real questions and obtained, to his gratification, one or two real answers. He did not try her patience by talking too long, and drew the conversation, when the time came, to a seemly conclusion. He even managed, on leaving, to kiss the lady’s hand as one born to the purple. He was a very good mimic.
Upstairs, he faced all his masters, all his senior colleagues in the master cabin. “Well?” said Julius. Flushed with fever and prurience, he sat up like a wounded Apollo. It came to Nicholas that Julius had not seen the lady Violante uncloaked, although the lady Violante had undoubtedly seen him. It decided him, reluctantly, on the course he must now take. He looked round at them all, sprawling at supper, and gave them a vague and affectionate smile.
“Fine,” said Nicholas. “She wants lessons in Flemish.”
“I’m free,” Julius said.
“Your arm’s too sore,” Nicholas said. “Anyway, she wants lessons on the farmuk as well.”
“That for a tale,” said John le Grant. “Anyone with an aunt married to Uzum Hasan has a good idea how to play with a farmuk. And more.”
“I know,” said Nicholas. “I’ve got the cord round my middle, and running. Round my middle’s all right. I got her to talk about alum.”
“It doesn’t sound very likely,” said Tobie. “On the other hand, now I look at you, perhaps it does. What about it? Zorzi said a ship was just leaving for Flanders. I remember, because I worked out the profit would buy a few buttons.”
The profit, if the ship left and if it arrived safely, would pay for the Ciaretti. He was trying not to count on it. Nicholas said, “Tha
t was Phocoean alum, and the last of it meantime until they quarry some more. But the lady says there are still stocks at Sebinkarahisar.”
“Where?” said Captain Astorre angrily. Business was no concern of his, but topography was.
“Koloneia is its old name. To the south-west of Trebizond, and just outside the Empire, but worked by Greek miners. Then it’s brought up by packhorse to Giresun, pays its tolls and gets shipped off to Europe.”
John le Grant said, “Giresun is its Muslim name, Nicholas. The Greeks of classical times called the port Cerasus. Kerasous. Cérasonte. Cherries and Amazons.”
“What?” said Astorre.
“Lucullus the Epicure, that’s what,” Tobie said. “All the cherries you’ve ever eaten take their name and stock, my friend, from Kerasous. Lucullus found them here in Roman times and sent them to Italy. Eighteen hundred years ago, Xenophon’s Ten Thousand passed through Kerasous, bickering. Pits and gallows. And now Nicholas’s alum miners and us. It’s next door to Trebizond.”
Julius said, “Well, go on. Amazons?”
Tobie’s formless pink face with its neat curling nostrils and hairless scalp shone in the lamplight. He said, “Call yourself Argonauts? This is the original home of the Amazons. Female warriors, like the lady Violante and Alessandra Termagant Strozzi. Tits and gallows. Two of them built a temple to Mars at Kerasous and there are still funny ceremonies on Kerasous island.”
“There’s a monastery there,” Nicholas said. The lady Violante had told him that. She had talked also of cherries and Europe, her eyes fixed on his face. He remembered something else. He said, “John. How did Constantinople finally fall?”
“John stopped talking,” said Julius.
Le Grant said, “Lots of reasons. The Turks dragged their fleet over the hill and got into the Horn. That was the ultimate one. Why? They couldn’t even get guns over the mountains round here.”
“Couldn’t they?” said Nicholas. “So anyone using cannon on Trebizond would have to do it from the sea?”
Astorre’s sewn eye glittered. “How often do you need to be told? Anyone can land and burn the suburbs, but the fortress’s impregnable. Same in Kerasous. Same in Sinope. And none of them can be surrounded, unless someone can persuade an army to cross Anatolia and climb the mountain range at its back. So are we landing at Kerasous?”
The Spring of the Ram: The Second Book of the House of Niccolo Page 22
