Niccolo Rising (79 page)

Messer Pigello, in a short gown of light material and a low belt which flattered his paunch, carried a high colour tonight in his bare, sunken face with its long nose. His puffed hat bore a large goldsmith’s piece with a table-cut emerald in the middle of it. He had even more rings on his fingers than the time Julius had seen him last, when he and Astorre had called at the palazzo to lodge the ducal bill for the condotta. The air of amiable condescension had risen to something like outright amiability. Accerito, with a smaller brooch, looked complacent as well.

Julius wondered if Messer Pigello recalled Claes, the lad who had delivered Pierfrancesco’s horses; and then remembered that, according to Felix, he and Nicholas had called on Pigello since then. On business, unspecified. On, then, the mysterious business Nicholas wanted him
for, about which he’d heard nothing more? Certainly both brothers Portinari acknowledged Nicholas’ presence equally with his own. They were affable.

They were affable but reproving, like the Dauphin’s chamberlain. Since the Charetty company favoured the Casa Medici with its business, Messer Niccolò and his lawyer might be kind enough to call when in Milan. Messer Niccolò had, of course, heard of the closure of Thibault and Jaak de Fleury?

At once, Julius felt better, despite the mistake they seemed to making about Nicholas’ status.
Messer!
Or no, he ought to remember. The ridiculous marriage. Well, despite that, he was glad he hadn’t dodged the encounter. He thought of dispatching Nicholas to see to refreshments, and then realised, with a moment’s annoyance, that he should do it himself. When he excused himself, Nicholas hardly looked round, never mind stopping him.

Julius hurried. He was longing to know just how awful the Fleury disaster had been. When he and the servant came back, there was no room to put the goblets down, there were so many papers on the table. All the writing on them appeared to be in columns. The puffed hats of Pigello and Accerito moved up and down, almost chiming like wedding bells, as their owners discussed them. Nicholas, his hair frizzed with heat, sat in his travel-stained, decent jacket, apparently watching them. When their voices stopped, he sometimes commented.

Julius, who seldom found a reason for examining faces, noticed that Nicholas did look tired, and not very responsive. Julius, pouring the wine, made a point of brightening the atmosphere. After all, the downfall of Jaak de Fleury was something to celebrate.

The brothers Portinari, with Ambrosian courtesy, accepted the wine and went on turning pages and referring to Nicholas. Julius said, “Have I missed something?”

Everyone looked up. Messer Pigello glanced from his face to that of Nicholas and back again. He said, “A great deal of money is involved. I am happy, of course, to take the responsibility, but I should prefer you and your colleague to check it. And of course, there is the consignment of arms at Piacenza. The order placed with Messer Agostino by Messer Tobias.”

“That was for Thibault and Jaak de Fleury,” said Julius quickly. They looked at him. Suddenly his face began to burn. Julius said, “These lists are …”

“Bills for moneys owed your company by M. de Fleury,” said Messer Pigello. His voice, always polite, almost concealed his impatience. “And corresponding credits for the gold and the property of Thibault and Jaak de Fleury in possession of their agent Maffino in Italy, impounded on your behalf and on our own as soon as the bankruptcy became known. All these are in addition, of course, to the debts which, as you know, were purchased by us in June from the Charetty company.
We were fortunate in having early warning of the failure in Geneva and have been able amply to recoup them.

“It is usual, of course,” said Messer Pigello, “for a far-seeing company to insure against disaster at sea. It is seldom that a merchant thinks of the consequences of disaster on land, and makes corresponding provisions. The demoiselle de Charetty is rare among persons of business.”

Indeed. “How did the Fleury fail?” said Julius abruptly. Nicholas, chinning the rim of his empty cup, didn’t return his gaze.

“A large, a very large withdrawal of capital. That is all we know. Coupled with an immediate demand by creditors, as the deficit became known. The August fair, as you know, is due at this time. Small tradesmen already committed to purchases can risk failure themselves, if they cannot call on funds they have lodged, in good faith, with such a company. Companies like your own, who have sold cloth on credit, may well never see cloth or money.” Messer Pigello, pausing, looked at his brother. “It is a lesson every dealer must learn, including our branch in Bruges. Not to extend credit, no matter how great the firm or the personage.”

“So we have all Jaak de Fleury’s undelivered guns in compensation,” Julius said. “And how much else?”

Nicholas put his cup down, and lifting his elbow, pushed a paper before him. “That. Enough to buy the business if there’s anything left.”

“Not the business in Geneva,” Pigello Portinari said. “They’ve wrecked it. I told you, word got about. There were a lot of small creditors. Some hothead started a rush, and the crowd broke in and took everything they could find and then set fire to the building. The owner got out. Jaak de Fleury. There’s an elderly brother, a sleeping partner called Thibault near Dijon. Our filiale in Geneva think he went there. I have to tell you to call, of course, on our manager, on Francesco Nori in Geneva. He has cloth of yours, and other things.”

Julius said, “That’s extraordinary.” He felt dazed. His natural elation receded. What had seemed an act of celestial retribution had turned into catastrophe. Nicholas, his unmoving hands on the table, was gazing at the manager in a way that transformed his whole solid face into an instrument of inspection. Julius realised there was a question no one had put. He said, “And what about Jaak de Fleury’s wife? The demoiselle Esota?”

Messer Pigello wished to gather his papers. He shot a look of enquiry round the table, and then began, unimpeded, to collect them and form a neat pile. He said, “Alas, it was sad, according to what reports say. The crowd meant no harm. But the lady was, it seems heavily built, and excitable. Instead of leaving quietly, she tried to bar the way to some, and urged others to help her. They paid no attention and pushed past. She fell, she was trampled. But it was her own weight which killed her. You knew her?”

“Yes,” said Nicholas. “She wouldn’t be able to deal with that.”

Messer Pigello looked at him. He said, “Some might say her husband should not have left her. But one should not condemn. People do strange things from fear, and from greed. As bankers, we know that. Now. The assets?”

Nicholas said, “It is for the demoiselle to agree, and for Meester Julius to advise. But I suggest the guns stay in Piacenza, the silver is lodged with Messer Tani in Bruges and the cloth is sold by your filiale here and Geneva, and the profit, less your commission, added to our account here with you for any use captain Astorre may have for it. Messer Julius?”

Messer Julius agreed. He could hardly do less. He said very little as the manager of the Milanese Medici and his brother, with formality, began to take both their lists and their leave. Then, seeing that Nicholas didn’t propose to cross the threshold, he himself accompanied the noble bankers downstairs and over the yard to their horses. Outside it was dark, and the swifts had gone to rest.

Returning, he heard the crash of glass breaking as he made the last turn of the staircase, and his foot crackled on splinters as soon as he entered the room. The wine flask, fortunately empty, lay under a window where it had arrived with such violence that the entire floor was glittering.

“I’m sorry. It slipped,” Nicholas said. He looked dyeshop pale, but otherwise perfectly stolid.

Julius said, “Well, you’ve made a sty of the floor, haven’t you? If you hadn’t also made a fortune at the same time, and if you weren’t married to my employer, I’d think about beating you. That’s either Loppe or the landlord coming up to find if we’ve wrecked his windows. You explain. And once he’s got the place cleaned, I want to hear what’s been going on. Everything.”

But he didn’t. While Loppe, completely silent, swept glass, Nicholas went off belatedly to make all the arrangements for their morning departure. Before he came back, Julius had commanded another flask of wine, this time of pewter, and was holding a personal celebration which led him at last to his bed.

He lay for a while, thinking. Being amused by a youngster who has the audacity to marry his employer was one thing. But working with or under him was quite another. The way the doctor handled Nicholas might have warned him. If he was going to join them all in some new venture, he would have to learn to think of Nicholas as what Portinari had called him – a colleague.

He had left the Abruzzi ready to accept whatever appointment was going, while the army was laid up at least. Nicholas, easily tired to begin with, had put off describing the venture, but before their arrival at Bruges he would certainly know all about it. From what he’d seen tonight, he had no doubts that it was something profitable. This was a
very young man with gifts which, of course, he had noticed. But now there were signs of something much more. The curious thing was that Felix, too, had begun to partner the servant he’d once used so carelessly. Had taken part in these negotiations. And more amazing still, had kept his own counsel.

Felix had gone. Now the heirs of the company were the little daughters, and the men they would marry. But that was only the Charetty company. Already, Nicholas was venturing out on his own. Soon, with the right people behind him, he might accomplish more than anyone dreamed. Which would mean sinking one’s pride. Becoming his colleague. And helping to guide him, perhaps, a little further than he might have gone on his own.

Had Nicholas been older, there would have been no question. Sheer curiosity would hold him. As it was, it remained to be seen if he could tolerate Claes, the demoiselle’s husband. But it was worth trying. By God it was.

He rolled over, and by the time Nicholas returned, was asleep. It would have pleased him to know that Gregorio in Bruges, much before him, had reached the same conclusions precisely.

That year, the Flanders galleys came early to Bruges. In the first week of September they floated under blue skies outside the harbour at Sluys, and the crowds on the headlands watched the light sails come billowing down. Then, straight and precise as if painted, in gold and red and blue and sparkling white, they rowed in to their berths, the light starring their trumpets.

In their holds they carried Barbary wax and elephant tusks and brown sugar. They had gingers this year from Damascus, and violet camlets from Cyprus. There were forty caskfuls of currants. There were jewels, as always: rubies, turquoises, diamonds, and seed pearls to powder for medicine. There were wimple silks and lake gum and white comfits and thirty bags of good cotton. There were tabby silks packaged in Syria. Messina had sent astrakhan lambskins. There was also sulphur from Sicily and porcelain from Majorca and rosewater from gardens in Persia. There were Mass bells and missals and music books and glass drinking-cups of several colours, including pink. There was indigo from Baghdad, and oak galls and madder and kermes. There were one hundred and fifty butts of Malmsey wine; and a ballast of alum.

The commander this year, it was well known, was a Venetian nobleman named Piero Zorzi.

Marian de Charetty, with her household, was as usual in Bruges for their coming. Nowadays most of her interests were in Bruges, and now she had a good man at Lou vain, she spent less time there. Everyone said how drawn she had looked after the boy Felix went off in April, and of course the terrible fire. She hadn’t looked herself for a month or more, until word came in June that the boy was safe in Geneva with that young
rascal Nicholas. And then four weeks after that had come this letter, brought to Bruges through the Medici.

Young Nicholas, the boy she married, had gone off somewhere in Italy and was not coming back as expected (or at all, like as not). And her precious Felix, who wasn’t even allowed to joust when he wanted, had ridden off to war, if you please: gone south to Naples to fight for King Ferrante.

Now who encouraged him to do that, you might wonder? And whether he was encouraged or not, what else could you expect, if you set aside proper womanly matters and thought you could run a soldier company? Sooner or later any boy worth his salt would want to put on armour and show what he was made of. She had only herself to blame. Herself and that terrible boy.

All the same, you missed Claes. She was probably missing him too, and the jokes. If nothing else.

She knew, of course, what was being said. She was helped a great deal by the need for hard work, and by the men Nicholas had chosen for her. Gregorio was her right hand. But she had the devotion also of Bellobras and Cristoffels as well as Henninc and Lippin. Everyone worked to restore and reshape the business in the way they had planned, in those early days after the fire.

To begin with, it was bitterly hard. But then, in the first days of July, Tommaso Portinari had come to her, bringing both good news and bad. With the letter which said that Felix and Nicholas had gone beyond her reach, to the Italian wars. And the package that contained bills drawn on the Medici bank for sums she had never expected. Money for the condotta: for the extra soldiers so skilfully raised and armed at minimal cost. And sums, unbelievably, which appeared to originate with the Fleury company. Somehow, Nicholas had obtained a reckoning of Fleury debts, and persuaded the Medici to pay them. At the time, it had seemed miracle enough. She hadn’t recognised the later visitor for what he was, because she didn’t deal with the Venetian merchants called Bembo. It was only when he was alone in her office that her visitor of that name had drawn from his pouch the paper that was more amazing than all the rest.

After he had gone, she had called in Gregorio, and shown him what Felix and Nicholas had sent. It held their signatures, as well as those of names Genoese and Venetian she did not wholly recognise. The sum of money it represented was enough, of itself, to clear every debt. The sums it promised would make them wealthy.