Authors: Dorothy Dunnett
Nicholas smiled at him, using both dimples. ‘From Spain. Courtesy of the Strozzi.’
Godscalc said, ‘So your eyeglasses are safe, and your house. But the island?’
‘Oh, I’ve lost the island,’ Nicholas said. ‘And everything for glassmaking that is on it. The Vatachino are willing to take it in lieu of part of the debt. They seemed to know all about it already.’
‘Well, everyone knew,’ Julius said. ‘Didn’t they?’
‘No,’ said Nicholas.
‘Nicholas?’ Gregorio said.
Julius said, ‘I didn’t know it was a secret.’
‘
Nicholas?
’ Gregorio said again.
Nicholas said, ‘Gregorio wants me to tell you that I was quite glad that you went there, because I was rather hoping the Vatachino would buy out our lease. I never meant to make glass. The Signory were quite happy for me to specialise in my lenses. They would prefer the glassmaking shops concentrated on Murano. In fact, I don’t think they will allow a glassmaking licence to anyone else.’
Godscalc got to his feet rather suddenly. He said, ‘I am beginning to feel uncomfortable. You used Julius to draw attention to the island. The Vatachino bought the lease, and it’s useless?’
The large, bright eyes were watchful, but neither defiant nor remorseful. ‘Yes,’ said Nicholas. ‘But of course, if you consider the ship, the balance is entirely redressed. I understand they have already taken possession of the
Adorno
where she sits being refitted. And the cargo has been sealed in the warehouse. It means we have no roundship, but only eight thousand ducats to pay. And, of course, we shall argue the case and may eventually win it.’
‘And the loans will mature,’ Julius said.
‘In five years,’ Nicholas said. ‘Oh, we shall have money. But we have to live through the years that are coming before that. So I have a plan.’
He had had a plan for a long time, Godscalc realised. He had admired the Vatachino, as he had said, for the quality of their strategy. He had matched it himself, trying to forecast, step by step, what they might do. He had seen, perhaps, only some of the campaign against him, but knew enough of their gifts, and their flamboyance, to guess that some sort of climax was planned. And so he had elected to hold a reception, and thereby chosen, himself, the date of his own downfall.
Godscalc sat. Nicholas said, ‘I am leaving tomorrow night on a venture which should bring us all the money we need. I hope to do so unseen. The day will be full of formalities: it will be seen that we are paying, and that we are not evading our obligations. It will shortly be obvious that the Bank’s prospects have never been better. You will have one year during which you must exert caution, but after that, all should be well. Since I shall be taking the risk as well as the opprobrium, I have a favour to ask, of him, of you and of Margot. I want Gregorio with me.’
Cristoffels had flushed. Godscalc said, ‘You have no right. You excluded Gregorio from your confidence. You are committing him to something he knows nothing of, and cannot understand.’
‘But you are here,’ Nicholas said. ‘You will tell him. You will direct him to refuse. You will refuse yourself, no doubt.’ His eyes were on Gregorio.
Gregorio said, ‘This is something Lopez knows? The night –’
‘The night Loppe rowed me to San Michele,’ Nicholas said. ‘I went to speak to da Mosto about his discoveries. I have spoken to others. In time of war, princes need money, and ships. In a war of religion, a ruler who cannot storm Constantinople himself will support an exploit with a Christian objective, which will cost him nothing and might bring him fame. I want to sail down the west coast of Africa as far as da Mosto has gone; and land; and find a way, if it can be found, to Ethiopia.’
‘You’re crazy,’ said Julius.
‘You have no ship,’ Gregorio said. The lath of his nose, in the lamplight, looked white, and his cheekbones had sharpened.
Nicholas kept his gaze on him. He said, ‘The papal commander has freed our galley at Ancona for this one purpose. Half the cargo I brought from Cyprus has also gone to Ancona, where the Vatachino can’t touch it. I have a master, and the crew is being hired. As soon as I join her, we sail … Father?’
Godscalc realised he had closed his eyes. He opened them. He
said, ‘Go on. I do not want to be included in any part of what you are saying.’ He waited, and Nicholas looked away.
Cristoffels said, ‘But …’
‘But what?’ said Julius. ‘He’s demented.’
‘… but would you take a galley south past the Pillars of Hercules? Out of the Middle Sea and
south
? It would need a caravel, or a roundship.’
‘We have a roundship,’ Nicholas said.
They took a long time, Godscalc thought, to see what he was driving at. The craft, the contrivance, the devices that had brought them all here to this room, listening to the obvious, inevitable solution to all their difficulties. Then Julius said, ‘The
Doria
? Nicholas, you incredible bastard. You’ve hit on the idea of recovering the
Doria
? Where is she?’
‘Portugal,’ Nicholas said. ‘We’ve repaid the insurance. I feel we may as well have the use of her until the courts decide in our favour. She shouldn’t be too hard to take.’
‘Well, that makes sense,’ Julius said. ‘But after that, why not bring her back? You don’t really want to battle down to Madeira and the Senagana and fight your way across Africa, do you? Anyway, you’d find yourself face to face with …’ His voice trailed away.
‘All those who invited him there,’ Gregorio finished. ‘You brought the letter. Portugal is where Jordan de Ribérac went with the
Doria
, and Diniz his grandson. Portugal is where Simon has gone, and where all his business interests are – Portugal and Madeira and Africa. Portugal is where the van Borselen family went, to recover their grandchild. Simon issued the challenge, and Nicholas all along meant to take it up, and has made it impossible for us or anyone else to prevent him. Stop him, and the Bank fails.’
As once before, it was Cristoffels who stirred uneasily. ‘But …’ he began.
‘Go on,’ said Godscalc gently.
The young factor cleared his throat. ‘But with such competition, what cargo could he bring back that would save the Bank in a year? With respect?’
Then Father Godscalc chose to intervene at last, and Nicholas, who had laid his arms on the table, drew them back and sat upright, his head poised, his eyes level.
Godscalc said, ‘If he were going to Ethiopia, I doubt if he would bring back his life, and certainly not the magic mirror and jewelled sands of the legend. But of course, he is going somewhere rather nearer and much more rewarding; although, it is true, few merchants have managed to find it. But not every merchant has Loppe, do they, Nicholas? In Loppe you have a guide and an
interpreter as well as a friend; someone who will follow you anywhere, whom you can expose to any trial and who will not complain. You are taking Loppe to the Guinea coast that he came from, and you expect to bring back all you desire: what will baulk the Vatachino and frustrate Simon’s prospects; restore the Bank and establish you as the wealthy man you now want to be. You know what is drawing him? He is going to the market no white men attend. He is going to sail up the River of Gold.’
He knew it was useless. He knew, no matter how clearly or how bitterly he spoke, that few of them would see the iniquity of it. Julius appeared transfixed, even translated. On the face of Cristoffels was a growing, confused admiration. Only in Gregorio and Loppe did he see something different. On Gregorio’s face a sort of resignation; and in Loppe’s face, uncharacteristically, anger.
The anger was for him. Loppe said, ‘I think, Father, that I look like a man. Do I seem to you to have the brain of a child? Do I seem to you like a girl, running after a protector?’
Godscalc was silent. Then he said, ‘No. I insulted your intelligence, and your manhood. It has been a long night. I am sorry.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Loppe, ‘we have all said enough.’ His eyes were on Nicholas.
Rose-coloured light filled the low windows, and a seagull wailed. Nicholas said, ‘Yes. We can leave the rest till tomorrow. There is a bed for Father Godscalc?’
‘I shall show him,’ said Loppe.
Outside, although the stairway was dark, there were sounds of distant bustling, and the muted clatter of kitchen activity. Loppe said, ‘There is a place next to Cristoffels.’ On the top floor, he stopped at a door.
Godscalc said, ‘I didn’t mean to belittle your friendship. I am concerned for him, too.’
Loppe turned. He said, ‘He will go, no matter what.’
‘I realise that,’ the priest said. He paused. He said, ‘In the boat, his answers – half his answers – were meant to mislead. I wish I knew the truth of the other half.’
In the dark, he could see nothing of the other man’s face. Then Loppe said, ‘The man Tristão Vasquez died as he said. He had stolen vine cuttings for Madeira. The plan was that the lady Katelina should also die, as in the outcome she did. Those who arranged it were the Queen and the lady Primaflora.’
‘His
wife
?’ the priest said.
‘Nicholas didn’t know. He thought he had purchased the demoiselle’s safety. Instead, both she and Diniz ended in Famagusta, where she died.’
‘Which Nicholas was besieging,’ Godscalc said. Loppe was silent. Godscalc said, ‘And the boy Diniz. Nicholas had freed him, but his grandfather went to extraordinary lengths to take him away?’
Loppe said, ‘You don’t understand, do you? The family may never admit it, but Nicholas and Diniz are cousins. Nicholas knows it. Diniz, I think, knows it is possible. On Cyprus, Nicholas and the boy built a friendship. After years of hatred, the demoiselle Katelina also learned to know him, and understand. Nicholas stayed with the demoiselle till her death. He saw Jordan de Ribérac denounce the boy’s trust as unnatural and snatch him away. That is why Nicholas couldn’t race after him. It would only have made matters worse.’
Nothing stirred. ‘Oh, Lord of Mercy,’ Godscalc said. Then: ‘She died in the siege?’
‘Of wounds and starvation. Diniz starved with her, but lived. Nicholas shared their last weeks in the city. He will never speak of it. Many things happened on Cyprus,’ said Loppe. ‘Tobie, John, all of us know them, or guess them. But that was the most terrible.’
A boat rocking, in darkness. And something unsaid which even Loppe knew nothing about. ‘He will have to speak about Cyprus,’ the priest said, ‘if he goes where I think he is going. He wants to make his peace with Simon, with Jordan, with Tristão’s widow? He will never do it. And there is the sister.’
‘The sister?’ Loppe said.
‘Don’t you remember, the only sister of Katelina van Borselen? Her mother is dead, her father ailing, her sister killed, she thinks, in the feud between Simon and Nicholas, and Katelina’s child left a half-orphan far from Flanders. There is a family crushed, and no one but Gelis to speak for it. She left for the south as we came here. She will be in Portugal now, with the Vasquez. And there is tragedy brewing, for Gelis van Borselen holds only one man to blame.’
Loppe said, ‘You speak as if Nicholas didn’t know it. Do you think he planned all this without planning that too? He will deal with his family, and the Vatachino, and finding the gold that he needs for the Bank and the Charetty.’
‘He will try. He may succeed,’ Godscalc said. ‘Intrigue is his life, as we saw today, as you saw on Cyprus. Intrigue, and danger, and a taste for what he transforms, often enough, into high adventure. But whether he means it or not, people die.’
‘It is a hazard,’ said Loppe, and gave a wry smile. ‘He told me, long ago, not to trust him. It is good advice. One does not leave him, however.’
Even where they stood, it was now light. Godscalc said, ‘I
remember. I remember what was said in the boat. And yes, I shall go with you.’
He went to his room then, and prayed, and realised that all through his prayers he had been thinking of a tap on the door which had come, once, in Trebizond. But of course men grew, and changed, and tonight the tap did not come.
Chapter 8
A
S
ACCURATELY REPORTED
by Godscalc, the demoiselle Gelis van Borselen, accompanied by a small but cowed bodyguard, had left Flanders for Portugal and had arrived, full of purpose, at the Algarve home of her dead sister’s husband. The demoiselle Gelis had found Simon absent, his child and father invisible, and her sister’s killer hourly expected to descend on a household of twittering women of whom the most agitated, by far, was Simon de St Pol’s sister Lucia, who begged her sister-in-law, sobbing, to stay.
She remained, since that had been her intention, but found it remarkably wearing. The name of Nicholas vander Poele could hardly be mentioned: even so late as today, an incautious word could provoke an outburst. ‘I hate him!’ had screamed Lucia de St Pol e Vasquez, throwing herself on the floor which was of marble, although furnished with cushions. She was Scottish, and perhaps used to rushes.
‘We all hate him,’ said Gelis, wincing a little.
‘He is a murderer. We shall die here, with no one to mourn us. He is a classical monster, a Crocus.’
It was an interesting thought, so far as it went. ‘Chronos, perhaps?’ Gelis said. ‘The father who ate all his children?’ There were two members of the Vasquez household in the room, who gratefully left when she nodded. She wondered what other guests usually did.
Lucia lifted her head. She said, ‘My father Jordan devours all his children. That is why he is so fat.’ Then she began laughing and crying together. She had fallen, as always, without disarranging a strand of her bright yellow hair.
Gelis sat, looking out at the sea. The wind was in the wrong direction. After a while, the widow said with a touch of petulance, ‘He hates Simon and me. He wants this brute vander Poele to come and kill me.’
She was probably right. Gelis reflected that the same might even be true of the woman’s son Diniz, who was about the same age as herself and who had not stayed, either, to defend his dam from the brute vander Poele or his grandfather. Then she thought she might be maligning the youth. He had gone to join the Christian fleet. He hadn’t even known, very likely, that Claes was on his way to the Algarve. Claes, or Nicholas. He didn’t use his servant’s name now.