Authors: Dorothy Dunnett
David de Salmeton said softly, ‘You
have
forgotten me,’ and Nicholas turned, and brought him into the company.
The feast was over. The agent seated himself, wine in hand, between Nicholas and Gelis van Borselen, while boxes appeared and were hoisted below to the barge. The agent smiled. ‘Now do tell me. Voices carry so. You were speaking about the
Doria
?’
‘Never heard of it,’ Nicholas said. ‘Have you dined? There is a good piece of beef and some puddings left.’ He spoke French, as de Salmeton had. He recognised, with sorrow, that the man would understand Flemish and Scots. The girl’s face, as he watched, became animated.
‘You heard me speak of the
Doria,
’ Gelis said. ‘The
Ghost
seems her very double, although Monsieur Niccolò doesn’t agree. And perhaps he should know, since her master has privately called on him.’
‘They tell me her lines are the same,’ David de Salmeton remarked. ‘But, they say, she is painted a different colour.’
‘And, I am sure, would be very different within,’ Nicholas said. ‘You came in the
Fortado
?’
‘And sailed past the
Ghost
, spar to spar. Some of our crew had seen Monsieur de Ribérac’s vessel in Lagos, and wanted to swear the two ships were the same. But who could tell, except one who had sailed in her?’ He moved his grave, liquid gaze. ‘Perhaps one may be found to examine her, less busy than Monsieur Nikko?’
‘I dare say,’ Nicholas said. ‘Why not ask Diniz Vasquez, who sailed in her from Cyprus? Where is he?’
‘Or his Uncle Simon?’ the young woman said. ‘Son of Jordan de Ribérac? Where is he?’
A manicured eyebrow rose by a whisker. The agent said, ‘I fear almost to answer you both. The boy has sped, so I hear, to his father’s
quinta
at Ponta do Sol. The lord Simon is not on the island, having gone home, his business completed. So, if the
Ghost
is to be identified, other experts must do it. They should be easily found.’
He appeared to be assessing his wine cup. Beyond the vacated benches around them, Nicholas saw Gregorio’s face, and that of the priest. Near at hand Gelis, too, was looking at him. Gelis said, ‘Am I to do all the work?’
‘It’s your family,’ Nicholas said.
‘No, it isn’t,’ she said. ‘Any day of the week, you may have St Pol Simon with pleasure. So?’ She turned to the agent. ‘What business has the lord Simon completed, apart from digesting his meals? His sister assumed there would be none until Diniz arrived with her authority.’
‘The lady Lucia? Exquisite creature,’ said the broker. ‘But with her husband deceased, and Diniz, forgive me, a child, the lord
Simon had to act in his own interests. He decided to sell what he could get out.’
‘
What he could!
’ Gelis said. ‘He owned half … The great booby’s
sold half the business
?’
‘Lend you a brick,’ Nicholas said automatically. The woman Bel glared at him. He was thinking.
David de Salmeton seemed unaffected. He raised his free hand by a half-inch. ‘Simon is not of Portuguese birth. His permit to trade was subject to the whim of the Portuguese government, with whom his stock is not high, and he had a youth and a widow as partners. The St Pol plantations were his to sell, and the investments to realise.’
‘He sold them to you?’ said Nicholas suddenly. He wouldn’t have thought so, but for something he imagined he read in the other man’s face. It might have been irony.
‘Why, no,’ said David de Salmeton. ‘I was unable to tempt him. He was afraid, it seems, to add to our strength as his rival elsewhere.’
‘Well, he had some sense,’ said Gelis. ‘But that seems to be the extent of it. He should have sold to young Diniz. At the very least, he should have waited to talk to him.’
‘He had an unmatchable offer,’ said the agent. ‘Conditional on immediate acceptance. I regard his decision as sensible.’ His eyes had moved to Nicholas, with the same amused shadow behind them.
‘Any man would,’ Nicholas said. ‘To whom did he sell?’ To himself, his voice sounded over-clear, but that was because the tables were empty, and the sounds of hilarity no longer to be competed against. He thought, anyway, he guessed the answer.
It came in the musical voice that was of a piece with the face and ringed hands, and at odds with the neat muscularity of the frame. ‘He chose the Lomellini of Genoa. You know them.’
Nicholas knew them. He knew the Lomellini from Cyprus and Rhodes. He knew them from Bruges, where they engaged in trade for the Duchess of Burgundy. The Lomellini bought alum, and sent laden supply ships to Ceuta. Members of the Lomellini in Lisbon controlled the entire Portuguese exports of cork and cane sugar: their methods had forced the Vasquez lands out of profit until the Duchess’s secretary, a Vasquez, complained. Through intermarriage with Portuguese ladies of birth, the Lomellini had obtained naturalisation. Here on Madeira, the brothers Urbano and Baptista cultivated great estates, and sold wine and sugar and honey in Europe. They also sent vessels to Africa.
Through its favour at court, St Pol & Vasquez had been able to
hold its own among the two hundred families permitted to exploit Madeira. Even now Tristão was dead, his son might have done as well, with the help of his factor, and the support of his partner and uncle. Now, without the St Pol money and assets, Diniz was left with a broken-backed heritage.
For a moment, Nicholas looked out to sea. Simon had sent him an ultimatum and he had come west to meet it, not knowing if he would escape with his life; or if, in saving his Bank, there would come a time when he had to choose between that and the family his mother had married into.
Simon had issued a challenge. Simon had come and, wittingly or not, had destroyed the livelihood of his sister and nephew. And then he had gone, without waiting for Nicholas. Simon the athlete; the jouster finer than he would ever be. Simon, who had won every fight they had ever had in the past and who had, but didn’t know it, the ultimate reason to kill him. So why wasn’t he here?
The flash of a cup warned him, but half its wine still struck his shoulder; then Gelis tossed the pewter on to the board. She said, ‘Oh good, Claes, I have your attention. Of course, you and the Vatachino planned this between you.’
He let the wine drip while, thinking, he looked at her. Surprise flashed across de Salmeton’s face and softened into something else. The agent said, ‘I can see, to be sure, it might seem so. We both benefit. I have to say, however, that the outcome was an accident. My instructions were to buy St Pol & Vasquez for the Vatachino. The lord Simon refused me; a pity. An even greater pity, I thought, should the company fall to some arriviste Venetian Bank. Urbano Lomellini agreed with me. He made a winning offer, and showed himself glad of my counsel. My dear Monsieur Nikko, your doublet is ruined.’
‘I have another,’ Nicholas said. The barge was ready. The tramping had ceased and Bel of Cuthilgurdy was standing at her mistress’s shoulder, with the boy Filipe lurking behind.
Gelis spoke to her without turning. ‘Simon has sold his share of the company. For how big a nest egg, I wonder? Enough, I suppose, to farm out his son, and keep himself in comfort in Scotland. How thoughtful you’ve been, Monsieur de Salmeton. How much did you advise he should get?’
‘You would have to ask Urbano Lomellini,’ said de Salmeton. ‘One regrets.’
‘One will regret when I have reversed the agreement,’ Gelis van Borselen said. She rose, her gaze sharpening on Nicholas. She said, ‘No collusion? Prove it, then. Come with me and help me cancel the bargain.’
Tardily, David de Salmeton rose to his complete, charming, miniature height. ‘My dear demoiselle! The transaction is over. Simon has already removed all the sum that was owed him. And even if he had not, you should beware of asking Monsieur Nikko to help you. He covets your dead sister’s business.’
Nicholas moved, but Gelis spoke immediately. ‘Simon has
taken
his money? In specie?’
‘In gold,’ the broker said. ‘And in venture shares. They may well attract a fine return. There may be money to spare for his sister.’
‘Venture shares?’ said Nicholas gently.
‘An investment in the
Fortado
which brought me,’ said David de Salmeton. ‘She sails under licence for Africa. What profit she makes, the Lomellini will share with my lord Simon.’
Nicholas gazed at him, unseeing. That, then, was what Simon intended. Here was the threat to the Bank, to his fortunes, to his future, and the Lomellini – the Genoese; the Genoese cynically advised by the Vatachino – to carry it out. All that was missing was Simon’s own presence. ‘She may be unlucky,’ said Nicholas.
‘Perhaps,’ de Salmeton said. ‘Is that the barge calling? Perhaps. But in the African trade, the
Fortado
has a sure market, and no competitor but yourselves. And who knows when you may leave, with the history of the
Ghost
now in question? Demoiselle? The Captain expects you on shore.’
She was on her feet as he spoke. ‘Yes. My small coffer. Bel, help me find it.’
She brushed past and went aft, the plump woman following. Loppe’s voice greeted them and then faded along with their steps. David de Salmeton put down his cup and rose, smoothing the silk of his sleeves with his fingertips. ‘A tiresome young lady, but handsome. She might be worth some attention.’ He tilted his head towards Nicholas. ‘I, too, miss the rough comforts of Cyprus. Funchal has somewhat less to offer. Nevertheless, the Captain sent you his most civil greetings. Indeed, he suggested I bring you a wench.’
‘You didn’t bring one?’ Nicholas said, still seated.
‘I hesitated to commit you to the sex. Apropos of which subject’ – a light hand came to lie at his shoulder – ‘the boy’s remaining share of the plantation would not, in my opinion, be in any way viable on its own, even were you to be free to pursue it. The
Ghost
is, of course, the
Doria
, and will be proved so tomorrow.’
‘I must set my soul in order,’ said Nicholas. ‘Unless there is any way to prevent this calamity?’
The hand remained a moment longer. Then, ‘How melancholy,’ said David de Salmeton, withdrawing his fingers and glancing at
them. ‘You are still very damp. How unfortunate that I must go ashore. No, I can find little hope. I see the barge is ready and the ladies are waiting. I must join them.’
In the faces of the ladies, one tall, one short, nothing could be read as they waited. It was perfectly extraordinary therefore how, joining them at the head of the ladder, Monsieur David de Salmeton lost his footing and actually fell into the water, striking his head several times on the platform, the ladder and the strakes of the boat so that when they fished him up (which the crew of the boat did immediately) he was quite unconscious.
There followed, on deck, a period of somewhat heavy-handed resuscitation. Nicholas, who had taken his share, looked up at last from the still, breathing face and said, ‘What shall we do? He’s concussed.’
Bel Cuthilgurdy, immobile as a pyramid on her shins, said, ‘Christ fend us!’ It sounded like
Crivens!
She added, ‘See, I’ll help take him below, with his man. Filipe, go on down and make up a pallet.’
‘Bel?’ said Gelis van Borselen.
Her companion, now standing, looked round. ‘You get into the boat. I’ll bring the puir soul when he’s better. And since there’s room, why for not take the lawyer? There’s a man might untangle a contract.’
‘Master Gregorio’s fees,’ Nicholas said, ‘are extortionate.’ He felt as if he had had twice as much wine as he had.
‘I expect I could pay them,’ said Gelis van Borselen. ‘I have just observed that the
Ghost
is not the
Doria
. I should swear to it anywhere.’
Now he knew he was drunk. ‘Have I missed something?’ Nicholas said.
She turned, her coffer under her arm. ‘It seems your habit,’ she said. ‘Except for what is thrown at you. Ask yourself why David de Salmeton should help the Lomellini to buy? Was it only to spite you?’
‘A fee was mentioned,’ said Nicholas. ‘The sale, one assumes, wasn’t preventable.’ He knew now, though, that he was cold sober.
‘The fee was to delude us and Simon,’ she said. ‘The truth is that the Vatachino and the Lomellini are secret associates. It made no difference which bought St Pol & Vasquez. The
Fortado
sailing for Africa is funded by both.’
‘Along with a large stake from the deluded Simon,’ said Nicholas. ‘Poor bastard.’
‘Is it funny?’ she said.
‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘Not if it’s true. You must think it is. You nearly killed him.’
‘I did my best,’ said Gelis van Borselen. ‘It’s true. Your Negro told me just now. He knew the Lomellini men in the barge from his slave days.’
‘Loppe?’ he said.
She said, ‘The wife of Urbano Lomellini is a Lopez. She keeps her slaves, who respect her. I believe your man, despite his motive for telling me. I also spoke to one of his friends, who confirmed it. Since Simon left, the two companies paid less attention to secrecy.’
‘Why keep it secret?’ he said. ‘Why not boast of it just now?’
‘That is why I asked for your lawyer,’ she said. ‘Monsieur de Salmeton said the sale couldn’t be broken, but he would guess that you would spare no effort to break it, if you knew the Vatachino were part of it. It offers some hope.’
‘Yes. Take Gregorio. I’ll stay with Mistress Bel and nurse poor Monsieur David,’ said Nicholas.
She frowned. ‘You can’t detain him. He must go ashore when he wants.’
‘I don’t want to keep him,’ said Nicholas. ‘Especially since we all know that the
Ghost
isn’t the
Doria.
’
He wondered if she would smile, but she didn’t. She nodded briefly and left. Gregorio, looking startled, went after her. Nicholas watched the barge pull away. Now everything had changed, and everything had to be done quickly.
The
Ghost
must leave: she was waiting; he had sent her the order. Sooner than that, he must leave himself, before de Salmeton roused. And lastly, the
San Niccolò
must be made ready to sail, but unobtrusively, so that when David de Salmeton wakened he would see a ship asleep for the night, but prepared, as would be prudent, to leave her anchorage in the morning.