Authors: Dorothy Dunnett
‘Oh, that too,’ Julius said. ‘But they also want practical help.’
‘Practical help,’ Nicholas repeated. His mind ran over the areas of contention in Europe, all the way from Denmark in the north, to lucky Cyprus under the Venetian whip. He said, ‘What kind of practical help?’
‘The Duke’s heard of your Play,’ Julius said. ‘He wrote to Scotland, and asked if he could borrow the machines and the music and the artists for his coronation. He offered King James just about anything he wanted, except Guelders, and James has agreed. He’s sending the lot.’
‘What?’
Nicholas said. After a moment he said, irrelevantly, ‘He can’t do it: it’s mine.’ In fact it was the King’s, but the King hadn’t paid for it yet. Disbelief filled him, followed by outrage. Oblivious, Julius was continuing.
‘You’ll get a fee. You’ll get a double fee. You’ll get a triple fee, because the Duke insists that you yourself direct the company. It’s an order. He wants to hand a complete team of players to Frederick. You’re his gift to the Emperor,’ Julius explained. ‘So that the Emperor can contribute to the festivities. I don’t suppose they have entertainers in Vienna, apart from a few German clowns and a juggler. And Duke Charles can spare you. He’s still got all the artists who worked under
Tête Bottée
Commynes for the Wedding.’
‘Commynes has gone,’ Nicholas said.
‘Well, he wasn’t the only one, was he? Anselm Adorne will direct this time.’
Tobie said, ‘What’s the matter? People are watching. Stop screaming.’
Nicholas said, ‘I shall scream if I like. So will you, when you hear this.’
At the time, he didn’t even pause to consider how the Duke knew so much about the Play. Certainly, he knew less than nothing about its significance. Nicholas perceived the Duke’s attempt to appropriate him personally simply as a miscalculation; and not an intentional insult. It was something that could be corrected by a few words with Chancellor Hugonet. He said as much to Julius and Tobie that night, sitting alone with them in the tavern. Julius had been astonished and puzzled.
‘It can lead to great things. Look what it did for you in Scotland. You’ll have the Emperor’s goodwill as well as that of Duke Charles.’ And, when Nicholas still appeared unconvinced, Julius had become genuinely heated. ‘Why not? If Adorne doesn’t think it beneath him, why in God’s name should you?’
‘Sloth and other vanities,’ Nicholas said. ‘I have no ambition. I shall go to Luxembourg and tell his noble and mighty lordship myself. You can come with me. The Flight from Egypt can remain until they hear from us.’
Julius said, ‘You aren’t serious? Tobie, persuade him.’
‘I’m staying,’ said Tobie. ‘If he’s going to castrate himself, I’d as soon not be present. Let him go on his own.’
But of course, Julius would never do that. They left for Luxembourg the following day, two men and a bodyguard riding fast for the Imperial duchy on its river-girt pinnacle where Charles, Duke of
Burgundy, was gathering his resources for the lavish ceremonial and hard talking that would, he hoped, make him a king.
The Duke received him in audience, but it was William Hugonet who induced Nicholas to reconsider his decision. The meeting was private, in the Chancellor’s rooms in the towers of the Castle of Luxembourg, with the sluggish waters crawling below in the heat.
It had already struck Nicholas that he might have been hasty. He was being summoned to prepare court diversions, that was true. But he was to prepare them for Frederick, from whom Duke Charles wished a great favour. He, a Burgundian and a banker, was being placed at the Emperor’s side during a series of talks which would determine the union by marriage of two immense powers; which offered Duke Charles the chance to become King of Burgundy, King of the Romans and, perhaps, eventually, Holy Roman Emperor himself.
For days, for weeks perhaps, Nicholas would have a foot in both mighty courts. He had begun to guess why. Now Hugonet confirmed it. A tired, busy man with all the weight of the Duke’s deficiencies on his shoulders, the Chancellor made clear what Nicholas de Fleury was being requested to do. He was to join the Emperor’s court, when it arrived. He was to urge the Duke’s case when he could. He was to listen. And he was to report.
And that, he could agree to.
Nothing happened at once. It was the third week of September before the Emperor, at Mayence, sent to invite the Duke of Burgundy to his congress of princes. It was to begin on the last day of the month, and the place appointed was Trèves, the great and ancient city of Augusta Treverorum, a day’s ride from Luxembourg. Nicholas could go there himself now. He could send for Gelis and Jordan and Tobie. And Julius could send for his wife.
He had already told Julius everything. It would have become obvious enough, and Julius could be discreet when it mattered. He hoped that Julius would join him, with the rest of his team, in the Emperor’s lodging. With Anna, if he insisted.
He had sent, by now, for all the men and the materials that he needed. He had summoned John le Grant and Astorre, with their ceremonial guns and their agile squadrons of horsemen and jousters. He had retrieved from all their comfortable positions the scribes and musicians and painters who had helped him before. The crates from Scotland arrived, although none of the Scottish musicians or artists: he had countermanded the Duke’s request about these. He need not trouble busy men with a tiresome sea journey from Scotland.
Before he left, the drought had unwillingly broken, with enough rain to spoil the vintage and half fill the cisterns, but not enough to restore all the mills. By then, Luxembourg had assumed the appearance of a mighty Burgundian camp, with every house on the rock full of billeted officials, and two thousand tents crammed into every available stretch of high land or sward by the rivers. They quartered an army. They sheltered the ducal treasure and wardrobe and artillery. They housed the regalia of the ducal chapel, with its priests and players and choristers. They lodged the men of the travelling council. They accommodated the household officials and servants. And in a stone house on the mount, the great goldsmith Loyet was preparing a crown and a sceptre.
Everyone Nicholas had ever known in the Low Countries seemed to be there; there was no time to meet them all. He encountered René, new-chosen Duke of Lorraine, whom he had last seen in Provence two years before, at the start of the long journey which would lead to the court of René’s grandfather in Angers, and beyond. He glimpsed Tommaso Portinari, and failed in his half-hearted attempts to evade him. Indeed, he was quite surprised at the strength of Tommaso’s fingers, haling him outside the room where they happened to meet. ‘Benecke!’ Tommaso had said.
‘What?’ said Nicholas. He thought what a paintable face Tommaso had, with the high cheekbones and close-curling hair and sensitive face. He looked furious.
‘Benecke,’ said Tommaso again. ‘You knew him in Iceland. He let you load up all that illegal stockfish. Did you tell him to steal my alum?’
‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘I’ve got my own alum. I might have wanted the painting, but I’m told it isn’t really you. That is, the only part that’s you isn’t a part. Tommaso, who was it? Can I tell Benecke? He might send it back for a repaint.’
‘So how did he know what the
San Matteo
was carrying?’ Tommaso said. By adroit manoeuvring, Nicholas had got him outside his workshop. He opened the door and everyone inside looked up. The smell of fresh paint and vellum and oil flowed from the room. Julius waved.
‘I don’t suppose he did,’ Nicholas said. ‘Everyone knows you’re rich and your ships are worth stealing, that’s all. It was sailing under the Burgundian flag. If the Hanse won’t respond, get the Duke to complain, but not yet. If Benecke walked in just now, he’d just crown him.’
Julius howled.
‘Which reminds me,’ Nicholas said. ‘You’re handling all the Duke’s
silks
for the ceremony?’
‘Yes,’ said Tommaso. Julius had put a large cup in his hand.
‘Well,’ said Nicholas, sitting down comfortably, ‘Julius and I are going to need yards and yards and yards of good silk for the Emperor’s throne room and costumes and tableaux. Suppose you tell us what you have.’
Nicholas left soon after that, with Julius and John and Astorre, plunging down the Luxembourg cliff to set off north-east to the vale of the Moselle, the wagons rumbling behind him, and the long cavalcade of his craftsmen and soldiers trotting after.
It occurred to him that he had missed the arrival of Anselm Adorne and Jan his son, and of course Dr Andreas. He had not missed, but had deliberately avoided the other astrologer. And among all that vast crowd representing the flower of Burgundy there was one man, he realised, who must have been there all along, but had remained out of his sight until this moment when he waited, amiably sitting his horse by the towered portal, and who took off his hat and waved it as they passed.
Julius said, ‘Wasn’t that …?’
‘Martin of the Vatachino,’ Nicholas said. ‘Tommaso’s informant, no doubt.’
‘I smelled the sulphur,’ said John le Grant. ‘I hope he’s got David de Salmeton with him. By God, I’ll …’
‘No, you won’t,’ Nicholas said. ‘Or not until I’ve finished with them both.’
Chapter 46
T
HE MESSAGE FROM
Nicholas to his wife arrived in the other town of Augustus among an assortment of missives, some to his agent, and one to Tobias his doctor. He had also dispatched a small saddle, to which was attached a packet containing a drawing, a verse, and a note. Jodi pounced on them all.
During the four weeks they had been waiting in Augsburg, Nicholas had communicated with them quite often, and they had not been neglected. Tobie knew the city a little, and the agent was anxious to please. Twice, the former Anna von Hanseyck had travelled from the castle where she was staying to introduce them to friends; on a third occasion she had brought her host and kinsman, who had pressed Gelis to come and stay, an invitation she had refused with regret.
Tobie had been relieved by the refusal. He had been extremely taken with Anna, and had been forced to recognise the urbane, civilised company that Gelis could provide when she liked. But this was a family far more vulnerable than most, and for this space, he had been appointed its guardian.
Nicholas, leaving, had implied as much, without being explicit. He had talked of Jodi, and of the other boy who, unknown to most, was also his, and of the promise they had given to protect Henry.
‘You have kept it,’ Tobie had said. ‘So far as you could.’
And Nicholas said, ‘Not at Veere. If he had killed Jodi at Veere, I would have killed him.’
‘But Henry isn’t here?’ Tobie had said.
‘No.’ After a moment, Nicholas had said, ‘Tobie? Once, I gave you a paper. Do you have it?’
He had it. It was a document, drawn up and signed, which would prove, if it had to be proved, that Henry was the son of Katelina van Borselen and Nicholas vander Poele, now de Fleury.
Tobie said, ‘It’s with my notary. Why? Do you want it?’
‘Not if you don’t mind keeping it. But I wondered. Would you consider it a good idea to give a copy to Father Moriz?’
‘I think it would be an excellent idea,’ said Tobie slowly.
‘You shouldn’t have to bear all the onus. Did you know that Moriz was a native of Augsburg?’ Nicholas had asked.
‘I’d forgotten,’ Tobie said.
‘He might have friends; even kinsmen,’ Nicholas said. ‘I only mention it in case you come across them by accident. Both my sons, I am sure, are quite safe. But after Cyprus …’ He let the sentence tail off. His face, for a moment, had looked younger than it was, whereas apprehension with most was an ageing emotion.
Tobie said casually, ‘I was sorry to hear about Tasse. She might have helped you.’
He could see Nicholas draw breath, and then release it. Then he said, ‘I was sorry, too. Jodi would have been as fond of her as I was.’
That was all. Then he had gone, and now the message had come, summoning them all to the Abbey of St Maximin outside Trèves, where the Duke of Burgundy, its protector, was taking up residence. Gelis brought it to Tobie, and with it, a note from a different quarter.
‘From Anna,’ she said. ‘To tell us she’s gone to join Julius in Trèves. He and Nicholas are attached to the Emperor.’
‘She is German,’ he said. ‘She is almost in the position of hostess. And the message from Nicholas? He wants you to stay with the Duke, not the Emperor?’
‘He seems to think it is safer,’ Gelis said. She paused, and Tobie looked up. She had pale blue eyes, very clear.
She said, ‘You know what our marriage is like? You know we compete?’
A war of attrition
, Gregorio had said. And Gregorio was not a doctor. ‘Yes, I know,’ Tobie said.
‘And you think us both childish. Perhaps we have both begun to think so, as well. Recently, we took a decision to end the competition this winter.’
‘And end your marriage?’ Tobie asked.
She noted his professional voice, and laughed. ‘Will it harm Nicholas even more, you are wondering? I don’t know. Whoever prevails on the day of reckoning will determine the fate of our marriage. And Nicholas, it seems, is even more anxious than you. This letter asks me to consider advancing the date.’
‘Why?’ Tobie said. ‘Or as you suggest, is it just from impatience?’
She smiled again. ‘I should like to think so, but no. He is assigned to the Emperor’s household, and unsure what will happen, or where he will be asked to go next. October in Trèves is not so very far short
of December in Bruges, where he expected to be. He suggests that, when the Duke receives his reward, so should he.’
‘So he is certain of winning?’ said Tobie.
‘He is always certain of winning,’ said Gelis. ‘It is why he plays. And victory never brings him contentment, because he always chooses to play the wrong games.’
‘I saw the Nativity Play,’ Tobie said.
The smile vanished. She said, ‘I am not going to lose him to that.’
‘So who decides which are the wrong games?’ Tobie said. ‘You, if you win?’
‘I am going to win,’ Gelis said, and got up. The letters were crushed in her hand.