The Unicorn Hunt: The Fifth Book of the House of Niccolo

by Dorothy Dunnett

  ‘What happened?’ said John. ‘I saw you come in last night.’

  ‘And you told Nicholas?’ said Tobie. He stopped drinking.

  ‘No.’

  Gregorio said, ‘I expect you followed him, and he saw you. I was worried as well. He’ll get over it. Tobie, he’s not returning to Scotland. He’s going to Egypt with John.’

  ‘God’s bonnet,’ said Tobie. He stared at the lawyer.

  ‘I know. He should have done it before. He should have gone to the Levant before he committed us so deeply up north. But he can return to Scotland, he says, in two years, and put all his remaining schemes back in action and collect what’s due on the rest. Adorne isn’t there any more; Sersanders is only an agent; there’s no one else as close to the King as Nicholas was in the end.’

  ‘And in Egypt?’ Tobie said. ‘He’ll get the Levantine trade going to the limit at last?’

  ‘And the missing gold,’ said Gregorio. ‘What do you know about parrots?’

  *

  It was an axiom long apparent to Gelis, that one attacked when one’s opponent was weakest. She assumed that her husband obeyed it as well. She expected him to turn the death of Godscalc to his advantage, and took steps, naturally, to counter him. It was by chance that she discovered, seeking to avoid Nicholas through the night, that he had left the house early and that Tobie had followed. She knew when Tobie returned, for she was waiting at Godscalc’s bedside to confront him. And Tobie was not a good actor.

  She had wondered who would bring her word that Godscalc had died; and was not surprised when it was Nicholas who knocked and came in. Attack when your opponent is weakest. But if she had been sleepless all night, so had he. Or so she assumed.

  On the other hand, he was a brilliant actor. He stood before her, subdued and chastened in manner, his words a model of what was considerate. His shirt was fresh, and so was the loose tunic over it. Once, she had known every garment he had. Every garment. She spoke from the window-seat where she had been sitting longer, she realised, than she knew. ‘I’m glad you came back in time. Where did Tobie really find you? Some brothel?’

  He smiled, but the glance that it grew from was distant. He hadn’t known, she saw, that the doctor had followed him. He took a seat. ‘Didn’t he tell you? If you want the address, you can have it. Or did Father Godscalc exact solemn promises? What have you agreed to give up for Lent?’

  ‘You were there,’ she said. ‘He didn’t ask me to promise anything more.’

  ‘The blackguard,’ said Nicholas. ‘Not that you would have kept your word anyway. I take it that you are not proposing to take Henry under your roof any more than I am. I’ve made some financial provision. If he kills anybody, it will pay for the defence. Otherwise I propose to have him watched, as Godscalc suggested, from a distance. I shall send you half the account.’

  ‘Half the – He’s your son.’

  ‘He’s your sister’s son. I’m sure you remember.’

  He had learned so quickly. Or no. He had always known how to retaliate. She changed her position a little, folding her hands. She said, ‘I fear that Henry is only a pretext. You are actually proposing, in your sweet way, to induce me to foot half the bill for spying on Simon.’

  ‘You mean that wouldn’t amuse you?’ he said. He settled his elbows and furled his fingers, full of interest. ‘Certainly, I don’t think you’d uncover any tremendous surprises. No, you’re right. In fact, the situation wouldn’t arise. Henry will be left where he is, and Simon and Jordan will go back to Scotland.’

  ‘Where you will be waiting for them.’

  ‘No, no,’ Nicholas said. ‘Fields and fields of corn-marigolds, but not me. You haven’t been listening. Scotland is what I have agreed to give up for Lent. For two Lents.’

  She let a silence develop. Far away, the life of the house could be heard: soft footsteps passing up and down; grieving voices. A soul dear to them all – she thought – had left the earth, and Nicholas had knelt for its blessing. She could feel those craftsman’s hands resting on hers, and hear Godscalc speaking. Nicholas had been performing. It had meant nothing to him. Nothing, nothing. So, determined, alone, one worked with what did have some meaning.

  She said, ‘Gregorio told me what a Decreet Arbitral was, and what you thought of it. And of your interest in Boyd land in Scotland. You want it to encircle Kilmirren.’

  He produced an expression, briefly, of theatrical slyness. He didn’t deny it. He looked, indeed, as if he were thinking of something quite different.

  She said, ‘All those schemes? All that consolidated goodwill? Of course you’re going back.’

  ‘Of course you would think so,’ said Nicholas de Fleury. ‘But since I’m not, let’s move to the next point at issue: your future. We reached an agreement.’

  ‘I remember,’ she said. Remarkably, she had kept her voice even. The next point at issue. The next item before you all, gentlemen. She was in the presence of the padrone. He had agreed that her child would be safe, and she had agreed to bear him what children he wanted. Fields and fields of corn-marigolds. Her skin contracted. She added impersonally, ‘And you have overcome your repugnance.’

  He pulled his fingers apart in a generous gesture. ‘With great regret, I have to postpone our reunion. That is, I have to leave in a few weeks for Florence, and I may have to winter in Egypt. But I shall be back in Venice next year, and able to send for you and your son. Will Venice suit you, next spring? A happy nesting, like that of the birds?’

  She must have moved. He looked up, his expression quite benign. ‘I don’t ask if you wish this; only if you understand it. If there is any difficulty, my attendants will find you and resolve it.’

  She took her time, because she wanted to tremble. She was being given nine months. She was being given nine months because he had been telling the truth in one respect, if only one. He was keeping his promise to Godscalc. And since he had to reshape his whole future, he had released her from his immediate plans.

  Also, by next year, he would think, the age of her child could no longer be judged with precision. He could introduce wife and offspring in Venice, a legitimate family. And on that basis, he would expect to beget his next child. Which was, of course, all he wanted. His reward and her punishment.

  I have to postpone our reunion. She studied him. He was not a man for whom abstention was normal. Despite Tobie’s vagueness, she believed that last night he had bought his own partners. He had had women in Scotland. It was a weakness, and therefore a lever. Nicholas was expert with levers. He used his knowledge of her for his own ends. He had expected to get what he wanted from Godscalc, but hadn’t. And suddenly she realised why.

  She sat up. The chair, which was a new one, creaked slightly. Everything in the chamber was new; all the furnishings of the wedding night had been swept away, and even the bed stood in a different place. There had been a niche, once, full of objects fashioned by children. She said blankly, ‘You told him. You told Father Godscalc about Simon.’

  ‘Well, I showed him diagrams,’ Nicholas said. His tunic was lightly embroidered and his buttons were carved from blue stones. With her, he didn’t bother with dimples. He added, ‘He guessed.’

  ‘Hence the oath about Scotland and Henry.’

  ‘Sadly, yes.’

  ‘And none about the duties of parenthood.’

  ‘Sadly, no. Although he did try to send for the boy. If there is a boy. Is there a boy?’

  ‘I told you. So why did you pledge your word not to go back to Scotland?’

  ‘You tell me,’ he said.

  ‘You wanted a quid for your quo.’

  ‘A quid for my quid.’

  ‘You thought it would touch me, and you’d get your hands on the boy.’

  ‘Get my hands on?’ said Nicholas. ‘My intentions towards your invisible son are entirely peaceable. Find me something to swear on, and I shall.’ Again, the mockery showed. He was operating on one level. He was operating with his mind; his mind and nothing
else, and that was how he must be met.

  Gelis said, ‘A well-head? Never mind. I’ve listened to you. You did make a promise. You’re keeping it. I am willing to do the same. Not to show you the child, but your other requirement. You needn’t wait until spring. I’ll come with you to Florence.’

  He began to laugh, and halted politely. His gaze brushed her hands, which had clenched. She unclenched them. He said, ‘I’m sorry. You don’t know about the Bank’s arrangements for patrons in Florence. There is a house. That is, they’d make room for you, but I don’t think you’d like it.’

  His eyes were large and open and grey. He didn’t expect her, this time, to believe him although – damn him – it might actually be true. He was chiefly making it clear that he did not want her. Or, amendment: he wanted her when he chose, and not before. And however caustic she proceeded to be – and she was – he had no intention of including her in his itinerary. Which made his itinerary, of course, the object of all her curiosity.

  She rode out of Bruges before the rest of his meetings were over. She stayed overnight somewhere public, and she stayed the next night somewhere safe. The following day she arrived with her own private staff at the fortified hall presided over by Margot.

  She saw Margot first. Next, she went to the inner room where the night-light burned, and sat down. Later, she rested her chin in her hands and started to think.

  Much later, in the privacy of her own chamber, she wrote and sent off two letters. The seal on both was anonymous, and the courier who carried them highly paid. One was to her usual correspondent. The second was addressed to Sir Anselm Adorne.

  In later years they would boast, in the company, about the compression of activity that enabled Nicholas de Fleury to leave when he did for Alexandria, changing and adapting all his plans. At the time, despite a swift, unexplained visit to Brussels and another to Antwerp, no one guessed what else he was doing, while the lamps burned day and night and couriers fled to the south.

  He elected to take only two officers with him: John his agent, and that German priest who, appearing with his friend at Godscalc’s death-bed, had stayed to deliver his eulogy and become his chosen successor as company chaplain. Father Moriz of Augsburg was not destined for Alexandria but for Venice. There – truculent, short-necked, bow-legged – Moriz would partner the patiently labouring Cristoffels at the Banco di Niccolò and cause no disruption in the high life of Julius. He would also, very likely, take control of the Bank’s Venetian interests. Father Moriz possessed hidden assets.

  These dispositions had been discussed and accepted by Gregorio and Diniz. While staying in Bruges (and near Margot), Gregorio would act as an intermediary between Scotland and Nicholas. Diniz was content to remain with Tilde and manage the company; he trusted Nicholas to save him his portion of gold. The opinion of Tobie, also left behind, was not sought.

  Then the safe conducts arrived, the last arrangements were complete, and the House of Niccolo’s personal men-at-arms, its baggage, its household mustered to leave in their splendid black livery with the unicorn rampant. John le Grant, an individualist, wore a green doublet and a battered hat sporting an Imperial Byzantine brooch worth two sheriffdoms. The priest was robed in black, unrelieved, as it happened, by unicorns. Nicholas de Fleury bore the gold chain of his latest Order and his good-humoured expression was matched by the satisfaction on the faces of all those he was leaving behind. He could read what they were thinking.

  He was returning to the concerns of the main Bank (at last). He was going to brisk up (about time) its Alexandria agency, and pursue the search for the gold from the Ghost. Then come the spring he would sail back to his lady in Venice and the Bank would have a patron once more. Nicholas. A family man, with a fair wife and a …

  I want the teachers sprung of your line …

  No. Think. Think. Keep thinking.

  He said goodbye to them all. He bestowed a chaste embrace on each of his step-daughters and shook Gregorio by the hand, but could not bring himself to exchange looks with Tobie. Last of all, he leaned from his horse and spoke smiling to Diniz. When he rode off, he was smiling still.

  On the tenth day of August, eleven days after Nicholas left, his lawyer Gregorio arrived breathless at the doors of Gelis van Borselen’s hall in the country. The ride which had taken Gelis three days had been accomplished by Margot’s lover in one. Tobie had agreed to come with him.

  It had been Diniz who had provided them with the address of the ladies. Leaning from his horse as he left, Nicholas had given him leave. ‘Wait a week, if you like. By then, I shall be out of the country. There are no secrets now. Gelis and I are to meet in the spring. Neither she nor I will mind if you tell Gregorio how to reach the house where you found her.’

  And so, freed from his promise, Diniz had told them.

  They seemed to be expected. Their jaded horses were taken away, their baggage removed, and the house-steward ushered them into a large, sunny room, its windows set wide to the late evening sun. They were brought washing-water and towels, and given wine. The steward reappeared. He was alone.

  Gregorio said, ‘Is it inconvenient? We shall stay of course at an inn. But we should like to speak to the ladies if possible.’ He wondered why Tobie said nothing. Tobie had said almost nothing ever since Diniz had told them, at last, where to come.

  The house-steward said, ‘An inn? Honoured sirs, this house is yours for as long as you wish to avail yourself of it. The lady Gelis left orders.’

  ‘Left?’ Gregorio said.

  ‘Before she went away. I am sorry: you were unaware? After she came back from Bruges, the lady Gelis packed and departed. Four weeks ago to the day.’

  ‘We had not been told. To go where?’ Tobie asked.

  The man – a courteous, middle-aged man of the neighbourhood – shook his head in regret. ‘To stay with friends. I do not know, I am afraid, where she was bound.’

  ‘But Mistress Margot?’ Gregorio spoke. There was already an ache in his chest.

  ‘Went a week after that, in a different direction. Where, again, I do not know; but her message may say. She left a letter for Master Gregorio.’

  He heard Tobie speak. ‘How could she know we were coming?’

  The man looked taken aback. ‘Forgive me. I thought it was arranged. At least, I was told to wait for a month and then forward her letter to Bruges. But you are here.’

  The packet came and Gregorio opened it. It was a long letter from Margot, repeating her reasons for what she was doing and asking him to understand. She said she loved him. She did not tell him where she was going. She had been upset when she wrote it, for the last words were blotted with tears. She seemed, so far as he could make out, to be saying that they would not have to wait very long.

  ‘But she’s right, you know,’ Tobie said later, in the chamber they shared for one night. ‘I know the word I’d like to apply to the van Borselen family. But if Nicholas comes back from Alexandria and Gelis takes the boy to Venice to meet him, Margot will be free in eight months.’ He waited. ‘Won’t she?’

  Gregorio shook his head, and Tobie waited again. Then he spoke again, trying to be patient. ‘All right, Goro. I shan’t wheedle your secret out of you. I’m sure Margot is safe. But look, I’m worried. Nicholas is a wrecker when he’s put under duress. You know that. And he’s out there with no wife and no keepers. He’s cut me off and left you behind.’

  ‘Temporarily,’ Gregorio said. ‘He has to run the Bank. He can’t do without us completely.’

  Tobie looked at him, surprised, and then hopeful. Immediately, he began to feel better. ‘No,’ said Tobie. ‘And meanwhile, I must admit, I’m glad he’s got Moriz and John. If anyone can beat him at his own convoluted games, then it’s a cold-eyed bigot like Moriz and a bloodless bastard like John.’

  Chapter 25

  A YOUNG MASKED woman of good appearance entering the Republic of Florence with a well-accoutred retinue and lodged at an unexceptionable address attracted some attention, of cou
rse; but in July, men were less vigilant than in cooler weather, and once it was established that the lady was neither a relative of the Medici nor a prostitute, the Republic’s interest waned.

  So sedate and well planned, indeed, was the arrival of Gelis van Borselen that it was some time before even the ruling family realised that a relative of the Duke of Burgundy was in their midst. And even when news of her identity was finally carried to Piero de’ Medici in his sickbed at Careggi, it was several days before it spread to the other vital quarters: those of the dealers and merchants and bankers such as the Vatachino, the Strozzi, and the Florentine agent of the Banco di Niccolò who did not know what to do, but who finally sent a page to her house with a box of sweetmeats and a message begging the lady to order whatever assistance or pleasure she wished.

  On the same day, naturally, an urgent letter flew from the same agent to Bruges addressed to the lady’s husband, his magnificence the lord Niccolò de Fleury. Gelis did nothing to stop it. Long before it arrived, Nicholas would have left Bruges for Florence. The message would pass him on the way. Or if it did not, Nicholas would hardly turn back; not with a ship already laid up in Pisa (she had checked) with space reserved between decks to take him to Egypt in September. By now, he must be only two weeks away.

  Waiting, she maintained, unimpaired, the chaste serenity with which, of late months, she had conducted her life. The town might be unfamiliar to her, but the Italian merchants in Bruges had been ready to tell her about every great house, every market, every church. From Tommaso Portinari she learned where to seek her coloured leathers and silks. From Michael Alighieri, an expert on goldsmiths, she found out where Nicholas and his small band had stopped on their way to Constantinople and Trebizond, and heard the story of the farmuk, the spinning toy which had so enchanted the little grandson of the late great Cosimo de’ Medici himself. Which had so enchanted Tilde, when Nicholas sent her one. Oh, Nicholas her husband knew whom to beguile; and when; and how. And when to stop.