‘So where has he gone?’ Gelis asked.
‘There are several possible places,’ Nicholas said, ‘if my prayers have been listened to. But he may be somewhere else, and quite happy, bathed in a saintly light and enjoying intimacy with God. So, you want to come with me? With Jordan?’
She had goaded him, and he had replied. She stared at him, dizzy still. Then she said, ‘It might be amusing.’
‘It might be. Can you be packed by, say, tomorrow?’
‘That’s asking a bit much,’ said Tobie.
‘Is it? You don’t need to come,’ Nicholas said, getting up. ‘Neither does Gelis. I imagine she can get herself over the Alps on her own.’
‘Will you stop it, Nicol?’ said Gregorio. ‘Go and rest, for God’s sake. But before you do, here’s something I haven’t told you yet.’
‘There is no end to the Divine Bounty,’ Nicholas said. ‘So what have you found for me now, outside perpetual chastity?’
Gregorio ignored it. ‘You remember Paúel Benecke?’
‘Yes,’ said Nicholas. He sat down again.
‘He had a stroke of luck,’ Gregorio said. ‘Back in April. He was hanging about in the Narrow Seas in a caravel when he saw these two Florentine ships leaving Sluys for Southampton.’
‘Goro?’ Nicholas said. His eyes had begun to gleam.
‘So he attacked and relieved one of its cargo. The other escaped. There’s been a great fuss.’
Margot was smiling. Tobie was looking from one speaker to the other. Nicholas said, ‘Florentine ships?’
Gregorio said, ‘Well, really, Burgundian ships. The ones that were built for the Crusade, and Duke Charles let the Medici use them.’
‘Tommaso’s ships?’ Nicholas said. ‘Tommaso Portinari?’
‘I’m afraid so, yes. The one they plundered was the San Matteo. Full of alum and stuff. They’d wintered in Flusa, and were calling at Southampton on their way back to Porto Pisano. Benecke took the whole lot. The thing is, he was sailing under letters of marque, and his ship belonged to some Confrérie of the Church of Our Lady in Danzig. They’ll never get it all back.’
‘Alum?’ Nicholas said. He looked dreamy.
‘And cloth: gold and silk and velvet and satin. Furs and tapestries. Paintings, even. Poor Henne Memling.’
‘Goro,’ Nicholas said. He rose and, carrying his seat in his hand, relocated himself next to Gregorio. Then he put a hand on his shoulder. He said, ‘Tell me very slowly. I don’t want to get too pleased too soon. Henne Memling?’
‘Two huge altar-pieces,’ Gregorio said. He was crimson now. ‘Huge. On their way to be put up in Florence. And one of them was The Last Judgement.’
‘Paradise,’ Nicholas said. ‘And Hell, of course. And all those nude ladies and gentlemen. Including Tommaso, with his head painted on foil, and someone else’s bodily ticket to the Gates of St Peter. And Paúel Benecke has it: not Tommaso, not Angelo Tani, not the Medici. Oh, what shall we do? How can we celebrate?’
‘Give me that,’ Tobie said. He emptied the cup Nicholas had been drinking from, and thumped it back down by the wine-flask. He said, ‘That’s how you celebrate.’
‘Oh dear,’ Gelis said.
Margot touched her with a finger. ‘Come with me. We can drink on our own.’ She was exchanging smiles with Gregorio.
‘In the terems,’ Gelis said mildly. She tried not to show what she felt. Nicholas drunk had always been easier to manage than Nicholas tinkering about with the full unappetising range of his faculties. She had an advantage already.
The advantage was somewhat short-lived, in that the journey to Augsburg was sober to the point of austerity, and Nicholas spent all his spare time with his son. At night, he slept with the men of the party. Tobie had elected to come. Crackbene had stayed behind, prior to departing north on unspecified business. There were Hanseatic League talks in Utrecht.
Gelis had a grasp, now, of the purpose of this expedition to Augsburg in the vale of the Danube, where the Emperor and his princes conferred. Here, if anywhere, rumours and news could be gleaned. She would have liked to learn more, but attempts to discuss it with Nicholas failed. Eventually, roused to impatience, she professed an enquiry to which he was bound to respond. Now they had met ahead of time, had he considered advancing the end of the contest?
They had just passed through the Tyrol, and he was impatient because they had failed to meet either Duke Sigismond or the Duchess. Anything that annoyed Nicholas always gave pleasure to Gelis, whether she understood it or not. Unwisely, she showed it.
He said, ‘Our resolution? I hadn’t planned to advance it. Well, especially not after this terrible reverse over the Duke. Did you have a proposal?’
‘No. Were you expecting one? I hear the lady Violante was in Nicosia.’
‘You are speaking of an elective bid, rather than a proposal.’
‘Which you accepted.’ She kept indignation out of her voice.
‘It would have been impolite to refuse,’ Nicholas said.
‘So you suffered it. Noblesse oblige.’
‘I try to give humble satisfaction. A fervent fighter and untiring soldier of Christ. Although I have been known to charge tronage fees,’ Nicholas said. ‘One way or another. Here is Jodi.’
‘So I see,’ Gelis said. ‘What a teacher your son is going to have in you one day.’
She had fired her dart, and he had replied, as in Venice. She had achieved nothing.
At Augsburg, they were met at the gates.
‘God’s toe-nail,’ said Julius, when he had greeted Gelis and Tobie. ‘It’s like the Flight from Egypt. I never expected to see Nicholas de Fleury hanging with napkins and nursemaids and children.’
‘You missed the cartload of whores,’ Nicholas said. They went in by the Ulm gate. ‘And what about you? Whoever thought to see Julius with a wife? How is your extremely beautiful, extremely brave lady?’ He shook the hand of his agent and they all began to move through the port.
‘You want me to say, sick of a morning. Well, she isn’t. Time enough for all that. She’s staying with friends. And my God, what good news from Cyprus! Venice with the whip hand at last! Now the Bank will get its chance!’
Nicholas said, ‘You should have stayed on Rhodes and joined in the rejoicing.’
‘I know, but I’d done all I could. The Patriarch, too. I have to tell you about that.’
‘I heard it from Gregorio, or most of it. The Order insists it hasn’t stolen our gold; the ship they attacked was a pirate; if we want to prove the gold ours we have to produce witnesses, bills of lading, hard evidence. We shall, when there’s time. I didn’t think you’d be here. I thought you would have left after the Emperor.’
In present company, Julius seldom bothered with tact. He said, ‘I stayed to tell you what to do. You’ve to go to Luxembourg.’
‘Really?’ said Nicholas.
‘Yes, really. Take your objections to the Duke, but not in that tone, I’d suggest. He’s in Luxembourg. He wants you. He and the Emperor are going to meet. Charles thinks he’s going to be crowned this autumn at last. Think of the festivities! Everyone will be there!’
‘Where?’
‘They haven’t decided yet,’ said Julius, happily.
It was a very long road to their lodging. Nicholas rode smiling, because they were drawing attention. He said, ‘The festivities. They want us to advance them more money?’
‘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 f
lower 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
THE 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.’
To Lie With Lions: The Sixth Book of the House of Niccolo Page 75