‘The Clares did that,’ Nicholas said. His mask leered; his eyes remained cold.
Adorne spoke to the eyes. ‘I have no apology to make, I am afraid, over your divining. It is condemned by God, and a blasphemy. I do find it difficult, however, to pursue you into the courts about the other matter. Partly because of Dr Tobias, and partly because, being opposed to you in business, I should appear to be belatedly vindictive. I refer to my injury, and also to the wretchedness and expense to which you exposed us in Alexandria.’
‘I see,’ said Nicholas.
‘That is all you have to say?’ said Anselm Adorne.
‘To you, yes. I might say a little more to David de Salmeton,’ Nicholas said. ‘At the moment, it is not particularly wise to say anything. As you say, we are on opposite sides, and the lord Hadji Mehmet has been watching us since you sat down.’
Adorne rose. He had flushed. He said, ‘Thank you for pointing it out. You will forgive Katelijne for not having thanked you herself. She is here, but I thought it best to keep her with me and with Jan.’
‘I am sure you are wise,’ Nicholas said. ‘Those who know only spiritual pleasures must make, in the end, the best guardians.’
Later, Fiorenza of Naxos danced with him. ‘You have been avoiding your hostess!’
The long file weaved round the salon. She held her gown with one hand and the fingertips of the other rested in his. She moved them into his palm. Her mask was made like a bird, with wings and feathers and jewels, and her sleeves were so thickly embroidered that they bruised his arm when they swung. At the moment, everything bruised him.
He said, ‘I thought you might not wish to speak to me, now that King James has become so undecided. The Despot’s daughter is charming, I hear, and quite slim, and Cardinal Bessarion is, of course, rearing her. But in the long run, the daughter of King Ferrante might be more useful.’
She dropped his hand, her face turning up. Then, glancing over her shoulder, she took it again and resumed her swaying progress, wheeling, curtseying. Coming back to him again she said, ‘Your sense of humour is unique. I hear King James offered you some of the best estates on the island. Marco was delighted. You will be our neighbour again.’
‘Here, perhaps. Not, I fear, in Cyprus. I refused them,’ he said. She had, of course, known.
‘Niccolino!’ She breathed it.
‘Well, Zacco is going to marry,’ said Nicholas. ‘That is, I suppose he is going to consummate something, some time. And Marco doesn’t really want me making more money than he does. I think you should be quite pleased if I stay out of Cyprus and co-operate somewhere else for a change. I really do co-operate quite well, when I feel like it. Is that the end of the dance?’
She appeared to think it was. He decided he would give himself another hour, provided he could find Cavalli, or Cavalli could find him. Antonio Cavalli, most favoured envoy, servant and adviser of Duke Sigismond of the Tyrol, had become a frequent visitor at the Casa. The occasion was business, of course: part of it to do with the mining the Bank was financing, and part with Duke Sigismond’s most recent explosions of energy, none of them likely to gladden his neighbour of Burgundy.
‘What do you think will happen?’ Nicholas had said.
‘In Burgundy? Oh,’ had said Antonio Cavalli, ‘I believe the Duke will frighten off France and then set himself, God bless and preserve him, to work for his crown. He aims to end his life as a King or an Emperor, and he may well succeed. Nor do I see how my lord Sigismond could hold out against him. You may be able to mine your silver in peace, if you have patience.’
Such conversations were useful, and so were the other exchanges one might have on occasions otherwise useless, such as tonight. Nicholas saw Cavalli presently, and indeed they left together, since Julius had kindly left him the elaborate boat with curtains and tassels which the Bank used for its social occasions. Cavalli was glad to be offered a seat.
Now the mist was quite thick. Other boats slipped like shadows among the dim lights, and the sound of music and laughter was pierced by the cries of boatmen like distant birdcalls from every canal. The air was dank, even melancholy after the warmth of the salon, and when they slid between the poles outside the Palazzo Cavalli. Nicholas experienced some reluctance to see his passenger leave. He was not invited in. An elderly friend of the Duchess Eleanor resided with them and kept early hours, said Cavalli, excusing himself.
It was understandable. Company had only seemed inviting, for a moment, because now that the calculations were done, there were spaces left in his mind; mooring poles where anything could slip in and find itself lodged. Nicholas waved a smiling good night and had himself taken back to the Bank.
Tomorrow, the decision. The next day, the ducal Palace. The day after, the height of the Carnival, and the verdict, and the meeting with Gelis. If she kept her promise. If she feared God or Ludovico da Bologna, as she did not fear him.
If, after the discussion tomorrow, he could keep his part of the bargain.
Next morning, six men sat with Nicholas round the board in his chamber, and Father Moriz, who occasionally used his cloth to chasten a patron, opened the talk with a prayer. Under the bat-like eyebrows his eyes rested on Gregorio and transmitted calm. Gregorio felt a dim sense of gratitude. He didn’t, as yet, know much of Father Moriz: it was John and Nicholas with whom the metallurgical priest had spent the winter in the Tyrol, and Julius and Cefo with whom he had since worked in Venice. He was only now coming to receive Tobie’s confidence, and of course he had hardly met Margot before she went off. Father Moriz knew nothing of Margot, except that she and Gregorio had been together for a very long time. Until recently.
Then Nicholas took over the meeting.
It was not, to begin with, controversial. It ran, point by point, over what Venice and the half-formed Christian-Muslim alliance were going to ask them to do, and how far they should do it. Having presented the case, Nicholas himself intervened less than usual and where points of difference arose, showed an unusual tendency to leave the outcome to be settled by vote. Each time it happened, Tobie looked cross.
Occasionally, and without recourse to Nicholas, Gregorio felt required to remind the other five of the likely views of Astorre or of Diniz. He tried not to do it too often. It encouraged Julius, and later Cristoffels to observe that, in devoting so much to the East, the Bank risked neglecting the West where, after all, the core of the business still lay. It was a valid opinion.
The use of their highly trained mercenary company was a case they proceeded to argue. Before the Duke of Burgundy’s war, this force was intended for Uzum Hasan, if not Cyprus. Now (it was gradually accepted) it made more sense to leave the troop where it was, between Burgundy, France and the Switzers. They would also need to retain arms and gunners, leaving fewer of both for the Levant.
Father Moriz said, ‘It will have occurred to you that we are now tendering substantially less help than was talked of in Rhodes, and to that extent we are deriving less use from our gold. We dismissed the idea of claiming it back, but perhaps we should talk of it. We should be forced to, for example, if Venice rejects our proposals and appoints the Vatachino as their suppliers.’
‘We should never get it back,’ said Gregorio. He made it sound conclusive.
‘I think we could,’ Julius said. ‘You’re thinking of Flemish law. And if we could, why do we need to help Uzum at all? Why not put all the Bank’s resources at the service of Burgundy? They’ve got Astorre and a lot more already.’
‘Preserve me from two lawyers,’ Nicholas said. ‘We’ve been into all that. We’d never get the gold out of Rhodes, or not without paying its worth in litigation.’
‘And it looks magnanimous,’ Tobie said. ‘Our contribution to Christendom.’ Gregorio looked at him, then away.
Cefo said, ‘What, then, if we leave the gold with the Order, accept some limited contracts, but put all the rest into the Western wars? It might make sense. If the Turks can’t be stopped, then they’ll overrun Cypru
s and Cairo, and the African trade may compensate. You’ve heard the Portuguese have sailed much further down the coast since you went?’
‘If they overrun Cairo, they will overrun North Africa,’ Nicholas said. ‘I’d rather help Uzum.’
‘I shouldn’t,’ said Father Moriz. ‘I’m with Cristoffels and Julius. I think we let them keep the gold, and look West.’
‘Leaving them to trade with the Vatachino, and pay them out of our gold?’ said Gregorio.
As he hoped, they thought about that. Then Julius said, ‘No. We go to litigation. As I said, I think we’d win. It’s our bullion. And anyway, it would freeze the gold meantime. Venice and Uzum would have to pay the Vatachino themselves for whatever they buy. Which they can’t.’
‘That’s very clever,’ said Cristoffels. Although frequently depressed by Julius, he recognised, as they all did, that he had flair.
‘In fact, that’s the answer,’ said Father Moriz. ‘Offer what help you can; prepare to be outbid by the Vatachino; and claim back the gold.’
‘I don’t agree,’ Gregorio said.
‘Nor do I,’ said John le Grant.
It was the only time they had ever had an outright disagreement. At the end, when no one had moved his position, Tobie said, ‘Nicholas? Something needs saying.’
At last. Gregorio gave a sigh compounded of relief and annoyance, and gazed at Tobie, who was glaring at Nicholas. Two obstinate men. But it was time for Nicholas to admit to his personal stake in this decision. If he wanted to see his son, he must throw his weight – and his gold – behind this Turcomani—Venetian alliance. It might not matter, if they were lucky. They might not be lucky.
Nicholas said, ‘Nothing needs saying that hasn’t already been said. Decisions of this order don’t hang on my whim. We vote, as is fair.’
Gregorio said, ‘No!’
Julius said, with irritation, ‘What do you mean, no?’
‘He means,’ said Nicholas, ‘that he thinks he knows more about my business than I do. So let me remind him that even I can see genuine advantages in both propositions. The Persian alliance was my own preference. But losing that might mean recovering the gold. And people will sometimes do a great deal for gold.’
He had spoken blandly enough. Julius smiled, but Gregorio understood very well what Nicholas meant. For the sake of the gold, or its promise, Gelis might break her pact with the Patriarch. And there were advantages in being seen to support Burgundy – advantages which had not been so apparent at the time of the negotiations in Cyprus and Rhodes. Those were two of the reasons why Nicholas was willing to let this debate take its course. Another was personal – he did not wish to reveal his predicament. And lastly, Gregorio thought he saw in him an unreliable confidence – as if, with Gelis approaching, he had imagined some increase in those strange powers which would bring him what he wanted. It was unlikely to be so.
Julius said, ‘Then let’s settle it. Three of us are willing to give up the gold for the use of the Persian-Venetian alliance, and three prefer to support Duke Charles of Burgundy, submitting the ownership of the gold to the due and slow processes of law. Nicholas has the casting vote.’
Cefo said, ‘What about Diniz and Captain Astorre?’
Julius said, ‘Well, there’s no doubt, is there, about them? They’ll choose Burgundy every time. Nicholas, isn’t that so?’
Of course it was so. It meant that the Patriarch’s scheme was about to be abandoned. Gregorio made a last effort. He said, ‘Nicholas, Tobie is right. No one should be asked to decide without knowing the facts. That gold was meant for the war against Turkey. You are committed – we are morally committed – to giving it up for that purpose.’
‘Not until tomorrow,’ Nicholas said. ‘And you have all the relevant facts in your hands. So let us go round the table again. And those who can, speak for Astorre and Diniz.’
They voted. The issue was crucial: the vote would never have been necessary if the King of France had not gone to war. It would not have taken place had Nicholas allowed three of them to explain what hung on it. As it was, it produced a foregone result. The House of Niccolò, concerned at the change in Burgundian affairs, must take formal steps, with reluctance, to reclaim its gold, and must modify the help it could offer to Persia.
The notes were written up and agreed. The meeting dispersed. Tobie remained behind.
‘Remorse?’ said Nicholas. Now everyone had gone, his face had lost its mobility. The word, far from being bitter, seemed almost meaningless.
Tobie sat down, and waited until Nicholas did. He said, ‘It means you can’t deliver what the Patriarch asked, and so won’t see the child. But perhaps Burgundy and the Tyrol and Scotland now seem to be bigger game, and you don’t really mind. Or perhaps you think you can manage on your own, and you may be right at that. Where are the maps?’
Nicholas rubbed his face slowly, as if pressing thoughts from his skin, either to summon them or to repel them. No words came. His right fingers were scarred. Without waiting, Tobie got up and opened chests until he found what he wanted, and spilled the scrolls on the floor, working his way down to the bottom. He said, ‘You don’t have one for Florence.’
Nicholas rose also, slowly. You could see his mind assembling facts. He said, ‘You think she is in Florence?’
‘She?’ said Tobie. He fought against all his instincts, which told him to be merciful. He was the spokesman for Gregorio now, as he had once been the spokesman for the company. He watched Nicholas bring his mind to bear again.
Nicholas said, ‘I have been waiting for Gelis to come. She has to come, to hear what we tell the Senate tomorrow.’ He paused for breath. ‘You are saying I can find the child myself?’
Tobie said, ‘Have you not even noticed Gregorio? I am saying that Margot has gone in the hopes of bringing him to Venice. The box you were given at St Catherine’s was made in Florence, of our African gold. Squarcialupi recognised it at once. Zacco told him to tell me. Gelis stayed last year in Florence. She made some arrangements. Added to what Margot knows, it seems highly probable – she thinks certain – that the child and his nurse have been placed there. If so, Margot has the best chance of finding him. She knows what he looks like.’
‘So he exists,’ Nicholas said.
Tobie sat where he was, his hands locked together. He said, ‘Did they not even give you that hope?’
‘Oh, they have always given me hope,’ Nicholas said. Then he said, ‘But Gelis made her promise never to tell. Why should Margot help me now?’
‘Because I told Gregorio what they forced you to endure at Famagusta,’ Tobie said. ‘To my mind, and Margot’s, and his, it cancelled all promises. Margot was eager to try, and Gregorio let her. It isn’t only for you. It is because the child himself has turned into a pawn. When he comes, you shall not only see him, we will hold him for you.’
He waited. They have always given me hope. He would not tell Nicholas, now, the nature of Margot’s particular skills, or how she came by them.
‘He may not be in Florence,’ Nicholas said.
Tobie said, ‘Margot left fifteen days ago. Five days to reach Florence, and ten for the search and a gentle return. We meet the Senate tomorrow. Gelis has to be here to hear the result. I have spent the last eight months cursing the person who showed you that you were a diviner, but it is the only thing that is going to help us all now. Track the child. And track Gelis.’
‘She persuades others to carry her ring,’ Nicholas said. ‘It confuses things.’ It sounded plaintive, because his voice was operating on thoughts he had forgotten about already.
‘But you will know when she comes into Venice. You must,’ said Tobie. ‘And if you have no sense of the child, you can trace Margot. Gregorio will bring you possessions, and maps. I’m here to supply whatever else you may need. With the proviso that none of this is any use if you are not going to survive it.’
Nicholas had blocked his lips with the back of his hand. He took his hand away. ‘Oh, I shall survive
it,’ he said. ‘Other people may not.’ Then he said, ‘I had better see Gregorio, and thank him. I am sorry. I should have noticed.’
Chapter 48
SUNDAY ENDED. As usual, the evening mist fingered its way into the Piazza San Marco, forming a nebulous tide like the water which now and then surged over the steps of the Piazzetta, and sent everyone splashing and rollicking home.
Jan Adorne, following a trailing cloak between the wrought iron gates of a palazzo, found himself in a paved garden where sweet, mocking laughter led him between fountain and orange trees, and into the arms of a girl made of marble. He recoiled, and heard through the mist a sprinkle of notes from a lute. Following, he found himself entering a tunnel made of grapevines and trellis.
There was a cloaked form at the end of it. Running towards it, he found himself swathed in a billow of warm, scented silk, and a hand touched his cheek while another caressed him.
The caress, in its experimental delicacy, was almost more than he could endure. When she vanished, and every door proved to be bolted save the one that had given him entrance, he plunged into the mist, and took himself to the nearest whorehouse that he knew of.
Simon de St Pol was there, on his way from one grand house to another, and in acrimonious mood. He relented in time, when assured once again of Jan’s eager support; when convinced that their plan was unassailable. St Pol hated the Banco di Niccolò even more than did Jan and his father. He also loathed his own parent, de Ribérac. Jan wondered if the vicomte his father went whoring, or had his own supply of Venetian ladies.
Antonio Cavalli, diligent in his service to the elderly guest of his family, recollected his French and reported. ‘Nothing has happened as yet. Master Gregorio spends his time watching for boats from Chioggia.’
He did not say, because he did not know, that Master Gregorio had gone without telling anyone to call on Katelijne Sersanders while her uncle and cousin were absent.
Her chamber was a mess: the nuns at Haddington would never have countenanced it for a moment. Entering, Gregorio made it clear at the outset that he wanted no secrets: only to know if she had heard any news of Gelis van Borselen. She had not. She had not even known that Gelis was expected in Venice. He felt a pang of guilt for having told her at all. When she asked after Margot he saw that she knew nothing of her movements either. They finished by talking of Scotland.
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