Lopez dropped to one knee, holding the body and pulling it free of Nicholas. The boarders stopped. In the moment’s silence that followed the shock, Nicholas adjusted his aim, his gaze never leaving the highest, splendid tiered gallery of the merchant’s house opposite. Then he released his fingers and shot.
Far across the canal someone screamed, the sound speaking from wall to wall of the palaces. The man who had been on the balcony opposite was there no longer, but his body, jerking forwards, was hurtling into the canal. There it sank, the shards of a bow floating upwards.
Then the air was filled with cries, from men and women and seagulls.
On the boat, the revellers dumbly recoiled and turning, scrambled back to the craft they had come from. The grapple jerked free and, seizing their looms, the oarsmen threw their boat sideways and into reverse, setting course for the basin and the wider waters of the lagoon, and leaving their leader behind them.
The boats which half-heartedly started to follow fell back. A ring of craft formed about Nicholas and, across the canal, a group of watermen sought about to retrieve the dead bowman. As the Adorno’s boat came to the bank, Gregorio saw the face of the unarmed reveller, bare of its mask. It was no one he knew. Nor, if they caught them, would the drunken boatload of boarders admit to anything, he supposed. They had carried no weapons. They had been decoys, that was all.
Something was bruising Gregorio’s arm: Margot’s fingers. ‘I saw it,’ she said. ‘The man on the gallery was aiming at Nicholas.’
‘I think so,’ he said. ‘Lopez had noticed him. Nicholas and he were both on guard; they expected it. But for that, no one would have known where, in the confusion, the arrow had come from.’
‘Expected it?’ Margot said. She was pale, from shock and from running. ‘Expected an attack on his life? On his homecoming?’
Gregorio didn’t answer. She had read that letter from Cyprus, as he had. They should have realised what it meant. He watched the big boat coming near and said, ‘Lopez. He will stay here. It must be made perfectly clear to the household –’
‘It will be,’ Margot said.
The boat berthed. Nicholas stepped ashore and smiled at them all. He said, ‘Welcome home. I thought I should perhaps say it for you. Gentlemen, I do beg your pardon. If you’ll give me leave to settle affairs with the Magistrate – Goro, will you come with me? – then I shall be delighted to come back at leisure and meet you. Don’t, on any account, delay your dinner.’
The water was still full of boats, and people exclaiming. Across the canal, men and vessels were clustered beneath the Palazzo Barzizza. A dead man lay in the boat at his feet. Gregorio could see the official craft approaching between them. He said, ‘Your clothes …’
‘Blood, I know,’ Nicholas said. ‘I paid a lot for this coat. I wanted to make an impression.’
A cursory dent appeared in one cheek and then vanished. It was meant perhaps to signal distress, masked by a kind of grim humour. Without an accompanying glance, it looked merely indifferent.
Under the coat, his doublet turned out to be clean. He threw the stained garment to his servant and turned, adjusting his expression, to deal with the Magistrate. Gregorio said, ‘Do you know who it was?’
‘Oh, I should think so,’ Nicholas said. ‘But I shan’t say if you don’t.’
Later, returning with Nicholas to the Bank, Gregorio thought to count his blessings, which amounted after consideration to one. There would be no prosecution.
Nicholas, who could always act, had acted with awful aplomb. Who wished for his death? He feared – the enemies of the Venetian Republic. There were those who, whatever their oaths, hesitated to join the Serenissima in her crusade against the infidel Turk. He laid no personal blame on the Duke of Burgundy or on France, although today’s news must shake the credit of every bank, and not only his own. Neither would he point to the city of Genoa, which might resent a soldier and merchant whose deeds served the nobler Republic. Indeed, he saw here no Christian crime. The name of Niccolò vander Poele was well known to be cursed by the Infidel.
Gregorio, at this point, had swallowed. The Magistrate, on the other hand, had exclaimed, ‘He used a Mameluke bow, the assassin!’
‘Even here!’ Nicholas said. He said it after a moment.
‘… But of course he is unknown. He entered the Palazzo unseen. Nevertheless, you are right. Whatever his colour, the Egyptians have paid him. Didn’t your army in Cyprus annihilate the entire Mameluke force in that island?’
‘They died, certainly,’ Nicholas said.
‘And their leader, in single combat with yourself?’
‘I did fight the Mameluke emir, it is true. I have his rather fine bow.’
‘And you killed him?’ The Magistrate was entranced.
‘The King killed him. I cut off his arm. He had no further need of his bow as a consequence,’ said Nicholas helpfully.
At this point, the Magistrate got up and insisted on shaking his hand. So did his secretary and one or two clerks. Something kindly was said about permits for weapons, and Nicholas was full of contrition. He had hesitated to apply. The Signory might consider he overvalued his services, to think himself endangered because of them. The Magistrate shook both hands, reassuring him.
Gregorio, who was feeling queasy, sat mute. He hardly opened his mouth for the rest of the interview. He might have found himself pointing out that nothing Nicholas had ever done had been intended for the profit of Venice. Venice had simply been lucky.
Returning in the official boat, Nicholas broke without hesitation into Flemish. ‘You’re all right? I can see Margot is. And the soul of discretion as usual. I thought you were about to explode.’
‘Two deaths were enough,’ Gregorio said. ‘So what was really behind it? Not that farrago about the Genoese or the Burgundians or the French? Anyway, what do you know about the news from Burgundy?’
Escorting Nicholas were two armed men with the Lion of St Mark on their breastplates. The Magistrate had decided that Nicholas ought to be protected. He said, ‘Come on, the dockyard always knows more than the Loggia. I heard as soon as I landed that the Duke had sent to beg off the papal crusade, and so the groat was bound to improve. Trading must have been at its wildest: I’m sorry.’
‘It rose three on the ducat,’ Gregorio said. ‘I sent a courier to your newest office in Bruges. It’s been quite inconvenient, your arrival. So who paid your assassin? Not the Sultan of Cairo, for God’s sake?’
‘Well, not for God’s sake,’ Nicholas said. ‘I might be on his list, but Mamelukes prefer quieter quieti; it would be a stab or some poison. I rather favour a madman from Bruges, although I hear Simon isn’t in Venice. Still, one of them could always have bribed some old loyal retainer. And of course, there are rival brokers. Has anyone tried to kill you of late?’
‘I suffer from overwork and neglect,’ Gregorio said, ‘but apart from that, no. Our one vicious rival is presently confining itself to killing the business, or trying to. You had a taste of the Vatachino in Cyprus. Would they murder?’
‘Their man in Cyprus wouldn’t,’ Nicholas said. ‘Or not yet. They don’t just want to get rid of us; they want to run rings round us beforehand. I’m not asking you what I want to ask you.’
‘I noticed,’ Gregorio said. ‘I propose to make you wait until we are private. My – your staff are good men. They saw you. What are you going to tell them?’
‘What do you think? Goro, they’ve been aching to have your life threatened. They long to be menaced. They want nothing more than to be the most hated Bank in Western Europe. I shall tell them that such is their power, the Signory’s own men have been sent to protect them. To make their wills, and pray, and prepare to become a legend in their own lifetimes. I think we have arrived.’
They had. Gregorio disembarked, and slipped the boatmen some coins, and turned to do something about the Signory’s bodyguard, such as send them down to the kitchens. He realized he was happy, and ravenous. He turned and found
Nicholas on the wharf, gazing up at the face of his Bank, with its handsome balcony and tall Gothic windows.
It was the briefest of surveys, but it called to mind that Nicholas had barely seen the mansion before, and never in occupation. He had created the business and left. Whatever his homecoming had spoiled, it hadn’t been the return to a home. He had none that Gregorio knew of, unless you counted an estate office in Cyprus. This building belonged to the Signory. And the house he had called home in Bruges had belonged to his wife, who was dead. It meant, as it turned out, that he could make himself at home instantly, anywhere.
It took him an hour to assimilate the Bank, from the entrance hall where Margot and Cristoffels received him to the third storey, where all the seniors but himself had their lodgings. Along with the geography of the Bank, he absorbed the people, from the clerks in the mezzanine counting-house to the men in the storerooms and warehouses, the boatmen at the wharves; the household servants indoors and out in the courtyard. He greeted many by name, and most with some obvious grasp of their duties.
It was not the magic it seemed: by every packet from Cyprus he had commanded this detail. The result, as he had foreseen, was to transform him at once from a symbol into a person. They were not going to like or respect him immediately, but the seeds had been sown; the easy manner barely touched with authority was perfectly judged. And, as he had divined, the events of the morning had done nothing to diminish his stature. He made light of his share, but hinted at the burdens borne by great institutions, whose success could shape kingdoms. They liked that.
It was the same in the counting-house after dinner when, alone with Cristoffels and Lopez, he and Gregorio went over the ledgers. It wasn’t the tête-à-tête Gregorio had either hoped for or dreaded. At the end, Nicholas closed the last cover and said, ‘Eighty thousand. We’re still low on capital, aren’t we? Because, I know, you’ve got the rest all out working. But the Republic isn’t going to ease up on war taxes, and we’re near the top of the list for her loans. You know I’ve been called to the Collegio tomorrow?’
‘I wrote to you that they wanted a loan,’ Gregorio said.
‘So the Crusade is still going on?’ Nicholas said. ‘Without France or Burgundy, with the Pope at death’s door?’
‘You sailed past Ancona,’ said Gregorio. ‘The papal fleet’s there, and the Pope is on his way to lead it. Every town is crammed full of soldiers waiting to join him. You must have seen them in Venice today. Spanish, Flemings, Germans, Sc –’
‘Scots, of course,’ Nicholas said. His face, across the short, laden table was shadowed, and the scar Jordan de Ribérac had given him sank into mild hollows. ‘And if the Crusade doesn’t happen? If the Pope dies, then Venice unaided has to sweep her own doorstep. In other words, find the means to keep her colonies free of the Turks. So what will she ask for? Ten thousand? Twenty? What can we stand?’
‘You see what we have,’ Gregorio said. ‘What can you add to it?’
‘Now I’ve stupidly walked out of Cyprus? Quite a lot,’ Nicholas said. ‘Ten thousand ducats a year from Loppe’s sugar, and a quarter of that from other trading, courtesy of the new agents we’ve established in Alexandria and Damascus. You know about that. And let’s say five thousand a year from half the army under Thomas and John, although that depends on the King, and on Cairo. Unfortunately, it all rather depends on the King’s whim and Cairo, but I think we could count on two years of it.’
‘Half the army?’ said Gregorio. One of their successes had been a highly trained mercenary troop, born from Marian de Charetty’s travelling bodyguard.
‘Yes. Captain Astorre has the other half, and the doctor’s gone with him. He was going to take a job here in Venice, until he heard who the commander-in-chief was. I thought I told you? You did get my last letter? I thought from your manner you must have.’
‘Yes. Yes, I did,’ Gregorio said.
‘Well, I didn’t mean you to forget all of it,’ Nicholas said. ‘So on top of what you expect, there’s perhaps a net fifteen thousand in prospect from me plus, of course, what I’ve brought on the ship. I got cullet. You did lease the island, and the Strozzis sent in their man?’
‘He’s there,’ Gregorio said. ‘In a booth near the Baroviers’. And there’s something else that will help. You asked about the ship that you lost.’
‘The ship I had stolen,’ Nicholas said. His face lightened. ‘The Vatachino have paid the insurance?’
‘In full. To the penny. For the loss of the ship and its rigging. For the loss of the contract you had with the King, and the trade it would have brought you. For the cargo it carried … Did it carry a cargo?’
‘I’m sure it did,’ Nicholas said. ‘And they paid it? You have all the money?’
‘All of it, although they tried very hard to avoid it. So they didn’t run rings round you this time. In fact, the money’s worth more than the roundship.’
‘It would be nice to have both,’ Nicholas said. ‘Meantime, thank God, we do have a galley. You haven’t told me where the Ciaretti is.’ He waited. ‘Goro? If she’s sunk, I’ll sink you with her.’
‘She’s in Ancona,’ Gregorio said. ‘Requisitioned for the Crusade. What do you think I could do to prevent it? It’s lucky you’ve got the Adorno you came with.’
‘Well, Great Jesus it would be, if she didn’t need a full repair and refit,’ Nicholas said. ‘She got blown up in Cyprus, and we had to patch her with oakum and horse-glue. You mean we haven’t a ship? I have to wait for the Adorno or hire one?’
Gregorio stared at him, sobered. He said, ‘Does it matter? The Flanders galleys can take on your cargo.’
Nicholas gazed back at him, saying nothing. It came to Gregorio that, with Cristoffels there, there were matters they hadn’t discussed, and that he had taken too much, it now seemed, for granted. He said slowly, ‘You do mean to stay? You have come back to stay with the Bank?’
Like a ghost from the past, one dimple appeared, and then vanished. ‘After what happened today?’ Nicholas replied. ‘I don’t know. I’ll tell you when I do. In a month’s time, perhaps. I want you to take me to Murano tomorrow. Will Julius have arrived?’
‘Julius?’ Gregorio said. He recovered. ‘You heard about that as well.’
‘Didn’t you want me to? Someone came on board who said there was a Bruges party on its way south. He remembered Julius from years ago. Why is he coming?’
When in doubt, tell the truth. Gregorio said, ‘To see you, very likely. And, of course, business. I don’t suppose he’ll be here all that soon.’
Julius was the notary of the Charetty company of Bruges, which had once employed all of them. Julius would have few qualms about relating the gossip of Bruges to his former companions whom – even yet – he could hardly bring himself to take seriously. Julius could be a curse, or a blessing.
Gregorio hesitated. He said, ‘You don’t – you really don’t know your ultimate plans?’
‘My ultimate plans!’ Nicholas said. ‘Of course I know my ultimate plans. To become the richest man in the world; and fart in the face of the devil. Be sure to tell Julius, if you happen to see him before I do.’
Later, sitting alone with Gregorio, Cristoffels said, ‘He is not the same as his letters. As clever, but not the same.’
‘He has been travelling,’ Gregorio said. ‘You are remembering him as he was. He is older.’
He saw Cristoffels glance at him, and then smile. He had to smile back. Age was relative. Nicholas was twenty-three.
Chapter 2
JULIUS OF BRUGES, thumping into the Ca’ Niccolò next day, pounded up the stairs to the private office and banged Gregorio on the back. Gregorio’s quill split, and he got up. He said, ‘You came. I didn’t expect you so … Good.’
‘You think I had any choice?’ Julius said. He often envied Gregorio, getting his own way for two and a half years. But, of course, that had come to an end. He looked about. ‘And very nice too. So what’s going on? Where is he?’
&n
bsp; ‘Nicholas went out early this morning,’ Gregorio said. ‘But Lopez is about; I’ll get someone to call him. You look very fresh. Did you have a good journey? Who came with you?’ Noticeably, he didn’t say what was going on. He looked, Julius thought, a little distraught. Julius was amused but of course, didn’t show it. He felt playful.
He said, ‘I brought along Tilde de Charetty. She’s sitting upstairs in your grand room with Margot. Your mistress and mine.’ It was a joke. Mathilde de Charetty, having inherited the Charetty company from her mother, was the employer of Julius. She was seventeen years old and no one’s mistress, as yet, in the other sense.
‘So how does she feel about Nicholas?’ Gregorio said, getting up and putting his doublet on. He called to someone as he opened the door. He looked really unhealthy. With Nicholas around, Julius wasn’t surprised. It had been Gregorio’s choice to leave the Charetty company and join Nicholas. The last time Nicholas had been in Bruges, Tilde and her sister had had him arrested.
Julius said, ‘I told her she damned well had to be polite, but you’ll never get her to trust him. All right, you came to Bruges and convinced her you could set up a branch without harming her. But now here’s Nicholas back, with a reputation that would sicken a weasel. Can we rely on him to respect an agreement?’
‘Yes,’ said Gregorio.
‘Well, that’s reassuring,’ said Julius tartly. He’d expected some help from Gregorio. They were of an age, and both lawyers. They had both been working for Tilde’s mother’s dyeworks in Bruges when Tilde’s mother took a fancy to one of her apprentices and married him. And now the apprentice occupied his own three-storey well-furnished Bank on the Grand Canal by the Rialto. Here.
Gregorio said, ‘I really can’t tell you more: he only came back yesterday morning, and we’ve talked nothing but business. But Tilde and Catherine, after all, are his step-daughters. I’m sure he won’t let them down.’
Scales of Gold: The Fourth Book of the House of Niccolo Page 3