Scales of Gold (78 page)

Apart from the fact that he was now twenty-six, the Nicholas of today was not even like the Nicholas of three years ago, never mind
eight. Three years ago, he had been in the city all day, interviewing, discussing, prosecuting his business. He had given a feast, and been entertained in all the great houses.

This time, aside from his official reception by the Doge, and another at the Collegio, the only appointment he kept outside his house was one at the Camaldolite monastery on the island of San Michele, to which he went unaccompanied. For the rest, everyone who wished to see him, or he wished to see, came to the Ca’ Niccolò.

During the ghostly grey days of December, there arrived a procession of eager gentlemen who would pass from the mezzanine office of Julius to the big chamber with its bed and its desk which Nicholas had again made his own, there to resume the fascinating exchanges about cloth and carpets and rope-walks which had been interrupted by the hiatus three years before.

These he would entertain with great courtesy, but never keep long. Others, like Marietta Barovier from Murano, he would keep for a short while at his desk, and then lead through to the long central chamber whose front balcony overlooked the canal, there to talk and take some light refreshment.

Sometimes Tobie found himself asked to attend, and sometimes not. He became increasingly puzzled. After the visit of the extraordinary female glassmaker, Tobie invited himself to Margot’s room to discuss it.

He knew he was welcome, if only because she was weary of Julius and shared his misdoubting affection for Nicholas. She rose from her sewing to pour him some wine and, sitting, said, ‘They would have a lot to talk about. Barovier supplies the glass for the spectacles the Florentine makes. You know he’s taken on an assistant, and they’ve quadrupled the business? And now that the Strozzi sons have been allowed back from exile, they can help more directly.’

‘She was talking about mosque lamps,’ Tobie said. ‘And table fountains. And alum. It seems Venice needs a lot of alum now the glass business is growing. You knew that the first big trading deal Nicholas ever made was to do with an alum monopoly?’

‘I remember all the secrecy,’ Margot said. ‘It’s a powder, isn’t it? They dig it up in Turkey and Rome, and dyers and glassmakers need it. I thought the Medici had the Roman rights. Or don’t they, now Cosimo’s dead?’

‘It’s shaky,’ said Tobie. ‘Cardinal Bessarion has a lot of say in it now, I believe. Friend of Julius and Godscalc.’ He watched Margot thinking.

She said, ‘And of course, there isn’t a Medici branch now in
Venice, since Martelli died. Tobie? Are we wrong? Nicholas is in business again?’

It was what had mystified them both about Nicholas. He conducted business all right, but all the initiative came from outside. He had begun nothing new, only enhanced what was already there, or what Julius had begun to restore.

In fact, it was all that was necessary. Built on its new, secure base, the Bank could hardly avoid increasing its wealth on its loans business alone; and with the bought-back
Adorno
, they had three ships in the water making profits. Julius handled the day-to-day routine trade. And the rest of the time, Nicholas could spend as he chose. He spent it in his room. They didn’t know how he spent it.

Tobie said, ‘He didn’t rise to it. I think Marietta was disappointed as well. That is, he was calm and practical and agreeable and sketched her some rather nice drawings of table fountains with the suggestion that she get someone to make them. Nicholas! Who used to throw off schemes like a Catherine wheel!’

‘Julius appreciates the change,’ Margot said. ‘Smitten with awe, his staff are working twice as hard as before, while Julius is still free to go to all the best suppers. Privately, Julius thinks Nicholas has come back beaten in spirit, like Godscalc. Or he’s sick.’

‘He’s recovered now,’ Tobie said.

Margot looked at him. ‘He talks to you.’

‘About medical books. I’ve never heard how he got over the Sahara. All I know about the Ethiopia attempt is what you’ve told me of Godscalc’s account. When I met him in Oran, Nicholas looked the way he looked after Famagusta. I told him.’

‘And?’ Margot said.

‘He said Famagusta was only a rehearsal,’ Tobie said. ‘But that’s all he said.’

The most frequent callers, after the merchants, were the geographers, the sailing-masters and the makers of maps. The first to come was Alvise da Ca’ da Mosto with two friends, one of whom was the Ancona cartographer Gratioso Benincasa, who was making a map of Timbuktu. After they had gone, Tobie said, ‘You weren’t very helpful.’

‘Wasn’t I?’ Nicholas said. He had filled out a little, but not much, and was still wearing the loose, quilted garments Margot had had made for him against the season’s seeping cold.

‘I gather Ca’ da Mosto was generous enough with his advice,’ Tobie said.

‘He’s a Venetian. Benincasa makes maps for anybody.’

Julius, this time, had joined them. ‘The Genoese?’ he said. ‘You think he’s making maps for the Vatachino?’

‘He’s making this map for the former Milanese envoy Prosper Schiaffino de Camulio de’ Medici,’ Nicholas said. ‘Remember him?’

Julius stopped drumming his fingers. ‘He represented the Genoese in your alum deal. Nicholas. They threw him out of Genoa in February, and the Medici wouldn’t have him in Florence. He plots.’

‘So why does he want a map of Guinea?’ Nicholas said. ‘You work it out.’

‘The Vatachino likes plotters,’ said Tobie. ‘I see the dangers. All the same. You aren’t going to let all this information go for nothing? Godscalc has sent all he knows to Bessarion.’

‘Then no doubt they’ll commission a rutter in Rome,’ Nicholas said.

‘But not in Venice? You went to San Michele,’ said Julius. ‘Was that not about maps?’

‘I had a book for the abbot,’ said Nicholas. ‘And I wanted to commission copies of others. As for maps, I’m not particularly interested in helping the Genoese.’

‘Or anyone else?’ Tobie had said. ‘You don’t really want anyone to go where you’ve been. Why is that?’

‘They have troubles enough,’ Nicholas said. ‘We have all the money we need. We’d only be helping our rivals.’

‘And the Church’s mission?’ Tobie said. ‘Or don’t you mind their rivals?’

‘As much as you do,’ Nicholas said.

It began to exasperate Julius. Now Tobie had come, Julius had expected Nicholas to march off to Bruges and set in motion a splendid watertight case which would enable them to recover the
Ghost
. He had further expected him to spend money in Lisbon, and even go there, to pursue both the
Ghost
and the case against the
Fortado
.

Failing both these things, Julius had offered to do the work for him, but Nicholas had refused. Nicholas complained enough about the Genoese and the Vatachino, and yet he wouldn’t seize the chance to attack when he had it.

‘He’s had enough travelling,’ Tobie said. ‘Give him time.’

The Feast of St Nicholas and the Feast of Christmas had both passed with due celebration, organised wholly by Julius, on a scale enjoyed by the staff and admired by its clients. Epiphany came and went. Julius reported to Nicholas all that was happening.

The market in Bruges was still depressed because of the quarrel with Scotland: Bonkle had gone to Scotland to find out what was happening. The ducal wedding had been postponed until June.
When it came, it should profit both Gregorio and Diniz. Under Diniz, the Charetty company had rallied.

Nearer home, the Bank’s mercenary troops under Captain Astorre were still in Albania, helping to hold Scutari and Croia against the Turkish invader. Recently, Astorre had been joined by the rest of his army from Cyprus. Now, that is, that there was no place for his army in Cyprus.

There was no need to go into details over that. All the news about Cyprus had been rushed to Nicholas by the Venetians. By, to be precise, Caterino Zeno, Venetian merchant (of alum) and his exquisite lady the Trapezuntine princess Violante, who had called to see their dear and respected young friend, and congratulate him on his amazing venture. It was perhaps a mark of what Margot felt about Violante of Naxos that she admitted them both to the Ca’ Niccolò. When Nicholas smiled at her, receiving them, Margot had felt deservedly guilty.

Rumour, which was generally right, said that Nicholas had been the lover of two if not three of the remarkable princesses of Naxos, while remaining on cordial terms with their husbands. On this occasion, all the civilities over, Caterino had introduced the subject of Cyprus.

’What was happening when you left? The Vatachino had been given the dyeworks, and the unfortunate Zorzi expelled (you know his Bruges business failed?). And then – of course, your fees would be affected – King Zacco’s increased tribute to Cairo made it impossible for him to pay the army, or the dues for the sugar estates, yours and ours.

‘We all wished, my dear Niccolò,’ said Signor Caterino Zeno with a smile, ‘that during your stay on the island, you had been a little less hard on the Mamelukes. However. No one has attempted to slay you, I believe, on this visit? And I have to tell you that conditions in Cyprus are improving. And will improve more.’

Margot watched him watch Nicholas. The Venetian sugar estates were the largest in Cyprus, next to those run by the Banco di Niccolò. As Zeno had said, no dues had come from either since the King ran out of money. She knew Nicholas had received nothing from his private farms either.

Nicholas said, ‘I’m glad to hear it. Who will benefit?’

‘Oh, everyone,’ had said Zeno expansively. ‘The whole of Venice. Every Venetian with interests on the island. If you lose the royal estates, there will be others for you, I am sure. After King Zacco is married.’

‘You think so?’ Nicholas said. ‘I heard he hoped for a Queen from either Naples or Rome.’

‘Tattle,’ said Zeno. ‘When a man is young and unmarried and has need of legitimate heirs, such talk will go round. No. He has chosen a Venetian bride.’

‘Not someone I know? Not a kinswoman of your own?’ Nicholas asked. His voice was awe-struck.

‘Are we not honoured? And you have met her. You remember Catherine?’ Violante of Naxos enquired. ‘My sister’s daughter? I am to be the aunt of a Queen. I feel aged.’

‘In no respect, except perhaps when compared in age with a child,’ Nicholas said. ‘Can she be marriageable?’

‘She is thirteen,’ said the merchant. ‘We expect womanhood in a matter of months. And meantime the papers are signed. King Zacco of Cyprus became a son of Venice by proxy this morning. A pretty sight. All the other children were there. Our young Pietro as well. Violante and I were lamenting. Had he not been born a boy, Zacco’s eye might have fallen on him.’

Both dimples appeared. ‘Don’t despair,’ said Nicholas, smiling.

On the way to their boat, Violante detained him. Perhaps she knew Margot was near; perhaps she didn’t. ‘Deprivation suits you,’ she said. ‘But where is the sweet young ox that once I favoured? I hear you live the life of a monk. I hear you do not even console the motherly Margot.’

‘Have I made a mistake?’ Nicholas said. ‘I didn’t know that consolation was what I was supposed to be dispensing. I must have let you down badly.’

She was beautiful, and clever, and no more visibly engaged than he was. ‘You and Zacco,’ she said. ‘I am told he remembers you still. He has put aside your Primaflora long ago. You must not let this new marriage affect you. It is good for Venice.’

There was a note of something that might have been wistfulness in her voice. Nicholas said, ‘Poor Zacco. Doesn’t he deserve something a little closer to his own tastes? I thought your husband, by the way, looked rather poorly. Do take care of him.’

Violante of Naxos flicked him on the cheek and, laughing, walked to the edge of the wharf.

‘Bitch,’ said Margot.

‘I thought you were there,’ Nicholas said. ‘Do you want me to console you?’

‘Not if you want to stay here,’ Margot said. ‘What do you think all that will mean?’

‘At a guess? The Venetian families get the royal sugar franchise. Cyprus becomes a Venetian fortress, with Zacco its puppet. Cairo loses its tribute, and is therefore keener to trade with people like
me. And John le Grant is out of a job. He might do rather well in Alexandria. Shall I suggest it to Julius?’

‘You’re the head of the Bank,’ Margot said.

‘No. They are. Gregorio and Julius. I,’ Nicholas said, ‘am the evil genius who whispers from time to time in their ears, but prefers to be absent.’

But he hadn’t been absent.

Then February came, and one morning, at dawn, a messenger at the door of the Ca’ Niccolò. At first the porter refused to let him in, but when the man presented a paper, the porter opened the door. Margot, in her bedgown, said, ‘What?’

‘For my lord Niccolò,’ said the porter. ‘This man has been paid to bring such a message whenever it comes, and to deliver it personally.’

‘Come with me,’ Margot said.

Afterwards, she thought that Nicholas had heard the disturbance; or perhaps he had been sleeping lightly. At any rate, she had hardly knocked before the door opened. Nicholas looked from her to the man, who held out the packet he carried.

‘Wait,’ said Nicholas. ‘Margot, will you excuse me?’

There was a lamp already lit by his desk. He took the packet over, and lifted scissors and snipped all the threads. The seal had told her nothing, except that it was made from poor wax. Then Nicholas turned and came back.

He really observed her then, she thought, for the first time, and caught her by the wrist, saying, ‘It’s all right.’ Then he turned to the messenger. ‘This is what I was expecting. You received your wage?’

‘Every week, my lord,’ said the man.

‘Good. Then our arrangement has come to an end. But you have been watchful. I appreciate it. Let me close the transaction with this.’

She couldn’t see how many gold coins there were in his palm, but she heard the man’s gasp. He coloured, and tried to kiss the hand that had given them to him. Then he backed off and ran.

‘Well?’ said Nicholas to Margot, standing still in the doorway. ‘What news was it, do you think?’