The Unicorn Hunt (30 page)

There were seven years between them. The age difference between Marian and himself had been nearly three times as great. He did not like being called cousin Nicholas.

It amused him then to walk through the house, noting the changes; to penetrate to the kitchens and charm the cooks and chat to the yardmen and porters. On the way, he came face to face with young Catherine, breathless from running and still wrapped in cold furs. Her cheek was fresh when he kissed it, and her eyes were brilliant blue.

He said, ‘Gregorio and Diniz have commanded me. We’ll talk later,’ and squeezed her hand. It would be much later. Business had to come first, for there was not very much time, and he had to plan every moment accordingly. And, of course, he would be cornered by Godscalc and Tobie, who could not ask him in public what they most wanted to know. That would be the real inquisition, where they would demand answers and would, of course, get them. Of a sort.

So he went on, and found his way to the counting-house, big as a park, where he shook hands and greeted clerks and stopped once, to someone’s terrified pleasure, to leaf through a ledger and comment. It was not difficult. It was different. It was different with every return. However long he had known these men and women, none of them now treated him as an old boyhood playmate, or would dare. Which was what he wanted.

Tobie had stayed with him, doctor’s cap rolled in his fist, bald cranium pink with frustration. Tobias Beventini was of the same generation as Julius and Gregorio, but his snubbed pink face had always looked younger, until you examined the marks round the
small mouth and pale eyes. Service with Astorre had left its scars: an army doctor lives in the field and suffers as soldiers do, and sometimes more. It was a hunger for knowledge that sent Tobie abroad with his scalpel and saw – that, and a repugnance for the easy life of the studio, such as his famous uncle in Pavia enjoyed.

Jan Adorne was a student in Pavia. Walking with Nicholas now, Tobie managed one interjection. ‘You raised a sword to Adorne!’

And Nicholas said, ‘He had a very good doctor.’ Then the crowd about them claimed his attention again, until they reached the council-room at last, and their colleagues.

There was not enough room, even yet, for the luxury of a permanent table in the salon where the Charetty–Niccolò company met, and where it entertained its clients in Bruges. The Bank of Niccolò now employed thirty agents in the field, and had added eight clerks and factors to its already large staff in Venice, together with an under-manager for Cristoffels, who led the Venetian house.

It was obvious to all men of sense that Julius should not have been taken to Scotland, and that either he or Gregorio should be sent at once to operate the main Bank at Venice now that Nicholas de Fleury was back home in Bruges.

It was assumed he was going to stay. The commands streaming without cease from Scotland had seemed to herald – to confirm – the end of the sterile calm which had followed their African triumph. One ought, of course, to congratulate a man wealthy enough at twenty-eight to rusticate, if he chose, with his family. But the young padrone they thought they knew and had fostered – ablaze with ideas, theories, plans to force through new frontiers, to explode ancient barriers, tease and outwit former enemies – was the magnet they wanted to follow, even though few of them would admit it.

And only a few, of whom Gregorio was one, had taken time through the months to listen to Godscalc the priest when, thumping his stick with the claw-hand he had brought back from Africa, he would exclaim, ‘But whom are you following? Do you know? The boy you once liked? Or the man who has come from nowhere and is going nowhere, but like a meteor will end in dead rock and dust, and you with him?’

‘That was the man who went to Africa. I thought another came back,’ said Gregorio the first time. But as the winter passed, and the commands came hurtling from Scotland in impersonal and increasing profusion, Gregorio had avoided the priest and those
others who thought that men should not live by whim, but from conviction. And that Nicholas had no convictions.

Because it was true, in its way. It seemed that Nicholas had abjured whatever lessons the absent years and the desert had taught him, and had turned in their place to the pagan gods of men such as Crackbene, whom he had taken for pilot. And yet Gregorio, afraid though he was, understood, and could not condemn Nicholas outright. For the occupations of trade and of law were not, he felt, bad in themselves, and often drew others to greatness.

So the lawyer, overcast in mood, waited for Nicholas de Fleury in the council-room, and was joined by Julius (who would have been entertained by his misgivings) and by Godscalc, who slowly entered with Diniz and seated himself. Diniz was talking soberly of his mother. ‘Once Tilde is delivered, I’ll go to Scotland. With Nicholas, if he’ll let me.’

‘You should,’ Julius said. ‘That’s the place to be, I’ve got to say. You know Nicholas. He can spot opportunities the way other men can find water. You wouldn’t believe what he’s doing.’

‘Ask not the honey where swarmeth the bee,’ said the man he was talking about, entering with extreme suddenness, as if travelling to the seat of a fire. He threw a heap of papers on the cloth-covered table the secretaries used and sat down in the single chair at the end of it. There were benches along either side. His five partners settled about him while he leafed through his papers.

Being warmer, he looked slightly less bleak, Gregorio thought, but his manner remained the reverse of intimate, and the loose sable velvet and the resplendent sleeves distanced him further. Gregorio saw again, on his skin, the fading scars and marks that once had been burns. Tobie’s eyes had been fixed on them also. There was no need to speculate. Whatever had happened, Julius would tell them, in detail.

Gregorio set his papers, too, before him and listened, while Nicholas de Fleury addressed them briefly from where he sat, and called on him to speak. No time was being lost. Time was money. Time was not only money, but a black, unquantifiable space waiting to be filled by a summons from somewhere unknown. Gregorio shivered and, picking up the first of the documents, began to make his report.

He had forgotten how numerate Nicholas de Fleury was. Some of the questions, which descended like pricks of a measuring-compass whenever Gregorio paused, were answered by Diniz, flushed but ready; some by the others. Debate was allowed, if compressed. Three times, their interlocutor let them see he was out of temper.

The first time, Gregorio had presented the situation in Egypt and Syria, where the Bank’s interests were controlled from the Venetian trading station at Alexandria. Their factor there was John le Grant, engineer and shipmaster. Nicholas had sent to have him recalled.

‘And he is on his way home?’ Nicholas said.

‘With the Middle Sea about to go up in flames? I know you wanted it,’ Gregorio said, ‘but we might lose a ship, or he might never get back to Egypt, or he might lose the goodwill of this Sultan. I did pass on your order, but he sent to explain why he’s staying.’ He paused. ‘He’s right, I’m sure. You have to know the situation.’

‘And you think I don’t know the situation?’ Nicholas said. His voice had not changed. He said, ‘Whom did you send with the letter?’

‘A Florentine captain. One of our men took it to Pisa.’ He felt Tobie move.

Nicholas said, ‘When this meeting is finished, I shall write you another, and you will send it south today. Four of my own men-at-arms will go with it. The situation will then be conducive to John le Grant obeying my orders, whether his opinion differs from mine or not. Perhaps you would bear that in mind for another time.’

‘You will lose him,’ said Godscalc. It was the first time he had spoken.

‘Is he mine now?’ Nicholas said; and dismissed the subject.

After that, Gregorio trod very carefully. But it was impossible to avoid mentioning the army and Captain Astorre, and what they had faced, compelled to fight for Burgundy in Liège.

Nicholas listened. ‘He is a mercenary,’ he said. ‘He has chosen to fight other men’s wars regardless of principle. Why balk now?’

‘He thinks of Bruges as his town,’ Gregorio said. ‘A place with its own freedoms. He saw Liège as another such, maybe. Or perhaps it was just the treachery. The French were tricked into abetting the massacre. Even the Archers were sickened. You must have heard of it.’

‘Yes, I heard of it,’ Nicholas said. ‘So, like John le Grant, Astorre would prefer to pick his own sphere of action? Is this a request to annul his contract with the Charetty company?’

‘It is a request to see you,’ Gregorio said. ‘He is in camp at St Omer. It is not a matter of money. He will serve you anywhere else you care to send him.’ Again, he paused. ‘Venice is calling for mercenaries. The Senate has written to you twice.’

‘To help when the Middle Sea goes up in flames. Now I remember. You have experienced,’ Nicholas said, ‘a certain amount of confusion, haven’t you, while I have been away? It all seems perfectly simple. You should have sent Astorre to manage ships and keep books in Alexandria, and brought back John le Grant to lead the Burgundian army. What other dissatisfied friends do we have? Tobie?’

The doctor finished reflectively blowing his nose. He said, ‘I agree with Astorre. If you want him to stay, you’ll have to invent a whole new philosophy.’

‘And you?’ Nicholas said. Julius was smiling. Gregorio realised that this must be nothing new: that Nicholas had behaved in this way also in Scotland.

Tobie said, ‘I like unwinding guts from trees. I don’t need to stay with him or you.’ It meant, Gregorio knew, that he intended to stay beside Godscalc, but he didn’t suppose Nicholas realised it.

Nicholas said, ‘When did I ever ask it? I thought you were doing something constructive with books, that is all. No doubt Astorre can make up his own mind.’

‘You won’t go to St Omer?’ Diniz said. Below his dark skin he had paled. He said, ‘Nicholas, I wouldn’t do what Astorre and the rest had to do. Or I wouldn’t promise anyone that I would do it twice.’

Nicholas gazed at him.

Diniz said, ‘Duke Charles is not like Urbino. He is a ruthless man, and less able by far than his father. There are other wars.’

Nicholas said, ‘But I want Astorre fighting for Burgundy. If I can, I shall go and see him. So, what next? The Vatachino?’

‘Intensifying their competition, but we are watching them,’ Gregorio said, with more confidence. Opposition, even from their most powerful rival, had never done more than stimulate Nicholas. He added, ‘They’ve increased their agents, as we have, and added a third senior partner based, we think, in Genoa. They’ve also resorted to spoiling tactics: rumours that you’re going to close down and retire; that you came back with less gold than you say; even that you bought some gold which later vanished.’

‘Someone knows that we lost what the first roundship carried,’ Nicholas said. ‘That’s interesting. It may even mean the Vatachino themselves were the pirates. It sounds, anyway, as if they’re afraid of us.’

‘I think the Vatachino bribed the crew and stole the gold,’ Diniz said. ‘You said you wanted to find it. We haven’t tried very hard. I think we should get one of these men and beat the truth out of him. They tried to buy over Gregorio.’

‘And John le Grant,’ said Gregorio dryly.

Nicholas surveyed him. ‘You think his resistance to bribery deserves more than a beakful of preen-oil? Of course he stayed. He doesn’t like the Vatachino. He likes the Bank, and its ships, and his freedom to think up new toys. Of course you stayed; you have Margot to think of. Of the rest of you, Julius wouldn’t leave, Godscalc couldn’t, and Diniz is far too well off as he is. The Bank is thus protected against major defectors, and the other kind don’t have access to ledgers.’

‘Congratulations,’ said Tobie. ‘An eloquent dissertation on company loyalty. So we have the Vatachino sized up. What about our other competitors? Tell us about Simon de St Pol of Kilmirren, whose hand you shook so honestly here in the summer. Now we’ve got him and his father swearing they’ll ruin the Bank. I’m a shareholder, and I want to know why.’

Gregorio said, ‘Is the reason important? We know Simon’s temper and it has not been – forgive me, Nicholas – the easiest of times, either, for a man separated from his wife. All we need to know is that the Bank is none the worse for what has happened, and Julius has assured me of that. There is nothing that Kilmirren can do to harm us in Scotland, from what I have heard.’

‘And de Ribérac?’ Tobie said. ‘He’s in Bruges. For God’s sake, his daughter Lucia is dead, and it won’t take him long to hear about your tussle with Simon – dockside gossip will spread it. Maybe the Bank is safe from Kilmirren the Younger, but the old man has influence.’

‘He is in Bruges?’ Nicholas said. He looked at Gregorio.

‘Gregorio didn’t know,’ Tobie said. ‘I found out today. He and the Vatachino are at one another’s hearts and livers, I’m happy to tell you.’

‘Tobie told me,’ said Diniz. ‘I shall have to go to de Ribérac. I’m his grandson. I thought – I hoped –’

‘That I would go with you,’ said Nicholas.

‘You could tell him how it happened,’ Julius said. ‘His other brat of a grandson tried to kill you, and Lucia got herself drowned coming to beg you not to give Henry away. I’m sorry, Diniz, but that was what happened. And that’s why you needn’t be troubled about what Simon or his father can do to the Bank of Niccolò. I was there. I saw what Henry did. He walked up to Nicholas and pushed a knife into him up to the hilt. He meant to kill him all right.’

‘He was spoiled,’ Diniz said. He bit his lip. He said, ‘Gregorio told us. He didn’t say why.’

‘A good enough reason for a child,’ Nicholas said. ‘Someone insulted his father.’

‘You?’ said Diniz. Tobie opened his mouth and then closed it, glancing at Godscalc.

‘Did I insult him? No. It was another child, the King’s brother. Henry lost his head in the lists and tried to deprive the poor prince of his eyes. He didn’t like being stopped.’

Godscalc said, ‘That was all? When you tried to restrain him, the child turned his attack upon you? And you were injured, but didn’t report it?’