Caprice and Rondo - Dorothy Dunnett [25]
Did he pretend to do something, then?
Oh, the rogue, no: he pretended to pretend, but all the time …! The thumb-marks next day!
It was all comfortable, coarse and not unfriendly: the feminine equivalent of the Bergenfahrers. A little flushed, Kathi collected her wits and replied as cheerfully and uninformatively as she could. Fortunately, there was no one else to be embarrassed: Robin was at the Town Hall, where the Council and Jury were receiving my lord Anselm Adorne and the Patriarch on the first full day of official meetings. The morning was wearing away before she managed to enquire where Paúel Benecke lived.
She had asked Barbara Bischoff, one of the daughters, but a different girl remarked, ‘Why? Have you met him?’ The speaker was built like a bison, and was eight inches taller than Kathi. Barbara giggled.
Kathi said, ‘I met him in Iceland with Nicholas de Fleury, Lord Beltrees. Or Colà, he calls himself now.’
‘Did they share you?’ enquired the young woman.
‘Elzbiete!’ the girl Barbara said.
‘No, my brother and Robin were there, and Lord Beltrees, of course, was still married. You know Lord Beltrees?’ Kathi said with exquisite nonchalance. ‘Under both names?’ The conversation about her was dwindling.
‘Colà z Brugge the madman, of course. Everyone knew who he was: they all kept quiet, for they thought he was spying. You say, was still married?’ said the girl.
‘To a lady called Gelis van Borselen. They have separated since, and await an annulment. I hope he is in no danger,’ said Kathi solicitously. ‘I know that Captain Benecke owes him his life.’
‘I should not thank Colà for that,’ the young woman said. ‘Paúel Benecke is a black whoring rat.’
Through a chorus of screams, Barbara patted the girl’s brawny arm while explaining to Kathi: ‘Paúel Benecke is her father. What she says is quite true. Did you want to meet Colà? Nikolás of Fleury, as you say?’
Kathi swallowed. She said, ‘I should like to surprise him.’
‘That can be arranged,’ said the thoughtful bass of Elzbiete. ‘So, tell us what you know of Nikolás, Colà. Does he keep extravagant mistresses, or does he make do with inexpensive bought favours, as here? Was his wife, Gelis, frigid? Is he a vigorous man, and well made, as they say? Is he depicted in the great painting at Oliva?’
‘None of his wives was what you’d call frigid. What great painting?’ said Kathi, slow for once.
Someone coughed. Bischoff’s lady wife said, ‘A picture of men, unsuitable for unmarried girls. You do not need to reply. Give me a few hours to arrange it, and you and Elzbiete may surprise our wicked Colà z Brugge before supper.’
‘Wicked?’ said Kathi.
‘In charm,’ said Barbara’s stepmother. ‘In the extent of his charm, and his escapades. Look how Elzbiete is bewitched. And now, of course, our girls can command a good dowry.’
Someone else coughed. ‘That’s nice,’ Kathi said, and smiled at Elzbiete.
WHEN HER UNCLE and Robin returned, Kathi was sitting alone, half undressed, in her room. With dusk, the din outside her windows had reduced itself to the constant tramping of feet, and the roar of men’s voices in song or obscenity. Danzig was well provided with ale. Then a door banged from inside the house, and she heard her husband’s light voice, and the velvet timbre of her uncle’s polished German. The Patriarch, it seemed, was not there.
In a moment, Robin would leap upstairs to find her. She did not want that. Her gown lay by her bed. The opulent ladies of Danzig had already examined, in silence, its meagre proportions: she had always been small, with the slight, wiry build of a child. Her eyes were hazel, not blue, and her hair plainly brown, against the flaxen bounty of Elzbiete