Caprice and Rondo - Dorothy Dunnett [252]
‘How do you know?’ Nicholas said. His voice sounded dry. He could not be there by the summer. He could not be there at all.
Julius said, ‘The Bruges office has been trying to find you. As soon as they knew where we were, they sent couriers. I got a message at Novgorod. I have another for you.’ He handed over a letter.
It was in Gelis’s writing. Nicholas didn’t open it. He said simply, ‘Rudolfo?’
But the architect slowly shook his dark head, his face sympathetic. ‘The Grand Duchess won’t let you go.’
Anna’s face was pallid and puzzled. Even Julius looked shocked. Nicholas said, ‘I can’t come. Julius, you’ll have to go. Please go. Please help them.’
‘Of course you can go!’ Anna said sharply. ‘Isn’t it worth it? Isn’t it worth at least trying, even if Zoe’s men were to kill you? Don’t you owe Gelis that much at least?’ She stared at him, the bones of her face stark through the flesh. (If Julius were dead, would you love me?) ‘You can escape! Surely you can escape, with our help! Nicholas, what are you thinking of?’
Of Gelis. Of Jodi. Of Kathi. He said, ‘You might be killed as well. No. Go. Go and help them.’
Then Anna rose to her feet and said, ‘I do not think I wish to share a room with a self-seeking coward. Goodbye.’
The door closed. After a moment Julius also rose, murmured something apologetic and followed her.
The architect said, ‘What will happen?’ He glanced at Pietro, who looked surprised, and then left.
‘They won’t go,’ Nicholas said. He had put the letter away. His jammed hands rattled into each other, and his heart was in torque to a windlass.
‘You believe so?’ said the other man doubtfully.
‘I know so,’ said Nicholas. Which, of course, was the case. Which left David de Salmeton in Bruges. Which left all those he loved unprotected. Or unprotected by him. Or unprotected by him, except in a way they would never know.
And now, he felt he had too much to bear.
Chapter 35
IN BRUGES, AS ELSEWHERE, the months of silence passed, bringing apprehension but not yet the pain that the months of revelation would inflict. The only reports that reached Spangnaerts Street without fail had to do with the achievements in Scotland of the former Vatachino agent David de Salmeton.
De Salmeton was remaining in Edinburgh. He was deepening and expanding his Scottish involvement: riding north with King James to quell risings; encouraging the King to favour Italian merchants; and guiding Prosper de Camulio to better relations with the English King and the Pope. In trade, he was competing directly and astutely with the Berecrofts family, and with Kathi’s brother Sersanders, and his efficient, undesirable partner Andro Wodman. Since the previous year, de Salmeton had attempted no further assaults. The menace, dressed in mockery, lay in that remorseless stream of small notifications, for this deal or that, which burst upon the desks of half the merchants in Bruges every time a Scots cargo came in. I am here. I am waiting.
Waiting for Nicholas.
News came, of course, from Astorre and John le Grant with the Duke. Winter had not stopped Charles of Burgundy from his impassioned attempt to consolidate and safeguard his south-eastern frontiers and, with Savoy as his ally, to punish the Swiss, and to crush young Rene of Lorraine (With the aid of God and St George, I go to liberate the subjects of Burgundy). Ambassadors, floundering after his train, found themselves placed on a col three thousand feet up, deep in the snow, in order to witness a parade of the Burgundian