Caprice and Rondo - Dorothy Dunnett [32]
On the slopes of the opposite bank stood a castle, to which the Court was shortly shifting, they said, from Lancisia. Anselm Adorne might already be here, with his letters of credence, which was why the captain had lodged on the foreshore. The captain wished to spare Colà speech with Adorne, and Nicholas did not mind being spared. Benecke had not yet put into words his own plans for the summer, but was preparing the ground by making sure that Colà never went thirsty. Nicholas, who understood his dilemma, fully appreciated his sudden good fortune, but still got drunk only at night.
So that his movements would be known to someone, he had sent his usual letter, which Mistress Clémence would receive in three weeks or perhaps longer. He had also sent a note to the Patriarch. It was amusing, in its way, that the only two people who were not in the slightest degree repelled by his treachery were his priest and his notary. Although he couldn’t even say that, strictly speaking. The Patriarch, although unremittingly predatory, was not in fact his personal priest and Julius, although still serving the Bank, could not now be viewed as his lawyer. He had no staff. He had no one. He was free.
Nicholas wondered if it were true that Anna had confirmed her part-ownership of the Fleury. If it was, she was welcome. He could hardly claim it. His share belonged to the Bank. He dreamed that night of Anna, as he often did; and lay awake for a time after that, wondering where she was, and whether she was tired of being married to Julius. But however disappointing Julius in action might be, he was rewarding to look at. They made a magnificent pair, as once he and Gelis had done. But nothing lasted for ever. He reached for the flask, always there, and emptied it thoughtfully.
IT WAS ROBIN who pointed out that Adorne ought to be told, when Benecke’s daughter arrived with the news they were waiting for. Kathi admired her new husband’s character, but sometimes regretted his lack of low cunning.
Now they knew where Paúel Benecke was, they could have slipped off without telling anyone. The house was frequently empty. The Patriarch shuttled between Royal Prussia and Royal Poland at will, and might stay with bishops, courtiers or his fellow Franciscans for several days at a time, if they happened to keep a good table. Periodically, too, her uncle found himself carried off to endure an unwanted few days of hunting, fishing, and feasting in the country homes of the Danzig élite, while negotiations ground to a halt. Everything that a Danziger did for his King was rewarded with land: villages and lakes, fishing pools and forests and ferries were showered upon him. A good German merchant in Danzig might own whole streets of houses and gardens, granaries and baths, lucrative facilities on the wharves. They were rich, and enjoyed being hospitable. With Adorne away, pale with frustration, there would have been plenty of time to escape from the city and make for this mysterious spot towards which (Elzbiete would have them believe) her father and his unsuspecting friend Colà were solemnly engaged in propelling a raft.
At first, of course, Adorne had forbidden them sharply to go. Kathi had allowed Robin to plead his own case, and had been taken aback at how well he did it. Her uncle himself could not move; the merchants here had him at their mercy until he obtained some agreement. But Kathi had made friends with Paúel Benecke’s daughter. And Paúel Benecke, in a way, held the key to the dispute over the San Matteo. To see him might be advantageous.
‘I don’t understand,’ Adorne had said. ‘You expect Benecke to admit to acting outside the law?’
‘Not in public,’ Robin had said. ‘But he might just drop us