Caprice and Rondo - Dorothy Dunnett [47]
The captain felt his face growing hot. The last time he saw him, Colà had been no drunker than he was, and still walking. Colà had no reason for staying in Mewe, unless he had secret designs upon Gerta. This was more likely to do with the girl Katelijne. Colà had wanted her: maybe he’d got her for good, with Elzbiete’s diligent help. Maybe he’d gone north with Katelijne and her complaisant young husband. The captain enquired, breathing heavily, if this were the case.
The Patriarch had pulled out a Gospel and was riffling the pages, releasing a staccato odour of onion followed by a closing gasp of fried goat. ‘Oh, no, no, no, no,’ he said. ‘That little girl? No, no, no. He’s going to Thorn, after the other one.’
‘Thorn?’ The town of Thorn was where the King came. Where the Court came. Where Callimaco came. Where Colà had previously elected, with good sense, not to go. Where, in the course of its travels, the entire mission, led by the Patriarch and Adorne, would be arriving. Colà had inexplicably changed all his plans and, without informing him, had gone south to Thorn … ‘after the other one.’
‘What other one?’ had asked Paúel Benecke after an interval.
And Father Ludovico da Bologna had answered him with unstinted good cheer. ‘The Gräfin Anna, of course. That black-haired German beauty who married his notary Julius. Anna and her husband are in Poland on business. Now Nicholas knows, he’s going to meet them in Thorn. I was to tell you.’
‘What were you to tell me?’ said the captain softly.
‘That you weren’t to wait for me,’ said Colà’s voice. ‘But I thought I’d better see you myself.’
Paúel Benecke stood. Colà was looking down from the edge of the jetty, bare-armed and broad, with his contusions clear in the daylight. You could see the older marks, too, from all the other times: from the bear-hunt; the wrangle outside the Artushof; the scuffle they’d had over that girl. Paúel said, still speaking softly, ‘Come aboard.’ His crew, grinning, were gathering round him.
‘And have them punch me until I agree? You won’t persuade me that way.’ Colà spoke gently as well.
‘Maybe not. But it would please me a good deal, and men would see what it means when you try to make a fool of Paúel Benecke. Or,’ said Paúel levelly, ‘they could quite as easily join you up there.’
‘Well, of course. But think of all the sailing we’d miss. I can’t join you just now, but later, or next season, we could still do something together. Iceland? Africa?’
Paúel Benecke gave a faint, distorted smile. The movement he made was quite slight, but as he made it, fifty men leaped from the raft-edge to the jetty and laid hands on Colà, who resisted querulously for a moment, then gave in. Paúel Benecke emitted a laugh. Then he stretched up his good hand, for something was pricking his neck under the dressing.
It was the priest’s eating-knife. Benecke started to turn. The priest’s powerful arm bent round his chest, and the knife-point dug deeper. ‘Tell them to let de Fleury go and come back,’ said Father Ludovico da Bologna peaceably.
It was ridiculous. The man was an idiot. And in any case, priests didn’t kill. Benecke, no longer smiling, began to make the crooked, disabling move that would free him, and unexpectedly yelled. Fresh blood gushed down his neck. The priest said, ‘Tell them.’
He told them. The men on the jetty hesitated, then, freeing their captive, began to scramble back on to the raft, their expressions ranging from amazement to cheerful derision. ‘That’s right,’ said the priest. He still gripped both Benecke and the knife. ‘And now tell them to cast off and get away. And no turning back, and no reprisals, or you’ll blubber in Hades. I show God’s mercy to imprisoned spirits, but I have this free hand with flesh born in corruption.’
Shaking with rage, the captain heard himself giving the orders. His eyes never left Colà. He said, ‘Sheltering beneath a priest’s skirts.’
‘Have you sniffed them?’ Colà said. ‘I didn’t know he’d do that. I didn’t need to come here. You gave me a good winter, and