Caprice and Rondo - Dorothy Dunnett [65]
The sun was shining, for once, and although the wind was high and the clouds had an untrustworthy appearance, the merchants of the Artushof had set aside that afternoon for a contest of crossbow and sword of the kind at which Julius shone. He had already been threatening to go, whether Adorne was to be present or not. Now, at least, Kathi would know Adorne’s movements. He might be with the King at the castle. He might already be planning to leave.
In any case, Nicholas was very conscious that this would be the last occasion on which he and Kathi would speak together in Poland: perhaps the last occasion in life. He had not been entirely sure, when Anna suggested it, that he wanted this meeting. There was too much about it that was difficult. It couldn’t repair what was irreparable, and might end by making it worse. But since Anna had asked it, he did not want to refuse. He would not admit to more than that: he could not afford to.
He walked away with Lipnicki, having left a message for Julius. The man — a superior servant? A clerk from the Artushof? — led Nicholas over the square but, instead of turning towards Adorne’s house, walked between the booths and stalls of the market and directly through the main doors of the Burgh Halls. Nicholas had been there before often enough. The cellars, reached from the outside, were where men like himself gathered to drink. Here, the inner courtyard was an extension of the market, although more exclusive. On the right were the stalls of the bakers, and on the left, the cloth halls of the merchants. Ahead, long and low as were the other four sides of the square, was the building which housed the great hall, and the apartments used by the King when he came over the river.
Since the Court was lodged in the castle, it was a surprise to see, ranged before the far portal, a guard of fully armed men wearing the livery badge of the Jagiellonian. It was more of a surprise, as his guide stepped across, to discern that the arms of the Habsburgs appeared also. Lastly, as he reached the royal portal in the wake of his leader, it was with quite a different sensation that he saw step from the doorway to greet him a man, an elegant, short-sighted man he had last seen in Oliva.
‘Welcome, Panie Bracie,’ said Filippo Buonaccorsi. ‘I hope you will forgive us. My serene lady could not flout protocol openly. I am sure you understand.’
My serene lady.
It was not Kathi he had been summoned to meet: it was the Queen.
THE PAINTED CHAMBER INTO which he was shown held no surprises: the tapestry had been commissioned by King Casimir through the Banco di Niccolò in Bruges, and the carpet and one of the chests had been found and conveyed by Gregorio from his headquarters in Venice. Most of the silverware had originated in Germany, ruled by the Queen’s second cousin, the Emperor Frederick, and some had been bought through the Florentine company of the Medici, whose agent, Arnolfo Tedaldi, stood among the group of gentlemen at the Queen’s side. Many of these were Italian and one was Venetian: Caterino Zeno, the husband of Violante of Naxos. He was smiling.
Nicholas bared his head and knelt, bending his neck. ‘Meine Königin.’ Latin was the language of diplomacy; Italian was the language he hoped for; German was the official language of Cracow. She answered in German. He rose and stood facing her, one hand at his breast, while she examined him.
Elizabeth of Austria, Queen of Poland, was little older than he was himself, but the birth of thirteen children had lent a certain opulence to her frame, and the robe of linen interwoven with red and gold thread was splendid but bulky. Her face was Habsburg, with the heavy jaw and congested nose he had last seen in the younger face of the Emperor’s son Maximilian. But she also had the fine eyes, open and lustrous, of her family, and a roseleaf skin set off by the precious scarf which covered her hair and her throat. Below, she wore a necklace trembling with pearls, and pearls edged the tight cuffs under her