Caprice and Rondo - Dorothy Dunnett [72]
‘Ludovico da Bologna?’ said Nicholas. ‘Or perhaps an astrologer? You know what the late revered Pope Paul thought of astrology?’
‘That is one of your fears?’ the other man said. His voice had changed. ‘Why? Because of some other man’s prophecy, or because of something you yourself have experienced? I know you have witnessed one of the great mysteries of this world. Benecke has spoken of Iceland.’
‘Then you know as much of Iceland as I do,’ Nicholas said with finality. Through the open window a faint, hoarse sound swelled as he spoke. Beyond the walls of the Old Town, the games were under way. Time was passing. Adorne was leaving, and he had to see Kathi. He said, ‘I must go. You have been frank, and I value it. I shall give you an answer. But first, you will agree, I must find and talk to the Patriarch.’
‘I could find him for you,’ Buonaccorsi said. ‘It is not in my King’s interest, but I could arrange for you to see him, for a fee.’ A mild irony entered his voice. ‘It is a fee you will experience no embarrassment in paying. Lipnicki!’
The black-clad secretary appeared. ‘Maestro. He is here. I shall bring him.’
Nicholas rose. Illogically, he expected to see enter the coarse, bulky form of the Patriarch. Instead, there came the short figure of a fair-haired boy-child of about seven.
‘The prince Zygmunt,’ Cailimaco said, ‘expressed some eagerness to witness a master diviner at work. I have told him you are such a person, and that one day, when he is grown, he may hold silver coins from the mines you have found. Meanwhile, all he asks, as I do, is a demonstration of your art. You will allow us?’
Nicholas, making his bow, was simply pondering how best to refuse. Perhaps, trained astrologer that he was, Cailimaco already knew what he was asking, and even that Nicholas, since he became Colà, had forsworn both the pendulum and the rod. The child spoke before him. Employing the charming Polish usage, the child said, ‘Will my dear lord not do us this favour?’
‘Sire,’ Nicholas said. ‘I am sorry. I have no pendulum with me.’
‘But I have,’ said Cailimaco, and took from the breast of his robe a cameo set in a ring.
The stone was Greek, Nicholas guessed; pale and heavy, and carved in the likeness of a child’s face. It was warm from where it had been, and the thong on which it was threaded was scarlet. Nicholas held it.
Its owner continued, in that deceptive, mellifluous voice: ‘Let us sit by the window. This is a divine gift we practise, and God’s air should breathe upon us as it is done. My lord prince there. My lord Niccolò at his side. And I shall sit here. Now the stone hangs from its cord on my lord’s finger. What do we wish it to tell us?’
‘It cannot speak!’ cried the boy.
‘Oh, it can speak,’ said Callimaco. ‘How else will it tell us what you have hidden?’
Nicholas, watching the cord, felt the other man’s gaze as a weight. The child’s voice rose and fell in delight and excitement. Zygmunt had concealed a purse. Pan Nikolás was to divine where it was. ‘Now! Please! My dear lord!’
‘I am sorry,’ Nicholas repeated. He met Callimaco’s eyes.
Callimaco said, ‘Perhaps my lord is tired. We understand. But tell the prince what might happen, were the pendulum to speak?’
A child should never be denied; his curiosity quenched. A child. A vulnerable child. Nicholas said, ‘To find something of yours, sire, I should touch you. Then I should ask the pendulum questions. This is not my stone, so I do not know how it answers. With mine, it swings from one side to the other if the answer is yes. For no, it gyrates.’
The boy said, ‘It is raining. Ask it if it is raining.’
It was raining. The downpour pattered on the trees outside the casement; the haze of water rose from the ground. Nicholas watched it, his head turned, and felt the thong stir. The boy screamed, ‘It is moving! It is moving from side to side!’
It was true. He felt it before he gave it, at last, his attention. The swing was