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By Root 2758 0

flexible voice and deliberate dimples. There were single lines round his mouth, between his eyes, across his brow that gave pause. There was something else. Nicholas was not now troubling to adapt, where he did not think it necessary. An observer of his fellow men, Father Moriz had always been aware of the changes Nicholas made to conform to his company. He had done so especially with Julius. Now there was no difference in his manner, whether he was speaking to Julius and himself, or to his steward, or to the long-time company colleagues—Tobie the doctor; John le Grant, Moriz’s working partner in the Tyrol—whom he had brought to the hall-parlour to meet them. It was as if Nicholas had found his own person, and was not concerned to conceal it. Moriz could feel Julius’s guarded surprise.

They were tired. Serious talk was kept for the next day. They ate; they drank; they exchanged news. Later, Robin of Berecrofts came to join them, wheeling himself across the road and up the ramp Nicholas had had made for him. Julius had last seen the boy hideously wounded at Nancy and looked amazed and pleased, which, for once (thought Moriz sourly), was the proper reaction. For a priest, the situation was, sadly, all too familiar. But even while saying all the other, correct things, Father Moriz was moved to think how extraordinarily well this young husband and father had weathered his ordeal. He had the same composure as Nicholas.

But of course he had.

Next day, Crackbene landed and came to see them, and they crossed to visit Kathi Sersanders and Jodi’s former nurse Clémence, whose astonishing marriage to the doctor was one of Moriz’s cherished memories of his time with the company in Bruges. Then Nicholas took them to his own house, where Gelis feasted them, and Anselm Adorne, and his fellow merchant Andro Wodman, and his physician Dr Andreas came later to join them. ‘Tomorrow,’ said Nicholas, ‘will begin the hard labour. This is just to create the impression that we are all easy to work with.’

‘He keeps trying,’ his wife added tranquilly. ‘But we all remember Bruges very clearly. Hell on earth.’

Leaving that night, Moriz lingered a moment with his host. He said, ‘I wondered if you were sure of what you were doing. I wonder no longer.’

‘Thank you,’ Nicholas said, ‘but I am glad you came. You think Bonne is in good hands?’

It was Moriz’s one nagging concern. He said, ‘The convent is impeccable, and Govaerts will supervise all her material needs. It is as much as I myself have been able to do: she does not welcome visits or seem to possess many friends. I don’t know what else to advise.’

‘Should I bring her here?’ Nicholas said. ‘Only there is the war.’

‘No. No, I think she is safest where she is. Julius prefers not to think of her. À propos of which …’ From the street, the others were calling him. He moved to the door.

‘Something about Julius?’ Nicholas said. For a large man, he trod softly.

‘Yes. I ought not to tell you, but I shall. He is hoping, for your benefit, to prove your legitimacy. He thinks that the St Pol family have conspired to deceive you.’

Under the fluttering light of the porch, Nicholas gazed at him. Then he said, ‘I’m glad you told me. It hasn’t occurred to Julius that this will launch the equivalent of the Peloponnesian War? I will render vengeance to my enemies; I will make my arrows drunk with blood?’

‘He wouldn’t listen,’ said Moriz. ‘If you want my advice, keep him busy. And if Simon de St Pol is really coming, keep Julius away at all costs.’

‘Thank you, Father,’ said Nicholas.

In spite of his worry, Moriz smiled. ‘You’ll manage,’ he said. ‘You always do.’

TO SIMON DE St Pol, Master of Kilmirren, one of the most beautiful men of his day, the maritime wars of that summer were of some inconvenience, now he planned to return home to Scotland. He had not, initially, been sure where his future might lie. The whole of Portugal, never mind his island of Madeira, was bristling at the latest English threat to break the Portuguese shipping monopoly off the African coast—a line of trade Simon de St Pol had often