Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [104]
“The Lucchese?” said Angelo Tani. “We know our Lucca merchants in Bruges are capable men, but their town is hardly as rich as Venice.”
Claes looked mildly surprised. He said, “I’m sure you’re right. But they’re allowing such credit on their silks – you’d hardly believe. It’ll suit our Duke and his Duchess, at any rate. I shouldn’t be surprised if all the court turn out in matching cut velvet for the Holy Blood Procession this year. I gave a fat letter to Messer Arnolfini (from his backers, I suppose), and he looked very pleased when he opened it.”
“Have some more wine,” said Angelo Tani with generosity, and without catching the eye of his deputy. The Medici silk-making business in Florence was managed by Angelo Tani’s father-in-law. Only two years ago he had written to Florence begging for permission to sell silk on credit to Burgundy. Begging. For permission to make a huge profit. But the agreement, when it came, was so circumscribed that it was hardly worth getting. In general, of course, he was in accord with the company’s credit policy. His contract made his duties quite clear. He was to lend money only to merchants or master-artificers. Sales of foreign exchange on credit to nobles and churchmen were expressly forbidden except by written consent of Cosimo’s two sons, or Pierfrancesco his nephew. Angelo observed the rules. He saw that Tommaso observed them. But in every business, there were exceptions.
He was glad he had thought to have the boy visit. He acknowledged Pigello’s acumen. He welcomed the new courier service and would tell Pigello that he hoped it would continue. Angelo Tani, sitting back, led the talk genially into a discussion of the current market in silk and then, smoothly, in the direction of the other missives which the youth had carried. The Spinola were mentioned, and the Doria. Savoy and Cyprus and sugar. The traffic in hides and the effect of the English-Scots truce.
The boy had asked about that. Before Angelo could reply, his deputy gave a winsome smile and, forgetting, flashed his rings. “Don’t rely on it to keep your noble friend Simon away from us for long. Scotland can’t make up its mind whether to favour the English king Henry or the Yorkist rebels. There seem to be heralds at Veere every other day conferring with the van Borselen. The rest of the time they’re at Calais. Has anyone asked you to carry messages to London yet? That could make you a few enemies.”
Angelo moved his feet. He did not want the boy ruffled or scared out of Bruges. The dashing Simon might have returned to his own country but the peculiar father, the fat French merchant de Ribérac, moved in and out – buying gunpowder, the rumour went, and small arms. From whom, Tani wasn’t sure, nor under what sort of licence. The noble Simon’s Scottish uncle, they said, had a taste for gunnery.
Angelo watched the boy’s face, but it was innocent, he saw, of anxiety. The boy said, “And the van Borselen want King Henry to stay king of England, do they? Like Bishop Kennedy did?”
“It is as well,” said Angelo Tani, “to consider them neutral. As is your illustrious Duke.”
“Duke Philip?” said the newly elevated courier with, unfortunately, the familiar candour of Claes. “But he prefers the Yorkists, they say. Otherwise he wouldn’t be sheltering the Dauphin. Which reminds me. They have a fine menagerie in Milan. I brought back a porcupine for Meester Felix, but he doesn’t want it, and it’s to be a prize in the lottery. Unless you want it, Messer Angelo?”
“My God,” said Angelo Tani.
Tommaso smiled, and then grew serious as he understood this as an expression less of disgust than of consternation. Tani repeated. “My God. Theostrich.”
“The ostrich?” said Claes helpfully.
The governor flicked a hand. “It’s no matter. A request in the Milanese dispatches. We were a little unwise, sending four fine horses to Messer Pierfrancesco and failing to consider a gift for the Duke.”
Tommaso said, “But Messer Pierfrancesco was buying the