Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [105]
“Of course. But Messer Pigello your brother has pointed out, rightly, that it is not seemly for the Medici family to be seen in Milan making better display than the Duke. We should have sent him an offering at the same time. A spectacular offering. Messer Pigello has suggested an ostrich from the Duke of Burgundy’s menagerie. An unsolicited gift between the two duchies which Milan would appreciate, and which would cost Burgundy little. The animal –”
“Bird,” said Tommaso.
“– creature,” said Angelo Tani, “would be sent at our cost. Tommaso is to interview Messer Pietro Bladelin on the subject tomorrow.”
Tommaso, he was glad to see, sat up abruptly.
The courier stood. “I can see,” he said, “you’ve a lot to talk about, and I mustn’t waste all your time. I’ll thank you for the wine, Messer Angelo, and get on my way. I’ve enjoyed listening to everything. That’s how you learn, isn’t it? Listening to great men and the business of nations.”
He bowed himself respectfully out and controlled his inclination to laugh until he was in the street, and round the first corner. From there, he sped to keep quite a different appointment at the unsavoury tavern newly patronised, he understood, by the junior riff-raff of Bruges.
They pelted him for being late, and pelted him again for being clean, and hammered him good-humouredly until his chair broke for talking about Dukes with every breath. When he could get a word in edgeways he told, spluttering, the tale of the ostrich.
Anselm Sersanders, who knew everything, said, “The Duke hasn’t got an ostrich at Bruges.”
The Bonkle boy, cross because of his burden of guilt, said, “How would you know? He must have, if Sforza’s got his eye on it.”
“No, he used to have, but it died last year,” said Sersanders. “Poor Angelo. He’ll have to send something else.”
“Mabelie?” said Claes.
John Bonkle went crimson.
Claes grinned at him. “She wouldn’t leave, would she? It’s all right. I took the owner’s label off before I went away. All right, what? Felix’s porcupine? No, the Duke has one.”
“Wait!” said Lorenzo Strozzi.
Since the topic had nothing to do with money, they all looked surprised. Strozzi said, “Wait! Don’t you remember I told you? We’ve an ostrich in Spain. Unless it’s died. In Barcelona.”
“That was Loppe,” said Claes.
“No! An ostrich. Messer Angelo can tell Pierre Bladelin, and the Duke can buy it, and ship it to Milan as a gift. It won’t have come from his menagerie, but that won’t matter.”
They looked at one another. It was Claes who punched Lorenzo’s shoulder and said, “What ideas you have! Of course! Why didn’t I think of it! I’ll tell Messer Angelo as soon as I’ve had my drink.”
“Oh,” said Felix suddenly. “No. You’ll tell him tomorrow. I forgot. Mother’s back from Louvain. I was to tell you to report to her instantly.”
The serving-girl, her hand on Claes’ shoulder, had already asked Claes what he wanted, and he had probably told her. She and Claes were smiling at one another. Claes said, without looking round, “You forgot to tell me.”
“I didn’t,” said Felix. “I’ve just told you. And you’d better hurry as well. She’s in a fair temper.”
“When I’ve had my first beer?” said Claes cajolingly. “Or half of my first beer?”
“Now,” said Felix sharply. “She employs you.”
A chorus of appeal, not unduly strong, was raised on Claes’ behalf. Felix remained adamant. He looked round, frowning. “He’s my servant,” he said. There was no gainsaying that. Claes rose, pulled a face, and trudged off with a dejection so precisely that of Henninc after a bad night at the dice that they all sent cat-calls after him.
Outside, he straightened. The smile lingered, and lessened, and faded. Then he set off at an even pace through the streets that led back to the yard, and the Widow.
Chapter 16
LEAVING THE inn, Claes regretted the heavy wool cloak he had left behind that morning. It was cold. Colder than the Alps, because of the dampness. Now, on the way to the dyeshop, there was time to notice it, as there hadn’t been yesterday, in the scramble to deliver