Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [117]
A kind young man, Sersanders had no fault to find with small cousins, although there were times when he felt he had heard enough of their brother Jan’s exploits in Paris. But being percipient as well as kind, he made no demur and went, leaving Claes.
Claes, led by the steward, walked through the Lucchese consulate to a small yard, up a stair and into the presence of three men seated at a long table draped in rich cloth. One of the men was his host, Giovanni Arnolfini. One was Anselm Adorne. The third he knew by sight as William, the Governor of the English merchants in Bruges. He stood still, controlling with ease an automatic impulse to smile.
Messer Arnolfini said, “My dear Claes! What have you done to your face?”
It was becoming, there was no doubt, a tiresome question. One might ask the same, if one were unkind, of Messer Arnolfini. It was twenty-five years since Jan van Eyck had painted that pale, cleft-chinned face with its hairless lids and drainpipe nose ribbed at the tip like a gooseberry. Giovanni Arnolfini hand-in-hand with his future bride.
Well, Monna Giovanna, to be sure, still sported horns of red hair of a sort, but Meester van Eyck was dead, and Messer Arnolfini half dead by the look of him. All that was the same was the convex mirror, though one of the enamels was recent, and the silver-gilt chandelier overhead with its six candles burning politely.
Everything tended to be well-mannered about Messer Arnolfini and his kinsmen in Bruges and London and Lucca. From silk-merchant, he had become Duke Philip’s money agent. He had the franchise, for 15,000 francs every year, of the Duke’s wily tax on all goods (such as English wool) passing to and from Calais through Gravelines. He bought cloth for the wardrobe of the Dauphin of France. And he lent the Dauphin money.
Claes said, “Monseigneur, it was an accident. You wanted news of Milan?”
The pallid, clever face smiled. “I have that already, from the letters you left for me. No. I wished Messer Edward, the English Governor here, to meet you. And I have instructions for you. The letters you carry from Italy for Monseigneur the Dauphin are to be delivered to me.”
Contained in that were four pieces of information, which one might as well follow. The first move was obvious. Claes said, “Willingly, monseigneur. Monseigneur has the instructions in writing?”
He had.
“And the armour, monseigneur?” said Claes.
“The armour?” The merchant leaned over and flicked a finger at the stool on the other side of the table. Claes sat.
Claes said, “The armour of my lord prince the Dauphin. Last year’s gift from my noble lord the Duke of Milan. My lord Dauphin’s envoy began to bring it north, I understand in the autumn, but had to lodge it at Geneva. At a pawnbroker’s. To pay for his own transport home?”
“Well?” said Messer Arnolfini. His two guests were studying the handsome roof-timbers.
“Having gold with me,” said Claes, “I redeemed it. I have it safe in the Hôtel de Charetty with my lord Duke’s letters for my lord prince the Dauphin. I shall deliver them to you forthwith.”
“You redeemed it with your own money?” said Arnolfini.
“Of course,” said Claes. “On the advice of M. Gaston du Lyon. Who is in Milan for the jousting.”
There was a pause. Messer Arnolfini said, “And, my good Niccolò, you have the pawn ticket? In writing?”
He had, in his purse.
“Then,” said Messer Arnolfini, “allow me, when you bring the armour, to reimburse you on behalf of el mio Monsignore el Delphino. Now tell us, if you will, what news you have of those whom you met on your journey. For example, the Bishop of Terni, my lord Francesco Coppini?”
“An illustrious churchman,” said Claes. “Entrusted with collecting pounds groat for