Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [16]
Beside him, Adorne saw the notary stiffen. The boy Felix, nostrils wide and mouth open, lost some colour. At the end of the hall Claes rose to his feet with painful slowness. Then he smiled. He said, “I wondered, monsignore, why I could get no news of your injuries. I have to make my apologies. I had no thought of harming you.”
He spoke in Geneva Italian, and was answered in Florentine.
“A bruised elbow,” said the bearded man dryly. “You were intent on other things. I hope you thought it worth it.”
What blood he could spare rose for a moment into the boy’s face and hesitated there, with his dimples. He said, “So long as monsignore forgives me.”
“Oh, I forgive you,” said the lord Nicholai Giorgio de’ Acciajuoli. “So long as you do not repeat it. I had one replacement. My other limbs are in Boudonitza. Your friends look amazed. You had better explain to them.”
But the notary had it by now. He also had Italian, Adorne remembered, and possibly even some Greek. He had trained in Bologna. The notary said, “You have – it was wooden, monsignore?” Relief and embarrassment mottled his face.
“I have a wooden leg,” agreed the other. “Which makes it difficult to rise up when deprived of it. Which makes it agreeable also to sit, if my host will permit? Beside, perhaps, the lady Katelina whose presence alone made our late voyage supportable.” He sat. “And now, introduce me to your three youths.”
Anselm Adorne made the introductions. Then with equal solemnity, he introduced his one-legged guest, using Flemish.
He did not expect them to know the name of the princes of Athens. He introduced this descendant merely as Nicholai de’ Acciajuoli, now touring Christendom to raise gold to ransom his brother, captured when Constantinople fell to the Turks. He did not complicate matters by explaining further. Monsignore had done well in Scotland. The King had been touched and the Bishop had collected a good sum for monsignore’s brother. The other part of the Greek’s mission to Christendom had been less successful. Like everyone else in the East, he wanted a new Crusade to free Constantinople.
Just so. But the rulers of Christendom had troubles enough without going into all that.
A conversation began in Italian. At his side, Adorne was aware of Katelina van Borselen’s displeasure, and disregarded it. The boy Felix, excluded also, began to pick at his nails. The word “Greek” entered the talk.
The noble lord from Boudonitza was gazing at Felix. He said, in extremely slow Greek, “I am told by your friend that horses interest you.”
It had a surprising effect. The youth Felix turned crimson and he clasped his hands quickly together. Then he started to speak. Whoever taught Greek at Lou vain was not a supreme master, and the youth, it was certain, was not the world’s brightest linguist. But he was crazy, it seemed, about horses, and the stud of the Acciajuoli was famous. He stuttered and ganted and listened.
Katelina van Borselen said, “What are they talking about now?”
Anselm Adorne told her. From the corner of his eye he identified his wife in a state of mild discomfort. He was not behaving, today, like a host.
“I am afraid,” said Katelina van Borselen, “that I can’t spare the time for a Greek lesson on horses. Margriet, may I trouble you? I promised to help my father receive some Scottish friends. The Bishop. My lord Simon.”
“You’d be better getting a Greek lesson on horses,” said the boy Claes.
Anselm looked at him. After a moment he said, “The Scots are allies of our Duke, boy. You have been brought into civil company. Don’t abuse it.”
The tone of their voices, perhaps, had caused the Greek to break off his laboured discussion with Felix. He had also recognised a name, and an expression. He spoke in Italian, unexpectedly, straight to Claes. “You do not like the handsome Simon, young varlet? You are jealous, perhaps? He is well dressed, and talks to beautiful demoiselles such as this lady? But he cannot speak Italian, or make children