Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [167]
It was still daylight when Claes rode through the Ghent portals of Bruges, several hours ahead of the rest of his party. He had planned, and still planned, that Felix should present the first report on Louvain to his mother. He was glad, therefore, to find the demoiselle de Charetty and her young daughters absent, even though Henninc began barking at him as soon as he began to lead his steaming horse towards the stables.
The litany lasted all the way over the yard. The pump had broken down again. There was a leak in one of the vats. There had been a fight between three of the men in the shed and the rest had turned sullen. The man who had sold some of that property to the Widow the other day wanted it back and said he could prove the sale was illegal. A whole sack of woad balls had mould in it. The Widow had appointed a new lawyer. The Florentines and the Lucchese and even the Papal Legate’s secretary had been to see the Widow and arrange for the head Charetty courier – that was him – to leave soon for Italy, because their dispatch boxes were filling. There was a packet waiting for him from Milan, with that bald-headed doctor’s seal on it. At whatever hour Claes arrived, Anselm Adorne wanted to see him immediately.
“What a welcome!” said Claes. He could see that Henninc thought he was complaining, but he wasn’t. He was filled with uncomplicated delight at the prospect of regulating everything. He hastened to hand over his horse and tore through the building, calling greetings and insults right and left, and scooping up as he went the packet from Tobie.
He read it as he stripped to his doublet, and stopped in the middle to read it again. His expression, as he stood holding it for a moment, would have made Henninc furious. Then he tied a piece of cloth round his waist and bounded downstairs and out to mend the pump again. While he was doing that, four separate men came and told him their grievances until called back to their work by a trig young man with a nose like a scythe and a calf-length black gown, who thought he must be Claes.
Claes admitted it, straightening and wiping his hands on his apron. He had tried to get the Widow to appoint someone to help Julius, and replace him when he was abroad with the army. There had been three candidates, all of good reputation. The Widow had therefore chosen one. He hoped it was the right one.
The sharp-featured man, who looked to be in his late twenties, said, “I am Messer Gregorio. I have sent for someone to deal with the pump. I should prefer you to come straight to my office to make your report about Louvain. The demoiselle de Charetty will be back directly. She wished to hear it as soon as possible.”
It was the right one. Son of a Lombard, friend of the demoiselle’s late father. Law at Padua. A few years as junior clerk with the Senate at Venice. Home to Asti, and then back to Flanders, where his father had been a pawnbroker in Furnes. Used, you would say, to dealing only with his superiors.
Claes said. “Immediately, Messer Gregorio. Jonkheere Felix asked to be present, too, when the accounting is made to the demoiselle. He’ll be here in an hour.”
The lawyer, who didn’t know Felix, paused. He said, “In that case, you may as well finish the pump. Be in the bureau when jonkheere Felix arrives.”
Claes nodded his head. He waited until the lawyer was out of sight and then finished testing the pump, which was now working. He called someone to clear away for him, and vanished into the house, by another route, to get himself, clean, into his blue livery once again. Then he thrust Tobie’s packet in his purse, borrowed a mule from the stables, and trotted off to the Hôtel Jerusalem. He made two calls on the way.
The moment she returned, Marian de Charetty was met by her new legal clerk Meester Gregorio with the news that her employee Claes had made a brief appearance, but had failed to report to his office as requested. And that the young master, her son Felix, was said to be on his way but had not yet arrived.
Claes had returned without Felix. Something had happened.