Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [20]
“Say that again,” said Felix. He took his hat off.
John and Anselm, on either side, changed position discreetly so that either could get hold of his dagger arm. Claes said, “Felix doesn’t like the young Borselen lady. He kicked her headdress into the water.”
The glare in Felix’s eyes was replaced by a look of normal exasperation. His shoulders slackened. He said, “I told you. You shouldn’t have jumped in after it. But Lorenzo shouldn’t –”
“Lorenzo’s brother is sick in Naples, and he is worried,” said Sersanders.
“Lorenzo misses Spain,” said John Bonkle. “Imagine being sent to Spain at thirteen. All those black serving-girls and the climate. Felix, why not a branch of the Charetty in Spain? You would be agent, and we’d all come and help you. You could leave Julius behind with your mother.”
Felix flushed. To compare the Charetty to a great house with branches all over Europe was a compliment. He said, “Oh, I would take Julius. He’s a good man.”
“And me?” said Claes. His hair had got damp and had risen up, as it always did, into a dun-coloured floss. He was, with reason, lying on his face, as yet unaware that Felix had untied the waist-bows attaching his hose to his pourpoint.
“You?” said Lorenzo. “You would have half Christian Spain and half Muslim Spain breeding before a month had gone by.”
“I’ll stay in Bruges, then,” said Claes. “Lorenzo, why did Felix want you to go to the van Borselen’s?”
They all looked at Felix.
“He doesn’t dislike the girl after all: he fancies her,” John Bonkle said. “Go on. That’s why, isn’t it?”
Felix grinned blandly. In fact, he wanted to know what Simon was wearing. And he found out, too, because Lorenzo, aware of having tried his friends’ patience, did walk round to the Strozzi residence in Ridder Straete and, having put on dry clothes, presented himself with Tommaso Portinari at the house of van Borselen and his daughter Katelina.
In Silver Straete, men and their wives had called all afternoon to pay their respects to the lady Katelina, newly returned (unmarried) from Scotland. Her child sister Gelis watched them, counted them, and informed Katelina, sometimes hardly out of earshot, which of the ladies was pregnant, and by whom.
The reception was held in the garden, a modest paved plot set about with handsome tubs and small trees and a fountain. There was also a cushioned stone bench, upon which Bishop Kennedy of Scotland had been placed, with his agent attending behind him.
It was, of course, a gathering of those who held Scotland in favour, since Wolfaert van Borselen was married to the Scottish king’s sister. The prime topic, indeed, was the overturning of the Mons cannon Mad Martha, which was universally deplored, and not least by the French wine importers. No one hinted that, if the Scots bombarded England, England would find it hard to spare troops to invade France, which would please Bishop Kennedy and benefit the English king, Henry the Sixth. No one mentioned that a number of fugitive English who did not approve of King Henry were at that moment conspiring to cross into England and take the monarch into courteous custody, with the white rose as one of their emblems. No one mentioned the heir to France, the Dauphin, at all.
They talked about Madeira sugar and pepper prices. They discussed salted salmon and answered Bishop Kennedy’s questions about exports of good slate and quarry-stone. They touched, politely and warily, on the sensitive subject of ship insurance. The conversation, studded with pitfalls, ambiguities and unexpected fragments of news, was of a rare fascination, so long as you were a merchant.
Katelina saw her possible future husband Simon on the other side of the room, toying with his smart dog, and taking no part in these useful exchanges at all.
She wondered if he lacked an instinct for business. She wondered, since he glanced at her from time to time, whether he