Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [210]
Louvain, instead of being reduced, would be kept meantime, under Cristoffels. In Bruges, the large sprawling yard with its numerous lines of business was not worth replacing. They should look for quality work now, in dyeing, dealing and broking. Dyeing better than Florence’s. Valuable pledges requiring secure but not extensive storage. Opportunities for loans at high, well-concealed interest.
It was, Gregorio knew, the view Nicholas favoured. He had gathered as much long before the fire. Gregorio said, “You’re talking of money-dealing linked with luxury trade. I’ve nothing against it. But where is all the money to come from to set it up now? You’ve numbers of people to support. You’re in debt for these buildings and the others. Customers’ cloth has been burned: people will expect refunds for that, and for your own cloth delivered on credit. Your confiscated pledges have gone, leaving every loan as a loss; and those who want their goods back will have claims on you. You’ve bought weapons on credit. The costs still to come from the mercenary company may be more than its earnings. If your commander is captured, or your soldiers badly defeated, you may have heavy bills for ransom or compensation to pay. You may find yourself without the means to replace men and armour and horses and fulfil the rest of your contract, or certainly to win another. You’re now exposed to that risk, too, without a business to cushion it.”
Gregorio paused, and dropped his eyes from the drawn, set face of the Widow. At some time in the night she had twisted up the rather attractive brown hair, and had pinned a riding-cloak over her bedgown. He had wondered whether to allow her to retire, comforted by a young man’s fantasies, but he had seen that, in the long run, it would be kinder to face the reality. He said, “Demoiselle, I’m sorry to say it. But all you can really afford is to dismiss your workpeople, including me, and retire to Louvain, having resold all the new property and repaid some of your creditors. And, of course, Nicholas cannot now contemplate his alum project.”
He looked up, genuinely regretful, as he finished. The demoiselle’s blue eyes were fixed on him. Then she turned them to Nicholas.
Nicholas said, “Nicholas is not only contemplating his alum project: he is leaving on Tuesday to complete it. That one scheme alone will restore us. You would think a ship had never gone down, or there had never been a flood or a famine. This is a disaster to us, but not to the rest of the community. They’ll uphold us. They’ll extend our credit. And if they don’t do it from brotherhood, they’ll do it from self-interest. I’ll see to that. You forget the famous courier contracts. We may not be able to deal in very much cloth, but we can deal in information.”
He had forgotten those. Gregorio said, “The dispatches?”
“Here, in Spangnaerts Street,” said Nicholas. “I would be wearing rather a different face if they weren’t.”
“Tuesday?” said the demoiselle.
Nicholas turned to her. “The dye business was always under your management. You know the Guild, you know the problems better than anyone. We have tomorrow and Monday to plan it all, you and Gregorio and Henninc and myself. Cristoffels is on his way. And in a few days you’ll have Felix back.” He paused. He said, “It really is best for everyone if I go now. Not to Dijon of course. But I’ll take the cloth to Geneva, and go straight to Milan. I shall be back as soon as I can, depend on it.”
The demoiselle said sharply, “Geneva!”
Nicholas said, “The cloth was ordered. The money will be useful.”
Gregorio, his eyes drooping, sat up firmly. He said, “If it’s Thibault and Jaak de Fleury, they haven’t paid for the last delivery. We’d be better, surely, keeping the cloth for the Fair.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” Nicholas said. He was looking at the demoiselle and reading, it seemed, something Gregorio had missed in her face. Nicholas spoke to