Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [212]
During all that, you couldn’t chat. Astorre, his captain, was off on a raid. That he learned. Then the notary asked him how the journey had gone, and if things were all right in Bruges, and Thomas had said they were, and was captain Astorre still the same old bastard. To which Julius, smiling briefly, had said yes, he would recognise him all right.
Glancing at him on and off, Thomas saw quite a change in Julius. A well-set-up man for a clerk, he’d always been, with the sort of thick bony face you’d expect in a professional fighter. Astorre had said more than once that he wouldn’t be surprised if the Widow didn’t take him to her bed one of these days, and then they’d all be under Meester Julius. But if that was so, she’d made no fuss about sending him off to Italy, and he’d made no fuss about going. And if there was a woman in Bruges who’d got any nearer to Meester Julius than the inkpot on his desk, he’d yet to hear of her.
So what had changed now? He’d lost that glint of devilment, that’s what. The spark that got him into all those scrapes with Claes and young Felix. Perhaps he was missing them. Or perhaps he was jealous of Claes, in his decent blue courier’s clothes, and bankers giving him the nod instead of old Henninc clipping him over the ear. Or he could have got himself on the wrong side of Astorre, which wasn’t hard, especially if you weren’t a soldier. Or perhaps he was just tired of Naples and rain. You would get tired of Naples and rain, if you weren’t a man who liked women. Thomas, who had run through all the girls in the carts twice over on the trip from Bruges to Naples, was sorry for Julius.
So was Julius. He was tired of Naples, tired of rain, and especially wearied of the ferocious company, for three months, of Syrus de Astariis, showing him how to keep his senior men on their toes while waiting for the rest of the company to arrive.
Like the rest of the King’s motley army, the nuclear group of Astorre’s bowmen and cavalry had spent most of the winter inside Naples, apart from the occasional sortie to dog the very few movements of the enemy, who were led by Duke John of Calabria and the Orsini fellow, the Prince of Taranto.
When they were inside the walls, they took their share in the various violent inter-company engagements, not to mention outright brawling, that kept them in training. From time to time they were counted by the powerful gentlemen who controlled the various armies fighting for King Ferrante. None of the byplay bothered Astorre, who simply got on with controlling his own little group, a matter in which he was extremely competent. But through the weeks Julius found himself longing for the arrival of Tobias, who was supposed to come south when Brother Gilles was cured, and who had not so far come south at all. In three months.
Julius realised he missed Tobias. He missed Tobias because he was the only civilized person with whom he could discuss the Charetty family. The Widow and Felix. And the terrible, much-beaten Claes who ought to be here, keeping him company, and ready to listen to him. And, somehow, to improve himself. Late at night therefore, in the small captains’ room at the castle, Julius thumped down at last with Thomas and the two new men, Godscalc and Abrami, and said, “Well. Now tell me all the news.”
And Thomas had said, “Well, I thought you’d be wondering. Three hundred florins a month over what’s been agreed. Now what do you say to that?” Julius stared at Thomas. “For the handgun men,” Thomas said. He frowned. “What did you think it was going to be? Nine hundred florins, the captain was promised in the condotta. Now we’ve added fifty trained men. I got the promise of the Duke’s secretary. Three hundred florins extra. Wait till the captain hears.”
Carefully, Julius trained his mind in the direction of Thomas. He said, “Astorre will be delighted. And so will the Widow. Thomas, that’s good news. You negotiated it all with Meester Tobias?”
Thomas was in an expansive