Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [242]
“Your share,” said Nicholas. “It’s banked as you wanted it.”
Tobie rubbed his nose, which was running, with the back of his hand. He read it again, his fingers making wet marks on the paper.
Nicholas said, “I don’t think, do you, that Venice will agree to help France? I don’t think France can afford to attack anyone unless perhaps the Lancastrian side wins in England. But they would have to win quickly, because they say the king of France is unwell. If he dies, the Dauphin would be king. Gaston du Lyon is travelling backwards and forwards because Milan and the Dauphin are planning an alliance already. And then – of course, someone will find the Tolfa mine. Maybe Zaccaria. But not quite yet. That’s the payment we’ve already got for our silence. And if we get only one consignment, a really big one, it will help. And there’s the silk deal.”
“What silk deal?” said Tobie. He was still staring down at the paper.
“To reassure Florence. I’ve arranged it with the Venetians. Florence gets a certain amount of cheap alum too, but in return for equal exports of cheap silk to Zorzi in Constantinople. Florence also wants to trade in the Black Sea, but they haven’t a consul. Venice doesn’t want them to have a consul. If the Emperor of Trebizond and the Medici insist, Venice will see to it that the agent proposed is the Charetty company.”
Tobie slowly laid down the paper. “Breaking ciphers,” he said.
Nicholas grinned. “Honest trading,” he said. “We could invest in a ship. Felix would like it. Julius could run the whole agency. He would probably have to learn Turkish.”
The doctor’s pale eyes examined him, as if for an infection. The doctor said, “You’re half serious, I think. You’re thinking of outlets in case I’m right and you’re wrong and France expands into Italy? But soon the Dauphin may be king.”
“One day Felix will be head of the Charetty business,” Nicholas said. “And a sterner master, I suspect, than old Cornelis ever was.”
The doctor got up. He walked in his bare feet to the tent door and rattled on the post, and when his servant came, sent him off with the bucket and a list of instructions. He turned back and, sitting down, picked up his hose. He said, “They skirmish on the plain sometimes at night. Daytime too. Nothing serious. They shout at one another and issue challenges but that’s all they can do. Until someone sends us more troops, we can’t get past that bastard to Naples. Do you like hens?”
“In their proper place,” Nicholas said. “Why? Do you have some?”
“Twenty thousand,” Tobie said. “We took a lot of mules too. Oxen. Sheep. You probably noticed the fields after you got over the Tronto. The corn all cut clean and threshed. Good farmer lads, these Urbinati.”
The door opened. He went on dressing as a table was unfolded and set, and platters laid on it. A wine-jug and cups made an appearance. Someone carried in and propped up a second bed. Nicholas got up and sat down at the table. He said, “What did they do with the corn?”
“Took it to market,” said Tobie. “And sold it to the needy peasants and their needy lords for a lot of money. And that’s just for their living expenses. You should see what the commanders have picked up in the way of treasure. You haven’t asked if I’m with Lionetto.”
Now he had started eating, Nicholas was so hungry his jaws ached. He said, “I don’t need to: you’re sober. Why did you stay in the Abruzzi?”
Tobie said, “Count Federigo asked me. The commander.”
Nicholas said, “And?”
The doctor said, “For a condottiere, he’s fairly uncommon. You’ve heard. He rules Urbino, and Urbino’s no paradise. His only riches are soldiers. They’re good, too.”
Nicholas looked at what he could see of the other’s face over a chicken. He said, “You don’t owe anyone anything.”
“That’s what I thought,” said Tobie sharply. He tore the fowl to pieces.
The meal was long over and they were asleep in the darkness when there came the only alarm of the night, and that was not from the enemy. It was Lionetto who ripped the tent lacings apart and kicked the beds, one after the other, the lantern swinging