Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [254]
The response this time was quick. It reminded Gaston of the evening at cards with Monna Laudomia. The youth Nicholas said, “Should we call there?”
Gaston du Lyon gave him a glance which might have come from the Dauphin’s amused face. “If you do business with the de Fleury,” he said, “claim your dues before the rest of the creditors empty their boxes.”
The youth said, “I see.”
M. du Lyon hadn’t expected to be embraced on both cheeks, but he was disappointed. It was the other one, the lawyer, who straightened and said, “Monsieur? What did you say?”
Gaston du Lyon turned his head. “Only a little item of news. The depositors Thibault et Jacques de Fleury have been declared bankrupt.”
The notary said, “Are you sure?”
Taken aback, M. du Lyon paused, but forgave the man on reflection. He was certainly in a high state of excitement. “Yes,” said M. du Lyon. “There is no doubt. They have lost everything. It has caused a great disturbance, I’m told. They had many creditors.”
“Nicholas?” the notary said. “Nicholas. Jaak de Fleury.”
“Yes, I heard,” the courier said. “I’m obliged for the news. M. du Lyon, forgive us. We have to set out early.”
“You go to Bruges,” said Gaston du Lyon. “But you will have time to call at Genappe? My lord Dauphin, I’m sure, would be happy to receive you. News of affairs. The death of that poor boy, whom he loved as a son.”
“I shall do what I can,” Nicholas said. “But I think the debts on both sides have been honourably discharged. Monsieur, I am grateful.”
In diplomacy, one recognised the end of a contract. Another, more lucrative, had clearly offered elsewhere. He would warn the Dauphin. He wondered if the youth knew just how feeble the Dauphin’s father had become. Smiling, Gaston du Lyon saw his visitors to the door.
Had he gone with them he would have been amused to see the notary, exercising none of the restraint of his calling, literally capering in the street beside the large, silent figure of the former apprentice, with the black servant following disapprovingly behind.
“Jaak de Fleury!” Julius was saying. “Lord of the money-boxes. The pompous bastard who used to wring his servants dry. Including me. And used that poor woman for all he could get. And worked you like a dog. Don’t tell me he didn’t. Bankrupt! Can you believe it?”
“Yes,” said Nicholas.
“Well?” said Julius.
Creeping over him was the irritation which had been with him, illogically, ever since they left Urbino’s camp at San Fabiano. He didn’t expect Nicholas, God knew, to be the crazy clown of the lighter at Damme, or the Waterhuus joke, or the escapades with girls and with goats and the rest. But he hadn’t expected him, either, to have grown in eight months into a married version of Lorenzo Strozzi.
He said, “I suppose you’re worrying about all that cloth you delivered, and the money they owe us. All right, you can’t rebuild the Bruges shop, but there’s still Louvain, and the condotta. You can’t do everything right. My God,” said Julius. “Isn’t it worth the loss just to imagine Jaak de Fleury’s face?” He paused, stretching his imagination. He said, “And it’ll help the demoiselle, surely. At least she’ll know she’s free of the de Fleury family and all their intriguing. D’ you want to go inside already?”
Nicholas had turned into the gates of the inn without saying anything. In the afterlight of the sunset, a pair of sedate, well-groomed horses stood in the courtyard, held by liveried servants. Their harness was embroidered in silk, and the emblems worn by servants and horses were familiar from the falcons and diamonds and feathers all over the inside of their owners’ palazzo. And the motto woven into the horsecloths. Semper meant always. And always meant the Medici.
Nicholas said, “We have visitors. We could go away and wait until they’ve gone. But I don’t know. I’m tired.”
Once, you never had to bother with how Claes felt. Indeed, you never knew. But of course, the frantic energy had been sapped by the stress and the fever,