Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [255]
Loppe said, “They won’t wait all evening. I could get you a chamber elsewhere.”
He was speaking to Nicholas. He often spoke to Nicholas, Julius noticed, as one man to another, and not as a slave to his mistress’s husband at all. And Nicholas, he saw, did not even notice it but stood in thought, and then said, “No. We’d better see them. But you needn’t wait up.”
Loppe did not move. He said, “If it is late for one person, it is late for three. The seigneurs Portinari could come back tomorrow.”
This time, Nicholas looked at him, but failed to show either surprise or annoyance. He simply said, “No. I want to leave early.” And Loppe gave way at once, only watching his masters, as Julius saw, until they had entered the inn and begun to climb the stairs to their chamber. There, awaiting them with no sign of impatience, were Pigello Portinari and his brother and factor Accerito.
Messer Pigello, in a short gown of light material and a low belt which flattered his paunch, carried a high colour tonight in his bare, sunken face with its long nose. His puffed hat bore a large goldsmith’s piece with a table-cut emerald in the middle of it. He had even more rings on his fingers than the time Julius had seen him last, when he and Astorre had called at the palazzo to lodge the ducal bill for the condotta. The air of amiable condescension had risen to something like outright amiability. Accerito, with a smaller brooch, looked complacent as well.
Julius wondered if Messer Pigello recalled Claes, the lad who had delivered Pierfrancesco’s horses; and then remembered that, according to Felix, he and Nicholas had called on Pigello since then. On business, unspecified. On, then, the mysterious business Nicholas wanted him for, about which he’d heard nothing more? Certainly both brothers Portinari acknowledged Nicholas’ presence equally with his own. They were affable.
They were affable but reproving, like the Dauphin’s chamberlain. Since the Charetty company favoured the Casa Medici with its business, Messer Niccolò and his lawyer might be kind enough to call when in Milan. Messer Niccolò had, of course, heard of the closure of Thibault and Jaak de Fleury?
At once, Julius felt better, despite the mistake they seemed to making about Nicholas’ status. Messer! Or no, he ought to remember. The ridiculous marriage. Well, despite that, he was glad he hadn’t dodged the encounter. He thought of dispatching Nicholas to see to refreshments, and then realised, with a moment’s annoyance, that he should do it himself. When he excused himself, Nicholas hardly looked round, never mind stopping him.
Julius hurried. He was longing to know just how awful the Fleury disaster had been. When he and the servant came back, there was no room to put the goblets down, there were so many papers on the table. All the writing on them appeared to be in columns. The puffed hats of Pigello and Accerito moved up and down, almost chiming like wedding bells, as their owners discussed them. Nicholas, his hair frizzed with heat, sat in his travel-stained, decent jacket, apparently watching them. When their voices stopped, he sometimes commented.
Julius, who seldom found a reason for examining faces, noticed that Nicholas did look tired, and not very responsive. Julius, pouring the wine, made a point of brightening the atmosphere. After all, the downfall of Jaak de Fleury was something to celebrate.
The brothers Portinari, with Ambrosian courtesy, accepted the wine and went on turning pages and referring