Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [264]
“He could shake public faith in the company,” Nicholas said. “Or …” He broke off.
Julius said with annoyance, “All right, what? At this rate, we’ll be there in a minute.”
“There’s only one secret you and I and the demoiselle would prefer Jaak de Fleury not to know,” Nicholas said. “Or no, there are actually two; but the second one is no business of yours.”
The alum mine. Julius, realising what he meant, felt his face, too, losing colour. He said, “How can we stop him if he’s found out about that?”
“There are several ways,” Nicholas said. “Just as there are several ways of telling someone her only son has been killed. What about thinking for a bit, instead of talking?”
Never in his life had Claes spoken to him like that. A little discipline was required here, and Julius turned to apply it. But then he saw the look on Nicholas’ face, and had the good sense to say nothing.
The streets in Bruges, like the roads outside, were crowded because the Flemish galleys were in. However hard they and their small retinue pushed, it was difficult to make headway with horses. Also, they kept glimpsing people they knew. Nicholas kept his head down, responding to no one and urging his horse yard by yard through the press. Julius, who had been away longer, found himself smiling blearily back at the friendly, familiar faces, and mouthing greetings and promises.
That was how, he supposed, Nicholas became separated from himself and Loppe and the few men they had hired for the journey.
It hardly mattered. They were going, according to Nicholas, to a newly-bought house in Spangnaerts Street which the demoiselle now used as headquarters. Julius arrived at Spangnaerts Street and discovered the house, and was impressed by it.
In the yard there was no sign of Nicholas or his horse. With some misgivings, Julius wondered if the first encounter with Jaak de Fleury and, worse, with Felix’s mother, was about to fall to himself. He had begun to question the gate-keeper when a slight man emerged and crossed the courtyard. He seemed to be about the same age as himself, with hollow temples and a lean face and a lath-like nose of great length, its austerity somewhat relieved by a prodigious scoop at the end. He asked, with sonority, if he could be of assistance.
The black clothes proclaimed him. This was no doubt Gregorio of Asti, the lawyer, who had been occupying his desk for five months. Introducing himself, Julius plunged through the formalities and discovered that Nicholas had not appeared, and that both the demoiselle and M. de Fleury were out: the demoiselle to the Flanders galleys and Monsieur to make a call in the city.
The lawyer, supplying these details, was civilly guarded. Julius said, “We know about Jaak de Fleury. We think we can guess what’s behind it. It’s time it was dealt with. Meester Gregorio, how is the demoiselle?”
The astute black eyes assessed him, and the question. Meester Gregorio said, “She has thought of little else, of course, but the boy’s return. Bad news would be better than nothing.”
Julius said, “She should hear it from Nicholas. He’ll be here soon. It isn’t something to tell in the streets.”
“Her son is dead then,” said Gregorio. “Poor lad. Poor lady. But she may hear it in the streets. In fact, I was just setting off to try and find her. Tell me. Was he killed at San Fabiano?”
Astrologers might have divined the name of that battle. There was no other way for the news to have reached Bruges already. Julius opened his mouth.
Gregorio said, “The report of the battle arrived just an hour ago. Another captain from Count Federigo’s army apparently called at the house here with news of it. The door-keeper told me. The man said nothing of Felix. He asked for M. de Fleury and left to find him.”
“Another captain? Who? Not Astorre?” said Julius. He felt cold.
“No. Not the demoiselle’s captain. Indeed, his rival I believe,” said Meester Gregorio. “A mercenary called Lionetto.”
His own safety