Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [290]
“One of the grooms gives him an apron,” said the boy. “But some of them say the rings could stay inside the ostrich for ever.”
“Or emerge as an extra, late gift for the Duke of Milan,” Nicholas said. They were walking through the house to the stable yard. He said, “Is the bird better, then?”
“They say so,” said the boy. “You heard about the shellfish?”
“Yes,” said Nicholas. “Who on earth fed it shellfish?”
“It ate them itself,” the boy said. “Wading ashore from the wreck. Then it worked through a whole field of corn before they could catch it. It runs very fast. It took eight horsemen to get hold of it, because they had to watch not to damage its feathers. It likes little birds.”
“That’s rather charming,” said Nicholas.
“To eat. And insects. And grasses. They’ve had to keep it in its travelling box, or it steals all the feed from the horses. It has this very long neck. And long legs. It kicks with its legs when Messer Tommaso tries to look in the box.”
“How did – how did it get hold of his rings?” Nicholas asked. They had emerged into the yard. From the furthest stables came the sound of thudding, accompanied by a low, booming roar. Nicholas said, “Not the bird?”
“That’s the ostrich,” said the boy. “It roars when it’s unhappy. It usually hisses when it sees Messer Tommaso. Sometimes it cackles. His rings came off when he pulled his hands too quickly back from the bar.”
“I expect it cackled then,” Nicholas said. “This stable? Well, the horses look all right. And that’s the travelling box. It’s very tall.”
“It’s a big bird,” said the boy. “Five feet to its back; eight feet to its head. A cock. You tell by the black and white plumes. That’s what makes them so valuable. The big black and white plumes.”
Tommaso Portinari was not, at the moment, peering into the box where the ostrich stood. He was not, either, inside the box inspecting its droppings. He had not even replaced his jacket with the leather apron which hung from his hands as he stood, his back to a post, contemplating his feet. He looked up, with deliberation. Adversity suited him. He was pale. The dark, ruffled hair, cut round his brow and across the top of his ears, framed the long-nosed antelope face with its fine arched brows and high cheekbones. His expression was one of a man pushed beyond endurance.
Nicholas said, “Your boots. It’s eaten your boots?”
For answer, Tommaso Portinari merely turned his head on one shoulder and nodded towards the box. It was an extremely stout box, as befitted a cage for a 300-pound bird. The sides were solid, with windows let into them. The top consisted of open spars. The whole contraption stood filling a horse-stall and emanating a smell of rotting fruit, bruised grass and ostrich. Nicholas jumped for the frame of the horse-stall and straddled its wall, looking down at the far-travelled captive. Then he started to laugh.
It was what Julius saw as he crossed the yard into the stables, having set out with many misgivings to track down someone called Nicholas de St Pol who was still married to his employer. He expected to find him in some sort of extremity. Instead he heard the fearsome sound of Claes in a fit of idiot laughter. A sound which had enticed him into many a scrape in the past, and had maddened him equally often.
The noise came from the top of a horse stall. Claes … Nicholas was sitting there, bowing up and down and exploding, while down below, Tommaso Portinari and a boy were gazing up at him. Next to the stall was a strong-smelling box from which came thudding noises, accompanied by spitting and hissing. Julius reached Tommaso and looked up and said, “What? The ostrich?”
“Go and look,” Nicholas called. He stooped for a hay-rake and pointed. “There’s a window at the side.”
Julius went and looked. The boy was already there. The boy’s face had gone red. Tommaso stood where he was, apparently studying the rafters. Nicholas, whining with laughter, handed himself to