Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [299]
About this youth, one had doubts. Some feckless escapade had been reported that very day by Corner and Bembo and the other Venetian merchants. Senseless children ran races and upset their betters. The young man might be a foot taller than Messer Piero Zorzi, and decked today in furred robe and damask, but he was still a dyer’s apprentice.
One had, however, to think of the good of the Republic. Conducting his two incongruous guests through the chattering, jewel-prinked company, the Venetian commander hoped (in Italian) that they would accept the hospitality of his cabin, where Messer Prosper Camulio of Genoa would shortly join them with two of his friends.
They knew Italian. “And yourself, commander?” the Flemish woman enquired.
“Alas, my other guests call. But later, certainly, I hope to give myself the pleasure of joining you. Madonna, through this curtain.”
Marian de Charetty walked past his arm. Behind the curtain was a small panelled chamber lit by silver wall sconces. There was carpet on the floor, and a table fixed to it, and cushioned seats round three sides. She walked in, thinking of Prosper de Camulio, who would shortly join them, and who would condole with her on the death of her gallant son Felix, whom he had entertained in his Milanese villa. She heard the door curtain close, and the commander’s stiff walk retreating.
Beside her, Nicholas suddenly checked. The cabin was not empty. From where he had been sitting in shadow a bearded man rose, his two hands on a stick, and stood studying them. A black-haired man dressed in Florentine robes, whose olive skin and dark eyes fixed on Nicholas were not Italian, and whose red lips parted now in a slow, amused smile. He said, “Have no fear, my friend Niccolò. There is nothing I can take from you. There is nothing of what I am going to offer you that you need accept.”
There was a pause. Then beside her, Nicholas said, “I am glad to hear it.”
Disturbed by his voice, she looked up at him; but could not read his face. He said, “Demoiselle, you remember Messer Nicholai Giorgio de’ Acciajuoli, who passed through Bruges on his way from Scotland last year? Messer Nicholai: the lady my wife.”
“I have to felicitate you,” said the Greek. The Greek with the wooden leg, who had witnessed the sinking of the cannon at Damme. Who had given Nicholas that first, teasing hint about Phocoean alum. Who had divined from the beginning – was it possible? – that here perhaps was a man he could use.
Nicholas said, “Messer Prospero …?”
“He will join us later,” said the bearded man. “With Messer Caterino Zeno and his wife. Messer Caterino ratified the alum agreement, demoiselle. You have seen his signature. You will enjoy meeting the man. And Violante his wife. The princesses of Trebizond are famed for their beauty.”
“We should sit, then,” said Nicholas. “I dare say you will want to come to business quite soon.” His voice was peaceful again.
The Greek smiled, making way for her. She seated herself between the two men, and facing the curtain. The Greek said, “Our friends will not come until I seek them. In any case you know what we are to discuss. The Duke of Milan has offered your company a renewal of the condotta for next year, but you have not yet accepted?”
She realised Nicholas had left her to answer. She said steadily, “No. But we expect to do so very soon. After San Fabiano, the lord Federigo was most pressing. Any alternative would have to offer much more.”
The Greek said, “How soon would you expect to sign your Milanese contract?”
It was Nicholas, this time, who replied. “Before the end of the year, monsignore. I plan to go to Milan in November.”
She hadn’t known that. She waited.
The Greek said, “But you wouldn’t object, personally, to taking your company further afield? You have a developing business, which breeds jealousies. No one would wish to harm a lady, but the more successful a merchant, the more he invites retaliation. There is much to be said for moving a share of the business elsewhere. You’ve already thought of Venice. You have a rapport with