Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [69]
The doctor was mildly interested. “So,” he said. “This sudden plunge into soldiering. Is it his idea? Or the only way the demoiselle could get rid of him?”
“Oh, the demoiselle,” Julius said. “Bruges complained. Someone had to knock him into shape. And at least, now he’s learning to defend himself.”
“So I see. I hope my salve lasts out,” said the doctor. “And what if he turns to the attack one of these days?”
“I wish he would,” Julius said. “We all wish he would. I’d support him. In fact, if he really put his mind to it, I can tell you, I shouldn’t care to be one of his targets.”
“Yes,” said Tobie thoughtfully. “I agree. He’s a big fellow, Claes. I wonder if the demoiselle has really been wise? To put a sword in his hand instead of a dyestick?”
Julius didn’t trouble to answer. Claes was Claes. Julius knew him, and Tobie didn’t. All you could do was keep pushing him, and hope that one day he would take the initiative.
They passed through the gates of Geneva next day, with the dazzle of Alpine snows on the skyline, and the wind blowing straight off them. Not a big town, clinging to its steep hill at the end of the lake, but built where it mattered: where roads and rivers led north to France and south-east to Italy and south to Marseilles and the Middle Sea, and merchants from all these places could meet, and exchange goods, and spend money. The big stone fortified houses with their tower-staircases and their vast cellars belonged to the merchants, and there were well-kept quays down on the lake, and inns and warehouses and well-built market booths at the Molard, near the Madeleine, and rows of notary-benches up in the square by St Peter. But the burgess houses were narrow, and only of wood. Not all the town shared the wealth of the merchants.
Surrounded by traders, Geneva was also surrounded by predators. The Dukes of Savoy might currently control the city, appoint the Bishops of Geneva; name their sons as its Counts. But France’s unstable monarch had a greedy eye on these Fairs which milked off the trade of French Lyons. And the Duke of Savoy was not always very wise. He had given help to the Dauphin, the King of France’s estranged son, now sheltered by Burgundy. He had let the Dauphin marry Charlotte, the Duke of Savoy’s plain young daughter. Periodically, the King of France leaned on the Duke of Savoy, and Savoy and Geneva periodically stopped plotting and cowered. They were too vulnerable to be brave about it.
Which was why, to be sure, the traders who dabbled in banking and the bankers who dabbled in trading tended to have, always, stout branches elsewhere. At the first breath of a threat, the assets of the Medici mysteriously would transport themselves in the form of ledger books and anonymous paper over the Alps to the safety of Florence and Venice and Rome. The house of Thibault and Jaak de Fleury hedged its bets through its connection with Bruges and Burgundy through the Charetty company. But it was very careful to keep the esteem of Charles of France.
So reflected Julius as the cavalcade wound its way, mules, wagons, soldiers and all, up the steep streets towards the Hôtel de Fleury where it was to unload and disperse. Claes, he saw, was quite near, labouring seriously on his horse, tin hat on his nose. On impulse, Julius said, “This is no pleasure for you, meeting Monsieur and Madame de Fleury again. I’m not looking forward to it either. They were severe with you.”
Claes’ caterpillar lips, expanding, paralleled the rim of his helmet. He said, “Oh, I forget. I got used to the hobble. And they always brought my head back in the morning until the string broke.”
“They treated you like a serf,” Julius said. “Even after you left, people talked about it. Don’t you bear them a grudge?”
“I’ll try,” said Claes, “if you want me to.”
“Don’t be silly,” said Julius shortly.
He spurred on. He reminded himself. Talking to Claes was a mistake.
Since, teasingly, the Charetty notary had not described the Fleury family in any detail,