Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [71]
“They both come indoors,” said Julius. The hardness of his voice surprised Tobie. Julius added, “The servant is mine, and is Christian. The young man is Claes.”
“Claes?” said Jaak de Fleury without interest. His steward waited for orders, a bone-cracking grip on Loppe’s arm and another on Claes’ nearest shoulder.
“He lived with you,” Julius said.
The luminous eyes studied Claes, from the dented bowl on his head to the stained and battered links of his shirt-mail, the uneven hem of his doublet, the darned stuff of his hose and the scuffed, borrowed boots on his feet.
“So many did,” said Jaak de Fleury. “Which was this? The one who stole? They all did. The one who claimed my wife raped him? No, that was you, Master Julius, was it not? The one with the unusual rapport with the farmyard? Yes, that was Claes. I sent him, as I remember, where pissing might serve a purpose. To the Charetty dyeshop. How well I see he has turned out.”
The notary had said Claes would smile, and Tobias saw that he was right. The smile was perfectly open, with neither guilt nor confusion behind it. Claes said, “All your training, grand-uncle. I told them.”
“Grand-uncle?” said the merchant. He drew back and then yielded smoothly to laughter. “An intended insult, I suppose. An instruction from the Widow to embarrass me. Well it might, if you were my bastard and not my late niece’s. But as it is, I forgive you. A light beating, Agostino; and lock the boy in the barn. Come. I am cold.”
“Monseigneur, so are we all,” said the voice of Astorre, hoarsely bland. He raised his short arms. With no apparent effort, the slave Loppe was disengaged from the steward’s grasp with one hand, and the shoulder of Claes claimed with the other. “Don’t concern yourself with this rubbish. It belongs to us, and will serve us indoors. There is a singer for Cosimo de’ Medici dying of cold. Do we stand here all day?”
The fine eyes of Jaak de Fleury stared at the captain. He said, “You would loose these brutes in my house? For what harm they do, I expect compensation.”
“You will have it,” said Astorre. “Now, can we enter? There is business.”
“Ah yes, there is business,” said Jaak de Fleury. “Women’s business at that. How charming they are in their innocence. God asks us to protect them, and we will. But who will repay us the cost of it? Not the heir. Not the delightful young gentleman Felix, with his beardless pranks. And so, dear Julius, they can no longer pay you your wages? You have to fight for a living like the brutes you professed to despise. How sad. And who is that man?”
Tobie said, “A physician. Tobias Beventini, Monsieur de Fleury.”
The eyes trained themselves directly upon him. “A relative?” said Jaak de Fleury. “A relative of Jean-Mathieu Ferrari?”
No one else had asked him that. “A nephew,” said Tobie. He could feel Julius looking at him.
“Trained in Pavia?”
“Yes, monsieur,” said the doctor. “I am under contract to captain Astorre. I wish battle experience.”
“Your uncle would not agree,” said the merchant.
“Fortunately,” said Tobie, “it is my affair and not his. My present concern is the monk here. The cold air could damage his throat. Messer Cosimo would be disappointed.”
“It is of no matter to me,” said Jaak de Fleury. “The Medici are my debtors. Signor Nori is responsible for the Geneva branch of the Medici. Signor Sassetti, once the manager, sometimes visits him. One or other of them will call soon, for their documents. Nori, plenty of money and always ailing. There’s a gold mine for you. Sell him a cure. He’ll pay. Sell him a cure for anything: he’s convinced he has every disease there’s a name for. Go that way. My wife will take care of you.”
He walked off, with Astorre and the notary following. No Madame