Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [77]
Nonetheless Sassetti and his companion turned them over, good humouredly, before enclosing them in turn in their pouches, and took the chance, as bankers will, to glance idly at the other packets waiting to be dispersed to their owners. A communication from Marco Corner, the Venetian merchant, to his relative Giorgio here in Geneva. One from Jacques de Strozzi to Marco Parenti the silk merchant, the husband of Lorenzo’s sister Caterina who lived in Florence. One from Jacopo and Aaron Doria to Paul Doria in Genoa, care of the Milan representative of the Bank of St George. And a dozen at least addressed to the Medici bank at Milan whose assorted seals bore haloed figures in the most expensive of wax.
Sassetti stretched out a thick finger and exposed one of them. “The Bishop of St Andrews, Scotland,” he said. “Annates, of course. Or perhaps a Papal collection? I see why our little consignment is so powerfully defended. What might happen to the Pope’s attack on the Turk if the gold does not reach him?”
“My dear Sassetti,” said Jaak de Fleury. The archaic cheekbones gleamed with irony in the handsome face. “Who could imagine this former ladies’ man at the Vatican ever collecting enough money to send off a row-boat? Will Burgundy help him? No. Will Milan lift a finger? And all those odorous hermits he has conjured out of the East to join churchly hands in a Crusade – what do they want but a house and a pension and sufficient literate pupils to praise them in Greek for posterity?”
The merchant raised his splendid shoulders and gave a civilised groan. “The King of Scotland must be mad, sending money. His sister, at least, is a fool. She stayed here for years, betrothed to the Count of Geneva until the King of France pointed out how unsuitable such a marriage might be, and they sent her back to Scotland.”
“She was Bishop Kennedy’s cousin,” said Julius. “Perhaps there is a dowry to retrieve.”
The Medici men, who would know, maintained an appearance of tranquil attentiveness. Julius, taking the hint, dropped the subject. The money from the Bishop of St Andrews, he knew very well, was ransom gold for Nicholai de’ Acciajuoli’s brother. If the Greek planned to beg here as well, it would do him no service to underline the size of his takings.
The conversation dwindled to a close. M. Jaak de Fleury did nothing to protract it. M. Jaak de Fleury, Julius knew very well, could hardly wait to get rid of the Medici, and then see them all on their way off by nightfall. M. Jaak de Fleury did not enjoy their company.
A difficulty emerged. Collecting now in the bank of the Medici was a fresh batch of reports for Milan. Messer Nori would bring them tomorrow. And the Charetty captain, he hoped, would undertake the task of conveying them. The price offered was excellent. M. de Fleury refused point-blank to entertain the Charetty company any longer. Julius, negotiating swiftly and decisively, obtained an agreement from Nori. If he returned now and assembled the letters, Julius would send a man to the bank to collect them. He was happy to have thought of it. When, later, it came to choosing the man, he thought Claes, familiar with Sassetti and Geneva, deserved the small excursion.
That M. de Fleury might not approve did not cross the notary’s mind. He packed his papers, and went off to help Astorre get the cavalcade loaded once more and assembled. The peremptory summons came then, to appear before M. Jaak in his cabinet. The interview was disgusting. Julius emerged from it white with suppressed anger and marched towards his room. The first person he encountered was Claes, carrying Thomas’s luggage. “So you came back!” said Julius.
Claes looked surprised. “I had to wait. The letters weren’t