Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [87]
Tobie knew all that already. To put it mildly, Julius’ answers were airy. It annoyed Tobie to be less intoxicated with wine than Julius was with relief and complacency. He continued, undeterred, with his questioning. “And the palace? What did you think of it?”
Astorre, still pacing up and down, tried to snap his fingers and then began to fight his gloves off. “Offices, that’s all it is. Officials, ambassadors, apartments for the family of course, but the Duchess has only four women and the Duke has no style. None. God knows what use he’ll find for the African, though we’ll hear. The secretary hinted there would be something appropriate. I should hope so. They spend money on some things. Tutors for the children. There’s a foolishness. They’ll turn out badly, you’ll see. Latin orations at eight. All that nonsense. We met their physician …” He turned.
“Ah,” thought Tobie.
Astorre bent and brought his stitched eye, as he sometimes did, close to Tobie. Angled downwards, like a bird’s foot, it glittered. “You didn’t say,” said Astorre, “that you were nephew to Giammatteo Whatever. Him. The Duke’s physician.”
“Or the son of Beventinus Whatever. The Duke’s famous notary,” Julius said, his face glistening.
Tobie sat up on his pallet and, stretching out, poured himself a fifth cup of wine. He said, “I didn’t ask you for your breeding chart. Anyway, I hadn’t decided whether to stay with you or not.”
“Careful,” said Julius. He whipped the cup from Tobie’s fingers and before he could stop him, had drained it. Julius said, “I think you are implying that it was only your connections that got us the condotta?”
Astorre’s face, which had receded, came closer again.
“No,” said Tobie. “I fell out with all of them years ago. That was why I nearly stayed with Lionetto. I knew if he tried to get an engagement in Milan they’d refuse him. So, see, it’s a compliment. They took you in spite of me. Do have some of my wine.”
“I’ll send for some more. Where’s Claes?” said Julius vaguely.
“Took the papers to the Palazzo Medici. Then they sent him back for the four horses.”
“You let him take the horses?” barked Astorre.
“Three expert grooms to lead them, and Claes. He was the only one who could recognise a receipt. It’s all right. They got there all right. The grooms came back and reported. Claes is coming back too, once the paperwork is all done.”
“I think,” said Julius, “I ought to go and fetch him. The Palazzo Medici?”
“One of those slums,” said Tobie hazily. “No, that’s where he went with the papers. The horses were for Cosimo’s nephew. Christ, Tommaso made enough fuss about it. The horses went to Pierfrancesco de’ Medici.”
Satisfactorily, Julius was now more sober than he was. He even sat down. He said, “Tobie. Pierfrancesco de’ Medici is in Florence.”
“I know,” said Tobie. “But his wife is here. Staying with her brother. Her Florentine brother who has a great big house in Milan where he sometimes stays for months at a time. Such as now. With great big stables. Because the family go in for horse-breeding.”
“Who do?” said Julius.
“Pierfrancesco’s wife’s family. The Acciajuoli,” said Tobie patiently. “Pierfrancesco de’ Medici is married to Laudomia Acciajuoli. Cousin of the Greek with the wooden leg. Remember? The bearded mosaic who was collecting money in Scotland and Bruges to get his brother ransomed from the Sultan?”
Tobie paused. “And talking of wooden legs, my captain, you may be glad to hear that your friend Brother Gilles will survive. In about a month’s time he