Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [88]
The next morning, shutting his eyes against the glare of the rainfall, Julius accompanied his captain and four well-armed men to the Chancery to obtain the first down-payment of the contract. He expected a box of florins. Instead, he was given one thick sheet of paper addressed to Pigello Portinari, manager of the Medici Bank of Milan.
“Money?” said the secretary’s secretary. “We don’t handle money. Make your wishes known to Messer Pigello. At the old bureau beside St Ambrogio. Or the new palace beside the Castello. Turn right before you get to the walls, and look for St Thomas’s.”
With a jerk, Astorre nocked his tough beard and aimed it. “Last time –”
“It’s all right. Take the paper,” said Julius. “The Medici will pay you. It’s their way of loaning money. Then the Duke sees they get it back with a profit.”
“That’s usury,” said Astorre, glaring at the secretary’s secretary.
“No, it isn’t. It’s God’s way of rewarding an honest, hard-working banker with a vigilant eye on the money market. Let’s go. Never mind the old Medici office. I want to see the new Palazzo.”
Proceeding there in the rain with an argumentative Astorre, Julius felt a quiet satisfaction. The youth Claes was hardly representative of the Charetty company. It was time he and Astorre redressed the balance.
There had been some intermittent concern last night when it was remarked that the receipt for the horses had not yet returned in Claes’ keeping. But when they woke in the morning the papers were there by Julius’ hand, and someone said that Claes was asleep with a smirk on his face, having come in later than anybody with the toes out of his stockings again and a list of addresses. Something would have to be done about Claes.
There was a lot of wet sand and mortar round about the Palazzo Medici as well when they got there. Taking shape was a long block of an edifice built of squared stones. There were a dozen arched windows on the upper storey, all pillared and garlanded, and the middle portal had been done by Monsignore Cosimo’s own architect, Michelozzi. The dizzy top of the arch bore the Sforza shield and medallions. On either side were paired life-sized sculptures, two of youthfully virile Roman warriors and two of exquisite ladies in Florentine dress.
Neither of the men looked like a relative of Tommaso Portinari. About the provenance of the ladies Julius had no knowledge either, but entered the court with high hopes. Semper droit had been carved all down the archway. He supposed it could be held to sum up the beliefs of the Sforza, the Medici and the Portinari, if it came to that. He was not so sure of himself.
There was building going on in the courtyard as well. It was huge. When it was complete, its reception rooms and domestic quarters would be big enough to contain the owner and his whole household, should he ever visit. The rest would presumably hold the permanent staff of the bank, its storehouses and its offices.
Inside, in a warm room on the first floor dark with tapestry, Pigello Portinari and his brother Accerito came forward to greet them with a stately cordiality. The Roman army would not have had either of them. Especially the old one, Pigello. Gaunt, balding and chinless, he had nothing of young brother Tommaso about him except perhaps the long pointed nose. And a liking for rings: he had two on some fingers. Except that Pigello’s rings were large, genuine rubies and diamonds and emeralds, and his sleeves weren’t turned out with sheepskin. Pigello was rich.
Astorre and Julius were given carved chairs. They were brought refreshments. The name of Tommaso entered the conversation and left it almost at once. When the time came (and they were not detained long), Pigello moved over the shining tiles to a table big as a sarcophagus, chubbily carved, from which he drew papers, and read from some of them, and caused others to be signed. Then he took out a number of keys and opened seven locks on a great chest in a corner. Its lid,