Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [93]
Again, the pause. Again, Laudomia Acciajuoli supplied the answer. She said, “Bartolomeo is from Venice. You may think it hard to justify a kinsman who cleaves to the heathen. But the Sultan favours Venetian traders. The Sultan permits them their own customs and worship, and in return they pay highly. Bartolomeo buys raw silk from the East, and sells or exchanges it in Constantinople for woven silk from dealers like Messer Marco here. He is also much concerned with alum.”
“Alum?” said Tobie, He cleared his throat.
Laudomia Acciajuoli looked at him. She said, “I thought his brother possibly told you. Bartolomeo controls the alum mines of Phocoea for the Sultan.”
Claes, you bastard, thought Tobie. And dear uncle Giammatteo over there, studying the roof-beams. What am I in? What do they think I’m in? What do I do? Continue as if nothing had happened. Tobie said, “I can see why you must be hoping for a crusade.”
“Or another source of alum,” said Monna Laudomia. “That is your great dream, is it not, Messer Giovanni? That the Pontiff your godfather will allow you the means to prospect for minerals in his territory? Think what it would mean if alum were found!”
The Pope’s godson rose. He said, “It is, I am afraid, a remote chance at the moment. Monna Laudomia, Messer Agnolo, I must take my leave.”
Tobie was not surprised. He played his part in the leave-taking and stood absently watching his host escort the Pope’s godson from the room. His uncle, smiling in a way he did not like, made a business of seating himself again, and after a moment, Tobie did so as well. Claes, when he shot a killing glance at him, was seated between Marco Parenti and his wife, and they were all talking Italian.
The cardplaying Frenchman had taken a stool next to Tobie’s uncle. Tobie’s uncle leaned over and said, “Tobias. You haven’t met M. Gaston du Lyon.”
“On the contrary,” said M. Gaston du Lyon. “M. Tobias and I had a snowy encounter some days ago, and he is asking himself why I was travelling with Englishmen.”
At the moment, Tobie didn’t want to think what the answer might be. He said, “I hope you were none the worse for the soaking.”
“I was not harmed in the slightest. No, I was merely riding with my lord of Worcester for safety. He was under the impression, I think, that I was a loyal citizen of King Charles of France making my devout way to Rome.”
“But Claes knew who you were?” said Tobie.
“I should be annoyed if he did. No, he did not. He has been, if not penitential, at least polite on learning my identity.”
“Which is?” Tobie said.
“Oh, I am French,” said M. Gaston. “But I serve not the French king but his exiled son the Dauphin. I am chamberlain to the Dauphin Louis, and am come on leave to Milan for the jousting in February. I live for jousting. It is my great joy.”
“It isn’t mine. I spend too much time repairing the victims,” said Tobie. He thought of the avalanche. He thought of Claes, so obligingly patching up pumps, and picking up all the Savoy gossip. Whatever the naive M. Gaston might think, Tobie for one was sure that Claes had known exactly whom M. Gaston represented. Before the avalanche, too.
Tobie felt agitated: even trapped. The conversation between Claes and the pretty girl and her husband had broken up. Suddenly Claes was standing between each and calling him over. “Master Tobias! You met Messer Marco and his wife. Do you know who she is? She is Lorenzo’s sister!”
“Lorenzo?” said Tobie.
“Lorenzo Strozzi! From the House of Strozzi in Bruges? They’ve just had a bereavement – a brother – and there are letters from Lorenzo for Monna Caterina and her mother this very moment in my satchel at the inn. She’ll have them tomorrow.” In deference to the bereavement, Claes’ face registered a sort of happy sympathy. He turned to the girl. “Lorenzo misses you so much. We cheer him up, but he needs to come back to Italy.”
“It is what I have always said,” said the girl. “My brother pines, Marco. He longs to have his own business.”
Claes looked interested. Messer Marco Parenti looked annoyed. Tobie, bent on extricating himself,