Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [30]
‘I’m asleep,’ Nicholas said.
Chapter 5
SINCE HE HAD promised to do so, Nicholas left Bruges by the Ghent gate in due course, accompanied by the late Ansaldo’s mistress and her servant, and protected by an adequate squad of free soldiers, picked and captained by Thomas. His mood, for various reasons, was subdued, and the girl made no effort to force herself on his attention. At dusk he chose a tavern and acquired suitable lodging for himself and the lady in ostentatiously separate chambers. He arranged for food, excused himself, and retired. As soon as his charges were sleeping, he rose, packed and left.
The following morning, the lady Primaflora was brought a letter which she read, standing very still, before dressing and summoning Thomas.
Thomas had received a missive as well. It contained a draft for a great deal of money and a letter from Master Nicholas, which he perused with the help of a finger. The letter instructed him to take the lady Primaflora and her servant safely and secretly to any destination she might select with the funds now provided. This done, Thomas was free to do as he chose. But since he was not needed in Bruges, Nicholas thought that he might wish to follow his trade, and rejoin Captain Astorre in the Abruzzi. In return, Master Nicholas could promise that Captain Astorre would be markedly liberal.
About the plans of Master Nicholas himself, there was nothing. Nor could he ask, since Master Nicholas had, of course, vanished.
Facing the lady Primaflora, Thomas saw that she was not going to scream, or cry, or otherwise embarrass him. She said, ‘So he has gone. Where, do you think? Perhaps to Cyprus, after all?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Thomas. He was counting, in his head, the money Nicholas had left him, and thinking, with slow happiness, about the Abruzzi and Astorre.
‘If so,’ the woman said, ‘it seems a pity that he has not asked you to share his good luck there. On an island paradise, a man can live like a lord. There would be work for you in Cyprus.’
‘No. I’m going to Italy,’ Thomas said. ‘There’s a fellow called Piccinino who needs a good lesson. Astorre and me, we’ve fought him before. He’s in the pay of Duke John of Calabria. That’s King René’s son.’
‘I can see,’ said the woman, ‘that war in Italy is what you really prefer. And since that’s so, I won’t take you out of your way if you’re going there. I only want to find somewhere to stay, where I have friends, and where the Queen can’t reproach me for not bringing her your master Niccolò.’
Thomas said, ‘You’ve got it wrong. He’s not my master. He’s just paid me to get you home safely. So where will it be?’
‘Where? I don’t know,’ said the late Ansaldo’s mistress. ‘Not, of course, France or Savoy. Suppose you choose the route you prefer into Italy, and I shall find some secure place for myself on the journey.’ She smiled again. ‘Was Messer Niccolò with you when you fought against Jacopo Piccinino? I should like to have seen him.’
‘You wouldn’t,’ Thomas said. ‘It was a disaster. His first fight and all.’
‘But he has learned? He fought at Silla,’ the woman said.
He supposed she was hoping her next man wouldn’t die like the last one, but told her the truth, anyway. ‘Fight?’ Thomas said. ‘You want to ask what happened at Trebizond. He learned, all right. A blood bath. A blood bath. Sheer ingenuity.’
Her eyes, grey as water, looked unseeing straight at him. ‘How terrible,’ said Primaflora.
Nicholas, having got clean away, celebrated by taking a decision. By a route long and circuitous, he would convey himself southwards for the rest of the winter, stopping where he had never been. Cologne, for example. He had introductions to three people from Colard, and Godscalc’s name would produce more. He thought he might find something of interest in Basle. If he put off enough time, the spring campaigns would get under way and, one way or another, he would find where his friends were.