Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [33]
‘They frequently sink, whether I am on them or not,’ said the vicomte de Ribérac. ‘I prefer to leave adventuring to my son, Katelina’s husband.’
‘Then I trust he is faring better than mine,’ said the King. He selected a fresh brush, and dipped it in colour. ‘Your Simon has no taste for warfare? I have not heard, at any rate, that he has been persuaded to support Duke John in the war against Naples.’
Jordan de Ribérac smiled, a matter of compressing several chins. ‘He has yet to master trade, monseigneur,’ he remarked. ‘I feel it will take a decade or two before he can successfully contemplate strategy.’
‘Is that true, madame?’ said the King over his shoulder. ‘Defend your husband. You know no man wins praise from this cynic de Ribérac.’
In Jordan’s company, Katelina was driven to feel pity, sometimes, for Simon. She treated the jibe, in any case, as a loyal wife should. ‘Monseigneur, I have no need to make excuses for my lord Simon. Wherever tournaments are held, his name is recognised. He loves independence, and will follow his fortune. That is why he is in Portugal, with his married sister. Her husband needs Simon’s help to market what he grows, and he has joined them in business. They have formed a new company.’
‘In Portugal?’ said the King.
The fat man answered before she had a chance. ‘Or in its remote, safer colonies far from Flanders. Simon has a running war with a bastard of his first wife’s in Flanders. He feels secure in Madeira.’
‘That isn’t true!’ Katelina said.
René smiled. ‘Pray go on. My lord Jordan?’
‘About the bastard? Nicholas vander Poele, he calls himself,’ said the vicomte, folding his heavy arms and contemplating the ceiling. ‘An unfortunate youth with a talent for numbers. He married his employer, killed all his nearest relatives, and made a great deal of money bringing Venetians and gold back from Trebizond. It is said that the Queen of Cyprus intends to recruit him.’
Katelina sat up.
‘Indeed?’ said the King. ‘On what grounds have you formed this expectation – Ah! The gossip from Sor de Naves’ Sicilian carrick in Nice?’
‘Your grace is percipient,’ de Ribérac said.
‘My grace has finished,’ said René. He laid down his brush, wiped his hands, finger by finger, and turning, rose. So did everyone else. The widow Spinola, who cared for the royal jewels, said, ‘A masterpiece, my lord king.’ The man called Lomellini agreed. There were a lot of Genoese in Anjou. There were men of many nationalities. Perrot, the King’s own confessor, bore a name well known among merchants in Bruges. The King employed also a Scotsman whose son was an Archer in France.
She heard King René asking about the man Roland Cressant, and the fat man replying. He was familiar with the Archer bodyguard of Louis of France. To secure the King’s goods, Jordan de Ribérac was permitted on occasion to borrow their services. They were all young and stalwart and Scottish and took the place, she supposed, of his own disappointing heir. She didn’t suspect him of vice. As she had reason to know, his tastes ran to women, not men. And to food and drink, she supposed. About his private life, she was glad she knew nothing.
The King’s painting was exquisite, and they had returned to it. De Ribérac, straightening, exclaimed in his sonorous voice. ‘Masterly. By every standard, delightful. His grace has been more generous with one wing of the angel than he has with the other.’ He raised his eyes to King René, who smiled.
‘I have met one man who is not a sycophant. M. le vicomte, you are right. To you, and you alone, I entrust the task of making both angelic pinions identical. Perhaps your lovely good-daughter will aid you. So I can hope for no practical help from that noble jouster, your son?’
‘From Simon?’ said Jordon de Ribérac. ‘Whatever side he joined, it would lose. Whereas from me you will extract angelic feathers, from Simon, you could hope only for lead.’
‘My lord exaggerates,’ said Katelina.
‘Do I?’ said Jordan de Ribérac. He had bright, cold eyes, set in a face coloured and smooth as a child