Scales of Gold - Dorothy Dunnett [21]
‘The booth was too small for any purpose of ours,’ she said. ‘He sleeps there and buys his food from us. He passes for a worker in gold, and the dogs protect him as well as our stock.’
‘During the day?’ Nicholas asked.
‘During the day, of course, they are tied up.’ She followed his gaze to the window. ‘Why? You saw one of the dogs? They are fierce.’
‘No,’ Nicholas said. He rose and crossed the room. Beneath the sleeveless pourpoint, his shirt was soaked and his hose might have been dye on the skin: Gregorio saw the woman’s eyes follow him. Nicholas said, ‘I thought I saw someone. Could he have heard us?’
‘There was nothing to hear,’ said Marietta Barovier.
‘Only that there was something to hide,’ Nicholas said. He opened the door to the yard, looking first about, and then down, where the rough ground was sprinkled with ash. Already, Gregorio could see, the house-shadow had lengthened: the long storeroom outside lay half in darkness. Then Nicholas said, ‘Yes. This way!’ and flung himself outside. Over his shoulder he said, ‘Fetch the soldiers!’
Lopez was already beside him, and Marietta Barovier, following quickly, stood in the doorway looking after them. In the yard, men turned and looked up. Gregorio wheeled and raced through the house, heedless of rattling shelves. The soldiers were in the front where they had left them, and came running as he threw them explanations. Then he was back in the yard, which was crowded.
The main gathering seemed to be round the storehouse. Lopez, appearing, said, ‘It was a man. Meester Nicholas cut off his escape, and he was forced to run back. They think he is hiding in there.’
‘A spy?’ Gregorio said. ‘Or another marksman?’
‘He doesn’t seem to be armed,’ said the Negro. Gregorio looked at him, and ran on.
Approaching the barn, he could hear the voice of one of the soldiers demanding in harsh Italian that the man inside give himself up. Nicholas was standing beside him, breathing quickly. The woman Barovier was moving about her workers, talking. The barn seemed to be filled with straw, and clay pots and channels, and sacks of barillo, stamped with the name of the Strozzi of Alicante. When no one came out, the two soldiers moved in, followed by a number of burly yardmen in aprons, bars in their hands. Within moments, someone screamed.
Nicholas was still standing outside. Gregorio walked up to him. He said, ‘Who is it? Do you know?’
‘No,’ Nicholas said. They were dragging out the intruder by the arms. His face was covered with blood and his booted feet trailed. He was a small man, pallid of limb and dressed as a labourer. One of the soldiers came over to Nicholas. Under his helmet, his face was lit with delight. ‘We have him, my lord. We’ll find his weapon, and we’ll find out who hired him.’
‘Well done,’ Nicholas said. He seemed to be studying the captive, who at that moment looked up. Instead of speaking, Nicholas turned back to the soldier. He said, ‘Search for a weapon, but I don’t think you should interrogate him here. Can you keep him under lock and key until the boat comes to take us back to the city? Then he can be restrained under proper conditions.’
‘Proper conditions?’ said the man-at-arms. ‘My lord, the wretch tried to kill you.’
The man spoke, through bleeding lips. ‘I didn’t! My lord, believe me! I was only –’
‘I think,’ Nicholas said, ‘you should bandage his lips. They seem to be bleeding. And he sounds as if he is going to be tiresome. Madonna, forgive me. But since we are here, might I ask you to show us the booth you were speaking of? I meant to pay it a visit.’
It seemed odd, after all that had happened. Gregorio saw that again, the woman was taken aback. But, after all, that was why he was here. There was no reason to abandon his purpose. After a moment she nodded, and pointed the way.
The booth lay against one distant wall, and consisted of a long, low building of brick, safely tiled. It had once held a small furnace, but now only contained the Florentine and his possessions, and his workshop.
The Florentine was