Scales of Gold - Dorothy Dunnett [222]
The man said, ‘Henry? Do we wish to be dealt with? Surely not. Surely not by the little man who once – I am right? – tried his hand at swordsmanship with your father. Meester Gregorio, you may enter. You may tell this good woman that, since I have leave from the owners, I am entitled to spend this night and, indeed, as many more as I wish on these premises until the poor, sad San Niccolò stumbles into Funchal.
‘Henry, this is Gregorio of Asti, of the profession which, like vultures on carrion, feeds off the unfortunate of this earth: he is a lawyer. Meester Gregorio, as your scars may remind you, I am Simon de St Pol of Kilmirren, uncle of the late Diniz Vasquez and this (Stand straight, my son. Breeding requires courtesy, even in unusual places) – this is my son and heir, Henry.’
Chapter 32
AS IF CONJURED UP by catastrophe, the San Niccolò sailed into Funchal two days later, and Simon de St Pol proposed a party to take horse to meet her.
The time between had been awesomely terrible. Feared, expected, prepared for during all the long voyage from Venice, the lord Simon had issued his smooth, written challenge and then failed to remain to meet Nicholas. He had stood aside, permitting the encounter between Lucia and Nicholas; allowing Diniz to be traced; abandoning Gelis to unimaginable danger – and had taken no action, except for the one which would ruin his sister and nephew. He had sold his half of the company to the firm Lomellini, and retired to safety in Scotland.
And now, wealthy with the profits from the Fortado, he had returned, endured the screams, the entreaties, the tedious reproaches of his sister, and obtained her permission, without overmuch trouble, to sell the remaining Ponta do Sol estate to the brothers Lomellini, before or after he had avenged the family honour.
He had clearly accepted, without question or even surprise, that Diniz was dead, and that Nicholas – Claes – vander Poele was responsible. He showed no sign of mourning. He gave his first attention, arriving in Funchal, to the matter of greater importance. He had interviewed the brothers Lomellini, and the sale of the Vasquez estate was concluded.
The factor and his wife had no legal right to remain at the quinta where they had spent all their lives, beyond what hours or days the Lomellini (or Simon, their self-appointed agent) might allow them. Gregorio had no place there, nor had any of the men and women who, all unknowing, were still on the mountain, toiling for love of Jaime and their late lord and his son, the lad Diniz.
Whatever hopes Nicholas might have had of Madeira, Simon had eradicated them, along with the hopes of his sister. And now he was prepared to stand to his challenge. The first thing Nicholas would see, arriving ragged and spent, with the Ghost lost, Diniz dead, the Madeira business destroyed, would be Simon de St Pol on the quay, his sword unsheathed in his hand, and his beautiful son at his side.
Gregorio was not a man trained in chivalry, but he knew right from wrong, and spoke up for it; he possessed the scar Simon had spoken of to prove it. He drew on his lawyer’s training. He placed before Simon, or attempted to, the arguments he knew Nicholas would have brought to the meeting which Simon had avoided.
He spoke to stone. Simon had no doubts about how his wife Katelina had died, and who had killed his sister’s husband Tristão, and who now had caused the debauchment and death of Diniz Vasquez. And however wild such a theory might be, it was based on a set of unfortunate facts. Around Nicholas lay the dead of his family; the fruits, anyone could say, of his vengeance. Anyone, that is, who knew (as Gregorio knew) that Nicholas was the son of Simon’s first wife. Anyone who believed (as Simon did) that Nicholas would commit any crime, in order to be accepted as heir, and legitimate.
Gregorio tried