Scales of Gold - Dorothy Dunnett [280]
‘Both are possible. And against the day, too, when both Simon and I shall be dead. I have something to leave now,’ said Nicholas. He rose. ‘But there is no need for Gregorio to know who the child is, and be sorry. I’ve alarmed him enough, without that.’ He paused at the door. ‘Sleep well. Gelis is coming to see you tomorrow.’
‘Indeed!’ said Father Godscalc with gentle irony. ‘Today, life is full of surprises.’
It was a short night. The first call Nicholas made in the morning was to the house of João Vasquez, to ratify the betrothal between his step-daughter and Diniz. The marriage already had João’s blessing: Diniz had assured him of that yesterday morning. There would be no dispute, Nicholas knew, over the conditions. He hoped he would be forgiven for announcing it so precipitately. Seeing Jordan, he had suddenly felt impelled to have the union made unassailably public.
Now, he was relieved to find himself welcomed by the family into which Simon’s sister had married. None of Simon’s accusations seemed to have taken root here; or if they had ever been entertained, Diniz had dispelled them. When Tristão his father had died, it was at the hand of another assassin.
He would be meeting the Duchess’s secretary again, when the Duke and Duchess received him in due course at the Princenhof. As they had wished to question and entertain Diniz, so the nobles and merchants of Bruges wished, with far deeper purpose, to assess the older man who, with no evident guidance or patronage, appeared to be making such arbitrary business alliances – with the Venetians, with the Portuguese, with (but it had come to nothing, thank God) even the Pope.
Nicholas knew what lay behind the invitations which, by herald or secretary or porter, poured each day into the Charetty-Niccolò mansion. He had a bank, and connections. He was too powerful, now, to be left to do as he pleased.
None of that was overtly referred to in the house of João Vasquez, but even so, Nicholas found himself surprised twice.
On the first occasion, Nicholas himself had brought up the name of the caravel Fortado, whose joint shareholders he was taking to court. Diniz was with him.
‘I know of this,’ João had said. ‘I think Raffaelo Doria was a man not to be trusted, and I am prepared to believe that he did as you say. If it can be proved, it is right that the shareholders who employed him should be penalised. The fact that one of them is Simon my brother-in-law should have no effect on this marriage. The king of Portugal has his due from the cargo, and that is all that interests my country. Further, I take it that your own challenge expects restitution in ducats? You have no desire to possess the Fortado yourself?’
‘I have no wish for another caravel,’ Nicholas said.
‘That is as well,’ said João Vasquez, ‘since I have to tell you that the Fortado no longer exists. She came to grief between Madeira and England, when charged by me with a cargo of sugar.’ He paused. ‘I fail to remember, Diniz, if I told you I had taken the ship when she ended her Guinea trip? The patron and the insurers, of course, have had some cause for distress. She was heavily insured.’
No one spoke. ‘With whom?’ Nicholas said.
‘Let me see. A Genoese called Jacques Doria, I believe. And the patron was Alfonse Martinez. The name is very similar to another one hears. I trust they are of the same family.’
‘Uncle!’ said Diniz.
‘Unless you think that unchristian?’ said João Vasquez.
The other matter was different. The final matter raised in that quiet panelled room with its small, high windows forced to a close something that should have been closed long ago, and arose so suddenly it took Nicholas unawares.
They were talking of consanguinity: a marital link between Tilde’s aunt and the first wife of Diniz’ uncle which, they had already agreed, was too remote to impede the coming marriage. ‘Unless,’ added João Vasquez, ‘undue emphasis comes to be laid on it publicly because of the closer connection. Diniz tells me, Ser Niccolò, that you are