Scales of Gold - Dorothy Dunnett [284]
Once, an ambitious, struggling deputy, Tommaso Portinari had despised the apprentice Claes and the circle of young men in which he had found himself trapped. Handsome, poor, dependent on the patronage of his family and, over them, of the Medici, he had struggled to be where he now was: not a twelve-year-old junior, but the undisputed controller of the Bruges business; a trusted counsellor of the new Duke; a monopoly supplier of silk; a near-monopoly supplier of alum; a diplomat whose secret letters were welcomed in France, Milan, England. A wealthy, unmarried man of forty-three, whose home was the Hof Bladelin in Naalden Straate, the great turreted house where the treasurer of the Golden Fleece used to hold his receptions at carnival-time.
Tommaso had seen Katelina van Borselen there, the year she had married St Pol. The year the Charetty dyeworks had gone on fire. It pleased him to welcome Claes – Nicholas – now, and the young Vasquez nephew. Tommaso walked across the tiles of his parlour and held out both adorned hands, saying, ‘My dear Nicholas, how I have longed to have time for a talk with you. And Diniz, who has become as close to me as his uncle. What will you find tolerable, do you think? A piece of fine sugar candy? My kitchen knows I have a sweet tooth.’
‘I shouldn’t mind a piece of fat mutton,’ Nicholas said, ‘rolled up with ground maize and an eyeball. Toma, it’s me. Bought any ostriches lately?’
‘I – It’s been so long,’ said Portinari. At first sight, because he wore no jewels, Nicholas looked the same, except that his face was somehow more hollow, and his eyes amazingly direct. Then you recognised the quality of the hat, and the sleeveless tunic, and the gown over it. Tommaso said quickly, ‘We are all so thankful that you came safely back.’
‘Are you?’ said Nicholas, following his gaze. ‘I got the silk off ibn Said in Timbuktu – which reminds me, I’ve got to settle his debt to you. You may not much like having me back. You’re being a damned fool over the alum.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Tommaso said. A servant had come into the room. He sent him off, snapping an order.
‘Freely granted,’ said Nicholas. ‘The Pope’s got a lot of good alum, and you want to sell it for him, with no competition and at a fine, high old price.’
‘The money goes to the Church,’ Tommaso said. ‘The Duke has agreed to ban all other alum. Why did you go to Ethiopia if you don’t support the Christian Church? Or, forgive me, try to go. You failed to get there, I hear.’
‘I ran out of candy,’ Nicholas said. ‘The Duke can agree till he’s Ethiopian black in the face, but the merchants will go on taking Turkish alum as well. Myself included.’
It had been a shock. Nevertheless, Tommaso Portinari had met self-made fellows before, with no notion of how to conduct meetings. Wine arrived, and a tray of well-sugared pastries. Portinari said, ‘I do sympathise, of course, with your mixed allegiances. To deal in Timbuktu at all, you had to conform to Muslim beliefs. You must have many Muslim friends now.’
‘Well, the ibn Said brothers,’ Nicholas said. ‘Do you still use Benedetto Dei as well? Or is he a Christian?’
‘Of course he … Benedetto Dei does not live in Timbuktu,’ Tommaso said. ‘Although he is calling there. He went with the Ferrandina to Rhodes and Constantinople last year, and she was expected in Marseilles this spring. He may travel south from the Barbary coast. Is it a difficult journey?’
‘Not if you like camels,’ Nicholas said. ‘And while I remember, here is your commission from Abderrahman ibn Said. He says it should be correct.’
It was a draft on the Banco di Niccolò. Tommaso said, ‘I am glad to have it. It must have been difficult, carrying gold such a distance in safety.’
‘I brought books instead,