Scales of Gold - Dorothy Dunnett [299]
‘Who?’ said Gelis sharply.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Nicholas said. ‘It’s a sort of wedding present, in a way. A capitulation. An armistice, anyway. Shall we go?’
The door opened as he spoke. Simon de St Pol stood in the entrance. He said, ‘I understand you had something to say to me. Some words of apology, might it be?’
‘You never know,’ Nicholas said. ‘I kept a room below. I thought we might talk.’
‘Talk?’ Simon said. He looked amused, glancing at Gelis.
‘Discuss something,’ Nicholas said. ‘I thought we might get out of the way the whole business of the Ghost and the Fortado.’
Gelis rose.
‘Today? Now?’ Simon said. ‘What a very silly idea. A proper tribunal will be held in due course. I am quite willing to wait for it. At the moment, I rather think we are expected to celebrate the ducal nuptials. Yours, I prefer not to think of. I hope you will excuse me.’
‘I don’t mind,’ Nicholas said. ‘Would you like to take Crackbene’s deposition with you? And the boy’s? I have copies for Gilles Lomellini and de Salmeton. As a matter of fact, it could be settled in my favour immediately. Save some money, I thought.’
‘Crackbene’s?’ Simon said. He had reopened the door.
‘And Filipe, the boy’s. They confirm the Fortado was selling arms to the black tribes, and attacked my crew and my ship in the Gambia. We all have something to say about the Doria as well. The Ribérac, I should say. Or the Ghost.’
‘I don’t want to hear,’ Simon said. He said it slowly.
‘Of course not,’ said Nicholas. Outside, to the applause of the crowd, Adolf of Cleves and the Bastard of Burgundy were driving lances at each other. A giant sand-glass on the judge’s tribune was half empty.
Nicholas said, ‘Of course you don’t want to miss all the excitement. I can talk it over quite easily with Lomellini and de Salmeton instead. They should be downstairs by now.’
Simon said, ‘You asked them as well?’ His gaze lingered on Gelis.
‘My wife,’ Nicholas said. ‘You have met? Yes, I asked them as well. Perhaps you want to come, after all.’
‘Why don’t we all go?’ Gelis said.
The others were waiting below. Summoning them, Nicholas had counted on this: that once they knew their partners were coming, they would prefer not to refuse. In any case, the Lomellini and the Vatachino were allies. Gilles Lomellini, acting for his cousins, rose formally when Nicholas entered the room, but David de Salmeton jumped up smiling and came towards Gelis with his two hands outstretched. ‘The bride! My dear, you are blooming!’
In fact she wore the look, alert and somewhat censorious, that Nicholas always liked, and had always mistrusted. She said, ‘It’s the rain. Have you heard what Nicholas has done?’
‘Apart from marrying you?’ Smiling still, the long-lashed eyes were observing Simon de St Pol among the group who were entering the room. David de Salmeton said softly, ‘What else has he done?’
‘Found Michael Crackbene,’ Nicholas said. ‘Among other things. That’s his written statement. Now tell me I don’t own the Ghost.’
During the hour that they talked, they could have heard, through closed windows, the blare of the trumpets and clarions; the signal that the half-hour of the sand-glass had run; the pause to rearm; the further fanfares and tattoos that announced the next stage of the contest. Within, no one listened, for they were fighting with words.
Nicholas had never thought it would be easy. The Ghost had begun life as a ship of Jordan de Ribérac’s purloined by Simon, but without Jordan no one could prove it. It had been sailed to Trebizond by Simon’s agent and had been captured by the Turks, and had been recaptured and salvaged by Nicholas, who now claimed it as his own.
The court of Trebizond, where all that had happened, had gone. Tobie was there to speak to it, and Astorre, and Godscalc and Julius as well as himself. But he had no independent witness except one.
‘Where is Crackbene?’ said Simon de St Pol. ‘Is this his writing? And if it is, what of it anyway? A man who will change his tune for a fee is worth nothing.