The Spring of the Ram - Dorothy Dunnett [155]
He brought his mind back to his host, and the company he, Gregorio alone, was now leading here in Bruges, and the matters he would like to know more of. The King of France, for example. The ruling of France was closely linked with the ruling of Genoa. They said the old king was dying at last: his bread cut into mouthfuls; the short little doublets exchanged for long robes and laced stockings over festering legs. Dying at Mehun-sur-Yèvre of the morbus gallicus with his Scots Guards about him. The delegation from the East might find it hard even to sell the Hereafter, for the King of France had his mind on one thing: how to coax the Dauphin Louis his heir to his side. And the Dauphin, self-exiled for five years in Flanders, was taunting his father by daily changing his mind. Now he still clung to Duke Philip, and was sending troops to the Yorkists in England. Another time, he might favour his father’s first cousin, who was queen of the Yorkists’ opponents. The fate of Genoa could hang on Louis’ decision.
Anselm Adorne’s eldest son was a student in Paris. Anselm Adorne’s kinsman Prosper Adorno had just become Doge of Genoa, in a revolt that had sent its French governor scuttling for the citadel. Gregorio said innocuously, “Will you bring your son home?”
“Do you think I should?” Adorne said. Without haste, he rose to his feet. “Come. If Mathilde will excuse us, there are some tiresome papers in my office to talk over. No, I shall not call Jan from Paris yet. Listening ears can be useful. Why else is Tilde staying under my roof?”
Closing the door of his office, he was smiling. Gregorio said, “I would take you seriously, if you had made any effort to prevent me from seeing her. Of course, I want to know no more of Genoese affairs than you care to tell me. But if you can, would you advise me of this? Who is Pagano Doria?”
There were no papers on Adorne’s heavy table, but a tray held some cups and a fine pitcher of wine in painted Syrian pottery. From, no doubt, the family pilgrimages to the Holy Land. An inlaid silver inscription glinted as Adorne raised it to pour. He said, “The new Genoese consul to Trebizond? I thought you would ask, so I consulted Jacques Doria the other day. The man is of an obscure branch, and has spent some of his life in Constantinople and Chios, but seems to lack the ability, or the inclination, to apply himself for long to anything. I don’t think you or Nicholas have cause to worry, although it pains me to say so. It is a post which has been several times refused by better men. As you know, the Emperor dislikes Genoese.”
“That’s what I thought,” Gregorio said. “Is he married?”
“Not so far as Jacques is aware. He says he seems to have no immediate family. May I ask something in return?”
“Of course,” said Gregorio, and sipped his wine. Why had he thought he might catch this man in an indiscretion?
Anselm Adorne said, “Forgive me for asking, but I find myself more and more concerned about Catherine de Charetty and her mother. I find it hard to believe that a child as young in her ways as Catherine should have been allowed to travel to Florence. Knowing how much the business relies on her, I cannot understand, either, how your mistress could readily leave it. Your reticence does you credit, and I respect it. But I should like to help if I can.”
He spoke calmly, and tried to avoid sounding glib. “Indeed,” said Gregorio, “it is a kind offer, but all is as it seems. Perhaps you will understand better if I refer to the demoiselle’s second marriage. It seemed wise to remove Catherine from the presence of Nicholas, and even from news of him.”
“So she is not with Nicholas?” said Anselm Adorne.
He had never thought of that. No wonder this conversation was taking place in the office. Gregorio said, “Is that the rumour?”
“I am sorry: yes,” said Adorne. “He was a youth, as you know, who sought fleshly pleasures. The child was said to admire him. With a ship, a fortune, an heiress,