The Spring of the Ram - Dorothy Dunnett [159]
He had not come alone. Did Messer Gregorio not see whom he had brought with him? Met at a banquet, Messer Michael Alighieri, the merchant envoy of the illustrious Emperor of Trebizond, whom Messer Gregorio had come to St Omer to see. Were they not both welcome?
Uttering a lie, Gregorio had them both enter. Welcome individually, perhaps. But with Alighieri there, he could hardly draw information about alum or Pagano Doria or Genoa or anything else out of de Camulio (was that why de Camulio had found a companion?). And with de Camulio there, he was debarred from asking the questions he wanted to ask about Nicholas and the Medici in Florence. On the other hand, Alighieri was entitled to a full exposition on the Charetty company’s business in Flanders which was, perhaps, exactly what de Camulio wanted to hear. The only empty room being the dormitory, Gregorio pushed aside mattresses and, commanding stools and a trestle, offered a modest meal of cooked bream, served by his own men, with a piece of salt beef and some capons and cabbages for those less than strict in observance. He had brought with him much of what he would need, including a small keg of wine from Alsace, and the woman of the house provided good bread and platters.
It appeared to be acceptable: the Genoese and the Florentine made a hearty meal while describing the constipating excesses of Duke Philip’s grand banquet the previous night. They had drunk Beaune wine exclusively. The banqueting hall, specially built for the Duke, had been bigger than the one he built for his bride when he founded the Order. Last night, the hall had been hung inside with the cloth of gold Gideon tapestries, worth ten thousand écus, and fitted with shelves of gold and silver plate which was not even needed, for the Duke had as much besides as would serve all his guests. The revelry, with music and dancing and jesters, had gone on nearly till morning, although it had, of course, lacked the extreme brilliance of the original banquet. There had been no wild men thundering in on roast pigs, or pies with bleating blue sheep fixed inside them. But fifty different courses, served to fanfares. There was munificence for you.
None of it was new to Gregorio, who had heard tales of what went on at the Princenhof, and had a rough idea of the annual income of Duke Philip of Burgundy, king among princes. De Camulio’s enthusiasm appeared to be genuine. Nicholas had said he was ambitious, but quarrelsome. Like Astorre, he enjoyed the displays of his betters. And, of course, he would have to prune his account for the ears of his own Duke of Milan. A former condottieri who had won his dukedom through his own strong right arm and a marriage, the Duke lived in relative simplicity and saw power in different terms.
And Alighieri? It would be an odd circumstance if he were impressed. The court of Trebizond, surely, could match this for concentrated wealth and outmatch it in historic ceremony. It, too, employed etiquette as a weapon. Gregorio could make nothing so far of Alighieri, a smallish uneasy man with dark skin and an appeasing manner belied by extremely sharp eyes. In Florence, he had delivered a harangue in Latin, people said, on behalf of the Observatine friar his leader, who claimed to have forgotten his learning. On the same grounds, he had taken part in the audience with the Pope, and had handed to the Duke of Burgundy the Pope’s letter introducing his delecti filii, the Eastern delegates. He looked to Gregorio like the sort of sharp, lettered man who sets himself up as secretary or tutor to the great, and very soon takes the place of his masters.
The talk remained disappointingly harmless. De Camulio said, “You know, of course, that Brussels offered the Duke twenty thousand Rhenish florins to let them host the Golden Fleece meetings. They were even ready to build him a hall for the banquets. But St Omer got them for nothing.”
“He had his reasons,” said Alighieri. “I’d want to please the men of St Omer if I had a French army spilling over my borders. I don’t know how we’re going to get