The Spring of the Ram - Dorothy Dunnett [169]
“I should imagine most people are,” Gregorio said, and flinched despite himself. The cane, whipping up, hung with calculation over his wound. It stayed, gleaming; then shifting, delivered a biting blow to the other shoulder instead. Its point returned, with deliberation, to the floor.
“Watch your mouth,” said the vicomte de Ribérac placidly. “The face of young Master Claes should remind you. It was he, you may know, who caused my present exile from France. Or perhaps you are unaware of the deadly proclivities of your little man? They far exceed, I assure you, anything my fool Simon has done.”
“Nevertheless…” Gregorio began.
“…Nevertheless, you wish Simon to command the return of our decorative friend Pagano Doria, or at least cancel his orders. You also wish Doria brought to book for using his undoubted charm of manner and body to seduce and even marry Marian de Charetty’s unfortunate daughter. You wish the marriage annulled, or denounced, or denied: whichever will save the girl’s face and punish Doria to the full. And in return for all this, you are willing to let my son’s part in the business remain secret?”
“I couldn’t have put it better myself,” Gregorio said.
“You look surprised. You do not have, Master Gregorio, a monopoly of legal training. You understand you are condemning Messer Doria to death or perpetual exile?”
“That was my intention,” said Gregorio.
“And that, being remote, he may still do your company harm before my son’s message could reach him?”
“I hope he doesn’t,” Gregorio said. “For the demoiselle, through me, will demand full compensation.”
“For the company—she shall have it,” said Jordan de Ribérac. “For the life of Nicholas…” He tossed something in the air, caught it and deposited it with a light slap on the bed. “One silver groat. Debased, I fear. I had to separate it from its fellows today. You see, my dear sir, it is the fortune of Nicholas to invite rivalry, suspicion, ill will. He will meet his death, I make no doubt, through one of them, and the hand of Pagano Doria need never be lifted. You cannot expect me to pay you for that.”
“But you will put this in writing?” said Gregorio.
“Yes indeed,” said Jordan de Ribérac. “When you produce proof that my son arranged to have that silly child abducted.”
Gregorio said, “I can prove that Doria is his agent. And that he took your ship from Antwerp.”
“With my permission!” said the fat man immediately. “Of course, I lent Simon my ship. I asked Simon to establish an office in Genoa; send an agent to Trebizond. I have told you how close we are.”
“So you would deny everything if I press all the charges,” said Gregorio. “And will put nothing in writing. And meantime, who knows what is happening? We cannot reach them for four months.” He held his burning shoulder. “I have forced you to your knees, I can see,” he said bitterly.
“Very few people can do that,” said Jordan de Ribérac. “But you have warned me of a folly of my son’s of which I was unaware, and I am grateful for it. I do not, of course, offer you gold, which you would throw in my face. I shall, however, provide you with transport home of the kind that will serve your wound best, with entertainment already arranged for you and your men on the way.”
“And your son?” Gregorio said. “What do you expect him to do?”
The fat man got up. Standing, his hands on his stick, he showed a glimpse, in the width of his shoulders, the depth of his chest, of the athlete he might once have been. Remotely, one could see how he might have sired the exquisite Simon. He said, “If Doria fails him, St Pol will have to care for the business himself. He has his heir. He is free. I should not be at all surprised, my foolish friend, if Simon did not leave soon for Genoa. Or wherever he might get news of Doria. For it is quite possible, is it not, that Doria has considerably exceeded his remit?”
“Will your son listen to you?” said Gregorio.
There was a silence. Then the fat man gave a slow smile. “Oh, yes,” he said.