The Spring of the Ram - Dorothy Dunnett [25]
Fra Ludovico. Attentively, Nicholas considered the name. He had heard it in Fiesole. The deputation from Georgia and Persia and Trebizond was led by a monk: a Ludovico da Severi who travelled the world for the Franciscans. He had been absent when Nicholas called. Good timber merchants, the da Severi, Alighieri had said. A son of that stable would have nothing against mixing crusades and business: a Charetty army in Trebizond was just what would best please their leader.
Well, if this was the same man, he had changed his mind. About the Charetty company and its officers. Julius, Julius: why won’t you look at me?
Father Godscalc, having drawn the enemy gun, was suffering its bombardment.
“You would shut the mouth of the Lord’s servant?” the monk was demanding of him. “You, a man of the Church! I will cry your sin as I cry theirs. You consort with thieves and fornicators: their torment will be your torment.” He turned to the head of the Medici bank. A cloud of saliva lingered behind him. “Fling them from you! That man is a pollution!” He pointed at Julius again.
Everyone except Cosimo was now standing, but no one moved. They all looked at the tall old man in the chair.
Cosimo de’ Medici addressed the monk. His voice was quite flat. “This gentleman is named Julius, a Bologna notary now employed by the Charetty dyers of Bruges. You have a complaint against him?”
“I know who he is,” said the monk. “The convent-bred son of a student priest and an unmarried woman. The Church taught him his letters; the college of notaries showed him how to make money. Perhaps there are honest notaries: I have never met one. At any rate, this one was not. He stole the money entrusted to him and gambled with it. Church money, lost in sin and depravity. Then, when found out, he appealed to our saintly Bessarion of Nicaea, who made the loss good from his pocket. The man Julius was whipped from the city. I had thought him safely employed in some wicker hut in Geneva. But now I find him here, gulling your lordship!”
The blood rushed to Julius’s face. He opened his mouth. Cosimo de’ Medici said, “You will remain quiet, Master Julius. I am first concerned to question your colleagues. Is this known to you, Messer Tobias? Father Godscalc? Merchant Niccolò, are the owners of the Charetty company aware of this?”
Quicker than anyone, Julius got in his answer. “They don’t know,” he said.
Messer Cosimo probably reckoned it was true. Certainly, Father Godscalc, of no long acquaintance with the company, didn’t contradict him. Tobie, his short lips in a bunch, stood surveying his feet and said nothing. It was left to Nicholas to move forward gently until he stood in the space beside Julius. He scratched his nose and said, “Well, yes, we knew. That is, the demoiselle de Charetty knew. The rest of us weren’t supposed to. But”—he threw an apologetic grimace at Julius—“it was all round the yard that Master Julius couldn’t afford a new tunic and hose until he’d finished paying his debts to the Widow…as they called the lady then. Afterwards she told me. Half his wage went to Rome, for Cardinal Bessarion. So whatever he did—and I don’t know what it was—he atoned for it. And the Charetty company knew of it, and kept him. And all the time I’ve had a view of the ledgers, there’s been nothing that a judge could take exception to. Or I shouldn’t be here. Nor would he.”
Fra Ludovico hardly waited for the last words. “He has admitted the theft. There is no proof that he restored the money: the Cardinal of Nicaea is in Germany. And whether he restored it or not, he is a confessed and unpunished rogue.” He turned. “Is this, my lord Cosimo, to be your ambassador?”
“Let him