The Spring of the Ram - Dorothy Dunnett [27]
“He didn’t invent the farmuk, either,” Nicholas said. “My lord, the folly isn’t disputed. But it was five years ago, and redress has followed. And the honesty of this company is unassailable. Your Bruges agents know in what ways we have served the Medici.”
“I have that in mind,” said Cosimo, with a certain small emphasis that Nicholas was glad to hear. “But my confidence is worth little if you lose the trust of the Church and the Emperor. Fra Ludovico: what if the notary Messer Julius were dismissed? Would the firm commend itself then?”
“He will not be dismissed,” Nicholas said, without imitating anybody. He saw Tobie look round.
“Then the company had best go back to Bruges,” said the Minorite, without moving his eyes. “There is work for its chaplain to do.”
The suggestion, hurled against the monolithic form of Father God-scalc, brought a sigh from the priest. He said, “Well, brother, there is no doubt the world would be better if we all had your zeal in the Lord. I have a question, if Messer Cosimo will forgive me. Did I see you outside with a friend of mine?”
Across his folded arms, the friar inspected the priest. “I doubt it,” he said.
“But I could hardly be wrong. Pagano Doria, newly landed from Porto Pisano? From his interest in me, I’m afraid, he became intrigued by the plans of the Charetty company. It occurred to me that perhaps we owed this visit of yours to something he suggested or told you?”
Silence.
Cosimo de’ Medici said, “Well?”
The monk said, “The man is hardly a friend. An acquaintance. It was from him that I learned, yes, that the wealth of Florence was about to be placed in the hands of that miserable man. I chose to warn you. I have not looked for thanks.”
“Giovanni?” said the old man. “We have heard, have we not, of Pagano Doria?”
Giovanni de’ Medici gave an affectionate smile. “Of course, my father,” he said. “He called here but this morning, to visit the Milanese envoy. He too leaves soon for Trebizond.”
In the distance, Nicholas heard the old man say, “Indeed?” For a moment he lost track of the voices in the room. He thought of Marian, and all that might be happening in Bruges. He felt cold. His blood, warm and quick just five minutes ago, was crawling sluggish and chill through his veins. He found Giovanni the son was explaining something.
“But yes,” he was saying, “Messer Doria’s ship lies in Porto Pisano with its crew already spoken for, and its cargo beginning to mount in the warehouse. He sets sail after Christmas, I am told. In a round ship.”
“I see,” said the old man. He sighed. “Human nature. One can never be certain, Fra Ludovico. Here, it seems, is a man who gave you the most disinterested information which led you—with the best of intentions—to throw doubt on the honesty of the Charetty company. Your doubts may be justified. We have not been able to satisfy ourselves one way or the other. But what does appear evident is that this Pagano Doria was not disinterested. He hoped your warnings would dissuade us. He hoped the Charetty company would indeed be sent back to Bruges and that—surely?—he himself would be appointed as Florentine consul to the Emperor David.”
“Is it possible?” said Tobie abruptly.
“It seems rather likely,” said Nicholas.
“It is not so,” said Cosimo’s son Giovanni. “Not at all. I have said that Messer Pagano Doria sails for Trebizond. It is true. He proposes to settle and trade there. But he cannot represent Florence because he has already accepted another