The Spring of the Ram - Dorothy Dunnett [39]
Now, as was his duty, Godscalc had come to discharge a small errand. Waiting for him to continue, Nicholas sat at ease, pen in hand, without rushing to shorten the silence. Godscalc cleared a space from a chest-top and perched his bulk on it. He said, “You have no ship-master yet.”
Nicholas swung his head back like a joy bell and lowered it, beaming. He laid his pen carefully down. He said, “You want to talk German. You’ve been talking German. You’ve found Johannes le Grant?”
Without blinking, Godscalc discarded five minutes of careful preliminaries. He said, “Yes. He’s good. He’s not sure if he wants the job, and would prefer time on his own to consider. I’m not to tell you how to get hold of him.”
There was a persuasive silence, which he resisted agreeably.
Nicholas said, “It’s very disconcerting. Tobie and Julius break promises all the time. He must be very good.”
“He is,” said Godscalc.
“But I have to wait for him. And you’re not going to tell me what will attract him. He’s German; and an engineer; and selective.”
“He’s an engineer,” Godscalc said. “A pioneer, also. He dug countermines in Constantinople and nearly got rid of the Turks by flooding their mines and burning their props and forcing smoke and obnoxious smells down the tunnels. Very obnoxious smells. That’s all I can tell you. I’m not wearing one of those things.”
Nicholas picked up, between finger and thumb, an Epiphany costume of Judas-pink satin. “No. That’s for Tobie,” he said. “You don’t want to go on his cart, you’d be blinded. And the one in front of it’s taking a leopard. That’s your dress over there.”
“Where?” said Godscalc. He saw a breech clout and a mound of wool and two sandals. The mound of wool was a beard.
The door opened. “Have you told him?” said Julius, strolling in. “A holy hermit, they want you for, father. The third best float in the procession. Palm trees. Caverns. A pillar to sit on. They’ll cheer you all through the city. I begged and begged, but they said it had to be a man in Holy Orders. They said they’d try to hide a brazier somewhere if the horses didn’t mind. Nicholas will be with you.”
“Fully dressed?” Godscalc said.
“You have your Faith to warm you,” Nicholas said. The rebuke hit, to a nicety, the voice of a priest they both knew.
Godscalc said, “Then I must assume you will be more than fully dressed. As whom?”
“I’m the lion,” said Nicholas. “Cosimino wanted a real one, but they said it would fight with the leopard.”
“And the horses wouldn’t like it,” said Godscalc flatly. Of course he saw why they protected Nicholas. And he, too, for a moment felt a pang, for them and for him.
On the day of the procession, fear was not in Godscalc’s mind as the four senior officials of the Charetty company pressed their way through the packed streets to the Piazza della Signoria where, the night before, the decorated tableaux carts had been assembled. The draw-horses and oxen had passed through before them: fresh dung curled round his toe-thongs. His colleagues had not lied, although their respect for the truth had been sparing. He was to appear, in holy garb, on one of the chariots; but a long and thick cloak was fortunately part of the costume. Julius, beside him, was a magnificent Roman. There were petals all over his armour where groups of girls had sought (and failed) to attract his attention from upper windows lined with Epiphany dolls. Nicholas padded behind, his head under his arm, talking to a Judas-pink Tobie.
And that, of course, was quite ludicrous. All around them, in silks and furs, jewels and feathers, were other Medici men, heading for gilded chariots