The Spring of the Ram - Dorothy Dunnett [45]
They spent a day with Astorre. Before returning to Florence, Nicholas took the chance to make some thorough enquiries about Doria’s cog and its cargo.
About the round ship, his new sailing-master was informative. The ship was new, and built to the Bay of Biscay design with extra sails and flush planking, which was bad news unless you were fond of Pagano Doria, because it meant that she could manoeuvre. And to work her, Doria had hired Michael Crackbene, a magician from a famous dynasty of sailing magicians known throughout the North Sea. But when Nicholas repeated hopefully, “The North Sea?” John le Grant shook his red head firmly and said, “And the Middle Sea. He’s been in and out of Chios more times than you’ve pissed in a dye vat.” John le Grant stood in no awe of his present employer.
What Doria was already loading into his very new ship was not hard to distinguish. Unlike the galley, he would sell and buy as he travelled. Crates of capers and strings of cheeses made their appearance, bound for Sicily. He had bought a great deal of olive oil, and some soap, and pipes of tallow and calfskins.
Of the cargo he had brought with him to Italy, some had already been sold off in Pisa and Florence. He was rumoured to have tin and lead. As with the Charetty, the rest of the original cargo remained in the warehouse, bound for sale further east. Such mystery as there was resided here. Precautions to keep intruders out of the Doria stockrooms were unusually strict, and even Nicholas failed to find a way round them. Against Charetty orders, their former Guinea slave Loppe slipped off to make friends with Doria’s pretty page Noah, but, far from attracting his confidence, came back with a hacked shin and teeth-marks. Nicholas exuded a spurious sympathy, which Loppe knew he deserved. Perhaps because of his own recent past, Nicholas never had to treat servants as servants.
By this time he was back in Florence and, like Pagano, he had begun collecting his cargo. Julius, with two clerks to help him, spent days in the warehouse already loaded with the Charetty cloth they’d brought with them. As time grew short, Monna Alessandra, too, thought it time to complete an enquiry. She asked Nicholas to attend her for supper.
In the lady’s chamber, painted with Strozzi crescents, Nicholas, younger than her youngest child, sat at table and said, “Yes, I have heard from Bruges. From the lady my wife, and from Master Gregorio, who is her lawyer. Nothing can be wrong with Lorenzo. They would have mentioned it.”
A look of impatience crossed her face. “I lack no news of Lorenzo. He writes when he needs money. But your letters. They spoke of the English war?”
“It may be settled soon,” Nicholas said. “Henry the Lancastrian king is to reign, provided that he disinherits his heir in favour of the claimant of York.”
“King Henry has a French wife. She will not agree,” Monna Alessandra said. “She will seek help from Scotland, and the salmon exports will suffer. It is ruining trade! Who can live safely in London when at any moment his ships may be commandeered by one king or another, his loans dishonoured? The Pope and the Duke of Milan send to make peace between these English claimants, and do you know why? So that once England is settled, she will agree to attack King Charles of France. And will they rest in peace even then? No! Because the Pope will send them on this crusade to save the Levant from the Turk. Ruinous!”
“Perhaps,” said Nicholas, “Brother Ludovico of Bologna will induce the Duke of Burgundy to launch a crusade whether France is invaded or not. He seems persuasive.