The Spring of the Ram - Dorothy Dunnett [58]
It was the Bailie’s intention, as well, that the evening should pass as smoothly as might be. A practised host, he preferred light conversation while eating, trusting to the free-flowing wine to produce confidences later. To soften the blow, too, of the news he had to deliver. Meanwhile, he did not probe, as might be unmannerly, into the reasons behind the Medicis’ apparent decision to expand in the East, or enquire whether the Head of St Andrew was likely to convince the Pope to send a fleet to rescue the Morea. In any case, he had already discussed these matters in his many talks with the lord Pagano Doria.
There were topics, of course, which he would not broach with a Genoese, anyway. When talking of Trebizond, one did not naturally refer to the friction between the Genoese bank of St George and the Emperor. Both sides, of course, erred. The Emperor extracted illicit duties and harboured Genoese rebels. Once, a slap on the face at a chess game had set the Genoese raiding his empire for prisoners. When they captured them, they had sent him a jarful of salt ears and noses. In its time, the Genoese colony at Trebizond had been put to the sword for its arrogance, and later avenged by its fellows in fire. And, of course, his own countrymen suffered. Venetian galleys had been forced to burn Genoese shipping at Trebizond. When the Genoese took the best sites, the Venetians had to complain. They had to complain, too, when the Emperor failed to build or repair as he promised.
The Emperor David of Trebizond was extremely loath to part with his money. The Bailie had heard that he owed the bank of St George thousands of lire. At one point, the Mother Republic had told all her merchants to leave. But they needed the trade, and the Emperor needed them, and Genoa required support for her other, bigger headquarters, so the colony was still there, even though consuls were hard to find. Until now. The Bailie had no objection to Doria, a civilised man. He had no fears, either, for his own very able counterpart in the city of Trebizond.
Having reviewed what he could not discuss and what he had already exhausted, the Bailie, a diplomat of long standing, resorted this evening to polite trivialities. He began with the sea and the weather, asked for news of the voyage and then showed his personal interest in each of his guests. He was discussing lading matters with the notary Julius when the word Bologna was mentioned. He was at once reminded of Bessarion, that great churchman of Trebizond whose mother still lived in that city, and whose library had been left in this very town, Modon. He was speaking with, he thought, modest acceptance when Messer Pagano dropped his knife with a clatter, and began talking with animation of nothing until the Bailie, taking the hint, changed the subject.
He tried to engage in conversation the very young man with the scar. He found it hard to think of him as a consul. He had hardly begun when Messer Doria, seeking to help, asked the youth civilly if he yet had a son or a daughter. The young man’s answer was unenlightening enough, but from what Doria let fall in confusion it seemed that the youth’s wife was forty, and he and she had been together since he was ten. The Bailie switched the conversation again.
It was Doria, in the end, who came to the rescue. He gave up, like the Bailie, the effort to find common ground and reverted to chatting instead of acquaintances known to himself