The Spring of the Ram - Dorothy Dunnett [73]
Later, she said, “Anselm Adorne. I keep few secrets from that family, but they are friends of the Doria.”
“I shan’t tell them,” he said.
She frowned. “And Lorenzo Strozzi? Nicholas stayed with his mother in Florence.”
He said, “But Nicholas knew nothing of Catherine. The Strozzi can know nothing either.”
All he had told her was true; but he still felt a traitor. He left as soon after that as he could, and plunged into long thought. Then he took paper and pen and continued, as usual, to make four copies for four different couriers of a long coded letter to Nicholas.
The morning after the fire, Messer Nicholai de’ Acciajuoli of the wooden leg returned to Modon from Patras, missing the plague by a day. Arrived in Modon, he took one look at the hulk in the harbour and, after closely questioning the Bailie, sent polite word to the young Niccolò vander Poele, patron of the galley Ciaretti, that he no longer felt able to sail with him. He would be pleased, however, if the same young man would call at his rooms near the waterfront.
The message reached Nicholas, but he did not respond until evening. By then, he had worked for twenty-four hours and knew that what John le Grant had said was correct. They could, after a fashion, row out of Modon tomorrow. But to do what ought to be done would take days. He couldn’t catch the Doria. It seemed to him uncommonly likely, however, that the Doria would take the trouble to wait for him; if only to witness his downfall.
In one way, the new plan was unpopular. The morning of his wretched sessions with Tobie he perceived, by the galvanised work of his fellows, that the affair of the child was now known to them.
Le Grant, the newcomer, sensibly ventured no comment. The priest, finding himself near at one point, volunteered information. “I have to say I am sorry. I saw the child, I think, in Porto Pisano. A pretty thing, with brown hair, in a page’s dress. Spirited; not unhappy; not under duress.”
And he, not knowing what to say, had merely said, “Thank you.”
To which the priest had added, “Not, of course, that any excuse exists for such conduct.”
So much for Godscalc. Astorre, probably just after he heard, came thrusting into the conference he was holding with a pulley-maker and took a handful of his shirt at the shoulder and said, “I’ll kill him. Lead me to him. I’ll slit his loins and feed a dog up his belly. I’ll…”
For the sake of the pulley-maker, he had fobbed off the captain in some fashion. His own language had been quite picturesque too.
But the most excitable exchange, of course, had been with Julius, who seemed to want to fight him for concealing the discovery. With justice, in a way. Julius had on occasion bear-led Marian’s two little girls, just as he had tutored Marian’s son and beaten Marian’s apprentice. It was Julius who, after a series of furious questions, had suddenly taken it upon himself to plan, accelerate and execute the whole complex operation in order that they should put to sea, not in twenty-four hours but before dinner. It had taken le Grant and Tobie to explain and quieten him. At first, the crew, too, were dashed by the change of plan. But only at first.
His mind full of rope, Nicholas finally rapped on the door of the Greek’s lodgings and was led to his parlour. He was between trips to the pitch-maker, the ironsmith’s and the cooper’s yard; he hadn’t eaten since midday, or done much to better his clothing. The one-legged Athenian, who was in fact of Florentine descent and connection, rose in his perfect gown and swathed hat, and greeted him with a pleasantry.
“It’s the new Charetty colours,” Nicholas said. “Ship and doublet to match. Forgive me, monsignore. I have had no time for grooming. I am sorry, too, that we are to be deprived of your company to Constantinople.”
“Stamboul,” said the Greek. “You must revise your term, now the Turk has possessed it. And Pera, over the water. You will