The Spring of the Ram - Dorothy Dunnett [98]
“No,” Nicholas said.
The lips curled. “You are afraid? Trust your capabilities, Messer Niccolò. Making money demands several skills. You have these. You should be more afraid, I would have thought, of appearing a fool.”
“I’ve had practice at that,” Nicholas said. “And it’s carried me far enough. Pretending to wisdom I don’t have is another thing. Manners and etiquette I shall learn about willingly.”
The painted eyes looked at him curiously. “You have no yearning to know more? To enter the world of ideas; consider the fruits of other men’s minds; add to the quality of your own? So what have you to offer the Emperor?”
“Trade. Money. Soldiers,” said Nicholas.
“And, surely, something more,” she said thoughtfully. “You are not uncomely. You can entertain, I am told. What could you do for an Emperor which his circle of wits, philosophers, preachers cannot already provide?”
Nicholas thought. He said, “I could make him a clock?”
He knew, from the sound of her laughter, that she had learned more about him than he thought; and was sure of it when she consented to let him explain. He enjoyed lecturing her. He could feel the antagonism of the Archimandrite behind him.
She made no effort, after that, to force upon him any programme of arcane instruction. She did dictate, with his consent, the time and place for a number of lessons on the court of Trebizond and its requirements. She was concerned, she said, that he should uphold the credit of Venice as well as the credit of Florence. And that above all he should please the Emperor.
He wondered that, through it all, she had never mentioned Louvain University, and then realised it meant nothing to her. It had meant nothing either to Julius, who had always fumed because Felix, son of a dyer and broker, had been forced to go to Louvain. Nicholas knew what the reason was. Towards the end, apprentice to mistress, he had tried to persuade Marian to allow Felix to leave. She had been hard to convince. I felt Louvain was important, she had said. He remembered, too, what he had answered. The demoiselle would find, I think, that it has served its purpose.
Had it? Perhaps. It had taught him real humility, not the humility of the deprived. It had taught him enough to eschew it, when the need came. When Violante of Naxos said, for example, “To sell silk, you must wear it.”
“It depends on the price,” he had replied.
Towards the end, the lady of Naxos had frowned. She said, “You understand what I have said? You are agreeable?”
“Have I anything to lose, highness?” Nicholas said. “Provided, that is, that I keep my head. Sudden adoption might turn it.”
There was no one here who would rush, like his friends, to proclaim what undoubtedly was going to become of his head: capo; capo; cappello; decapitato. The lady said curtly, “We shall begin then, tomorrow.”
He was not quite as ready as she was to end the discussion. He managed, delaying discreetly, to pose one or two real questions and obtained, to his gratification, one or two real answers. He did not try her patience by talking too long, and drew the conversation, when the time came, to a seemly conclusion. He even managed, on leaving, to kiss the lady’s hand as one born to the purple. He was a very good mimic.
Upstairs, he faced all his masters, all his senior colleagues in the master cabin. “Well?” said Julius. Flushed with fever and prurience, he sat up like a wounded Apollo. It came to Nicholas that Julius had not seen the lady Violante uncloaked, although the lady Violante had undoubtedly seen him. It decided him, reluctantly, on the course he must now take. He looked round at them all, sprawling at supper, and gave them a vague and affectionate smile.
“Fine,” said Nicholas. “She wants lessons in Flemish.”
“I’m free,” Julius said.
“Your arm’s too sore,” Nicholas said. “Anyway, she wants lessons on the farmuk as well.”
“That for a tale,” said John le Grant. “Anyone with an aunt married to Uzum Hasan has a good idea how to play with a farmuk. And more.”
“I know,” said Nicholas.