The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [176]
‘You tell me,’ he said.
‘You wanted a quid for your quo.’
‘A quid for my quid.’
‘You thought it would touch me, and you’d get your hands on the boy.’
‘Get my hands on?’ said Nicholas. ‘My intentions towards your invisible son are entirely peaceable. Find me something to swear on, and I shall.’ Again, the mockery showed. He was operating on one level. He was operating with his mind; his mind and nothing else, and that was how he must be met.
Gelis said, ‘A well-head? Never mind. I’ve listened to you. You did make a promise. You’re keeping it. I am willing to do the same. Not to show you the child, but your other requirement. You needn’t wait until spring. I’ll come with you to Florence.’
He began to laugh, and halted politely. His gaze brushed her hands, which had clenched. She unclenched them. He said, ‘I’m sorry. You don’t know about the Bank’s arrangements for patrons in Florence. There is a house. That is, they’d make room for you, but I don’t think you’d like it.’
His eyes were large and open and grey. He didn’t expect her, this time, to believe him although – damn him – it might actually be true. He was chiefly making it clear that he did not want her. Or, amendment: he wanted her when he chose, and not before. And however caustic she proceeded to be – and she was – he had no intention of including her in his itinerary. Which made his itinerary, of course, the object of all her curiosity.
She rode out of Bruges before the rest of his meetings were over. She stayed overnight somewhere public, and she stayed the next night somewhere safe. The following day she arrived with her own private staff at the fortified hall presided over by Margot.
She saw Margot first. Next, she went to the inner room where the night-light burned, and sat down. Later, she rested her chin in her hands and started to think.
Much later, in the privacy of her own chamber, she wrote and sent off two letters. The seal on both was anonymous, and the courier who carried them highly paid. One was to her usual correspondent. The second was addressed to Sir Anselm Adorne.
In later years they would boast, in the company, about the compression of activity that enabled Nicholas de Fleury to leave when he did for Alexandria, changing and adapting all his plans. At the time, despite a swift, unexplained visit to Brussels and another to Antwerp, no one guessed what else he was doing, while the lamps burned day and night and couriers fled to the south.
He elected to take only two officers with him: John his agent, and that German priest who, appearing with his friend at Godscalc’s death-bed, had stayed to deliver his eulogy and become his chosen successor as company chaplain. Father Moriz of Augsburg was not destined for Alexandria but for Venice. There – truculent, short-necked, bow-legged – Moriz would partner the patiently labouring Cristoffels at the Banco di Niccolò and cause no disruption in the high life of Julius. He would also, very likely, take control of the Bank’s Venetian interests. Father Moriz possessed hidden assets.
These dispositions had been discussed and accepted by Gregorio and Diniz. While staying in Bruges (and near Margot), Gregorio would act as an intermediary between Scotland and Nicholas. Diniz was content to remain with Tilde and manage the company; he trusted Nicholas to save him his portion of gold. The opinion of Tobie, also left behind, was not sought.
Then the safe conducts arrived, the last arrangements were complete, and the House of Niccolo’s personal men-at-arms, its baggage, its household mustered to leave in their splendid black livery with the unicorn rampant. John le Grant, an individualist, wore a green doublet and a battered hat sporting an Imperial Byzantine brooch worth two sheriffdoms. The priest was robed in black, unrelieved, as it happened, by unicorns. Nicholas de Fleury bore the gold chain of his latest Order and his good-humoured expression was matched by the satisfaction on the faces of all those he was leaving behind. He could read what they were thinking.
He was