The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [179]
‘Ah?’ said Monna Alessandra. In a leisurely way, she unhooked the spectacles that hung from one ear and, clipping them over her nose, gazed at Gelis. ‘They tell me Scotland is quite important these days.’
Gelis smiled. ‘They keep their neighbours occupied,’ she said. ‘And prevent them from interfering too much across the Narrow Sea.’
‘Which suits the Duke of Burgundy and, no doubt, the van Borselen,’ the old lady said. ‘So it is power that interests you?’
‘As it interests you,’ Gelis said. She was not ruffled by elderly women. Once, when silly and young, she had thought Lorenzo Strozzi romantic.
The two circles of glass contemplated her. ‘As it interests me?’ repeated Monna Alessandra. ‘I think not. Power for its own sake is dross. I do what I do for the survival of my family. For my sons. Yet you married late and have produced one child, so they tell me, of which you have said nothing at all.’
Gelis lowered her gaze. She said, ‘As you mentioned, Ser Niccolò is … ardent by nature. The child came early. Perhaps, even yet, I am not wholly reconciled to it.’
There was a silence. She lifted her eyes. The old woman spoke thoughtfully. ‘Ser Niccolò, I hear you say, as if a foreign knighthood made him the equal of a van Borselen. Why proceed to marriage, madonna, when the office of lover was so clearly that for which he is best fitted? Chance-got children are no impediment, as a rule.’
The princely chambers of Bruges seldom produced this kind of astringency. It invited real answers, and for a moment, Gelis was tempted to give them. Marriage, Monna Alessandra, has its uses. To punish your lover. To teach him. To destroy him. To hold him for ever. Or even a combination of some of these things.
Gelis said, ‘An orphan has less choice than you might think. My branch of the family is not wealthy and has welcomed the marriage, as you did that of your daughter. Ser Niccolò is a man of uncommon ability.’
‘You compare yourself to my Caterina,’ said the old lady. ‘Yet in a well-arranged marriage the wife does not leave her home without the consent of her husband.’
‘I am waiting for him!’ Gelis said, smiling. She held down her anger.
‘Oh, that is evident,’ said Monna Alessandra. ‘He did not invite you, and you are chagrined and, disregarding him, come. Why, I ask myself? A lovers’ quarrel, now to be mended? I do not think so. A girl in love would besiege me for secrets. What did he do, my high-spirited Nicholas, when he was in Florence? What did they whisper of him when he was a young man – a young, married man – in the East?’
‘You want to tell me,’ said Gelis.
‘I am not sure that I know. There is someone in Florence who does, if you are interested. But you are not, are you?’ said Monna Alessandra languidly. ‘It is power you seek. Your husband is little – was he ever much? – but the architect of this power. And when he has built to your satisfaction, you will decide, I have no doubt, what to do. Meanwhile, his death would be very unfortunate.’
The glazed circles conveyed a dry admonition, unencumbered by outrage, condemnation or threat. Gelis found herself speaking harshly. ‘Rest assured. Chagrin will not induce me to hasten it. I should never kill where I love. And only simpletons kill where they hate.’
‘I see,’ said Monna Alessandra. Then, more briskly, ‘I am glad to have the air cleared. Business does not thrive in an atmosphere of unstable relationships. It is why the proper choice of a wife is imperative. I hear Tommaso is coming here soon? Tommaso Portinari?’
‘To renew his contract,’ said Gelis. She took a good deal of care, now, with what she said.
‘And to have the Medici select him a wife. Lorenzo is in the same situation. Both, I should hope, have lived a full life and are experienced men. Neither will choose his wife blinded with passion. In marriage as in business they may even prove more successful than you,’ said Monna Alessandra. ‘With your ardent but inconsiderate husband and your