The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [186]
Le Grant stared at him. Father Moriz coughed. He said, ‘Myself, Master Nicholas, I hope you will not mind if I come with you to the Tyrol? It ill becomes me to say it, but from the Rammelsberg to the Schwaz, I have found nothing so gripping as the mysteries that lie under the mountains.’
‘Mining?’ said John le Grant.
‘Ah,’ said Father Moriz. ‘I do not compare my talents with yours. But perhaps you have heard of my colleague – my late famous colleague – Johannsen Funcken?’
Under the red hair, the red eyebrows lowered and the fiery eyes moved and fixed. ‘You bastard!’ said John le Grant.
‘I beg your pardon!’ said Father Moriz good-humouredly.
‘Not you. Him,’ said the engineer. ‘Also the most devious … Father? You knew about this?’
‘No. I guessed. I knew you were a pioneer, whereas you didn’t know I was a smelter. I knew that Burgundy was involved with the Tyrol and that my friend Nicholas here had certain interests, and wished to offset any reverses in Scotland. I knew that his rivals, the Vatachino, were extremely watchful. No doubt you perceived as much as well,’ said Father Moriz cheerfully. ‘But coming from Augsburg, I was perhaps more aware of the possibilities. It is romantic to search for lost gold, but there are wider opportunities to be gained, maybe, in an area closer to the Bank’s current efforts. Am I not right?’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Nicholas said. ‘I just want to hunt chamois, and I hoped John would come with me.’
‘Damn you!’ said John. But his tone was lacking in venom and there was a renewed gleam of vitality in his eye. The priest sighed.
Nicholas was used to the signs of exasperation and the signs of relief. He knew just how far to go to get what he wanted. He didn’t see why life had to be dull. In truth, he quite looked forward to some chamois-hunting.
He did not know that he was the chamois.
From then onwards, the journey was not precisely luxurious, even before they noticed that something was wrong. With the Swiss cantons hungrily eyeing them, the men of the Tyrol were perpetually nervous. The effect of the great new Burgundian pact had not necessarily percolated here, where each pinnacle had its own lord, its own castle; and the sound of the signal-horn wailed and hooted and replicated itself from crag to crag wherever strangers were seen.
As far as the ducal centre of Innsbruck, the journey was painful but passable. They met snow and mud in the high range south of Reutte, but there were elemental inns further down. They would have been more than satisfied with the noisy comfort and coarse glitter of Innsbruck, save that there was no one there to receive them. Duke Sigismond and his court had gone south. Nicholas presented his letters and dragged his retinue forth in pursuit.
They did not enjoy it. On the edge of September, bitter winds scoured the Brenner, and there was frozen mud underfoot and fields of snow on either side. Beyond, they moved downhill from winter to autumn again: from high pastures to meadows studded with pillars of hay.
Here, their way should have been clear. Instead they found themselves pursuing paths which had become steep and ill-kempt and winding, in a land without towns. The smoking hamlets that occupied higher ground shut their doors at the sound of the horns; and it seemed as if, higher yet, eyes were watching, although nothing moved but the slow-grazing cattle and the clustered flecks on the hills which were stags.
When, after a day of blustering wind and chill rain, Nicholas sent the guide ahead with Donat his huntsman to ask hospitality at the gates of a tower, Donat returned white with anger, stripped of both armour and arms, and dismissed with brusque threats of dismemberment. And yet Duke Sigismond knew he was coming. Word by now should have spread.
On the third day, they were forced to live off the land: hunting, fishing and cutting timber for fuel, without which they would have gone hungry. Dionisi his cook made a banquet. On the fourth,