The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [190]
‘To the Duke of Burgundy,’ Ederic said. Ederic came from Antwerp.
‘An encroachment the Swiss don’t appreciate. The cantons are nervous of Burgundy and have the best fighting men in the world. The Tyrol sits between, and can’t afford to pay mercenaries for anything. Sigismond thinks the Duke of Burgundy will lend him troops to protect him or – madly – attack the Swiss if he wants to. The Duchess doesn’t think the Duke will. The Duchess thinks that the Tyrol needs help. Not soldiers; not at once, anyway. But investment. A way to realise its own wealth, so that no matter how much Sigismond spends, there will always be more.’
‘Silver,’ said John le Grant. The priest’s face remained undisturbed. The remaining three looked uneasy.
‘And copper. More valuable sometimes than gold.’
‘And the use of your Captain Astorre and his army?’ It was the priest.
‘They possibly think so.’
‘You sound as if you’d had a talk with the lady already. This was the meaning of your conversation upstairs?’
‘She will call me back,’ Nicholas said. ‘When my broken head and the drink should have done her work for her.’
‘She sounds an astute woman. Why has she stayed with the Duke?’ This time, it was John.
The priest said, ‘Ah, no. Why has the Duke stayed with her? That is the nub of it.’
The rest of the men had started to sing. Against the noise, Nicholas talked, and the others listened, the priest and the engineer addressing one another and him, their voices considered, vehement, thoughtful. They were all flushed. Presently the man in the leather jacket came back, and walking over to Nicholas required him to follow. If you listened carefully, you could hear the thread of Scots under the German.
John le Grant spoke to Nicholas in rapid Italian. ‘Maps, remember.’
The young man turned. ‘There are some maps,’ he said shortly in the same language. Below the Italian, too, the Scots lay submerged. If he was James Lindsay’s son, then he was full cousin to David Lindsay, Earl of Crawford. Thinking, Nicholas followed him back to the Duchess’s chamber. This time there was no one in attendance, and Lindsay, after introducing him, left, closing the door.
Eleanor of Scotland sat unchanged with her embroidery, a cup of wine at her hand. The embroidery had materially grown. She said, ‘Pray be seated. Nowadays, I prefer to talk business in German. I am told Flemish is not unlike.’
‘We can speak German, your grace,’ Nicholas said.
She looked up. Her skin was uneven and ruddy, and she had the long Stewart nose of her father. Her mother had been English and royally connected. Her father, caught at eleven, had lived a prisoner for eighteen years in England. A generation later, one of her sisters had been Queen of France and another had married Wolfaert van Borselen. Few statesmen had observed the shifts and changes of power as narrowly as Eleanor of Scotland.
She said, ‘I hear you have an interest in mining, and a certain amount of bullion to invest.’
‘That is so,’ he said. ‘A considerable amount, if our surveys prove fruitful. What you have on the banks of the Inn may be as fine as the alum at Tolfa. But it requires to be expertly mined.’
‘Alum?’ she said. Her needle worked.
‘Other minerals are heavily taxed. Crude mines may be less attractive than newly dug shafts. Good ventilation and drainage cost money. And so do my experts. Indeed, even alum has problems.’
‘Then why are you here?’ she said.
‘To hunt,’ he said. ‘With your permission, this time. My men are experienced. If there is no quarry worth our joint attention, we shall tell you. If your grace will give leave.’
She said, ‘I shall do better than that: I shall come with you. You will find no better terrain than this in the north, although, of course, there is fine sport to be had about Trent. We shall put off our journey to Brixen. We shall hunt. And then, if