The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [199]
‘No one can help me,’ he said. It was not quite true. Marian, Katelina … Their paths had crossed, and if he had given, he had taken as well. But no one had opened this door to him. He could find anything.
His cup, which had been empty, was full. His hands, which had held his cup, had gathered something else. Her gown lay on the floor.
He woke at first light, in a bed, in what he perceived to be the inner room. He was alone, but remembered not being alone. No one else was there, either in this chamber or the next. He dressed, and left.
Very soon now, Nicholas supposed, he would receive his summons from Duke Sigismond, and would be able to move, finally, into the arena he had chosen so carefully to compensate for the one he had lost. He had still, of course, to face the Vatachino, his enemies; but he had few misgivings, and felt confident that – of the two years of his separation from Scotland – this segment at least would be well spent. What happened over the rest of the time would depend on how well he had read the mind of his wife of a year and four months.
He set himself to wait, and also to be careful. He had received a grave warning. He had received a passing gift, which he acknowledged for the courtesy that it was. And there had been bestowed on him – unearthed for him – a talent of singular price.
He could find anything.
Winter advanced upon autumn. It was known, now, that Nicholas de Fleury was locked in the Tyrol. The news had reached Julius at Venice, and had stolen from there to Alexandria, from where it spread to a man called David de Salmeton.
Julius, who never lacked confidence, was not afraid of what the Vatachino might get up to in Egypt. In six months, John le Grant would be there, and Nicholas with him. If in the meantime Nicholas chose to negotiate loans and hunt chamois in preference to joining his wife, the Bank could afford it. And Julius could look forward, himself, to another year at the helm of the business.
His henchman Cristoffels made no complaint, although he missed the German priest he had been promised. De Fleury had sent him a personal note about that, as sometimes he did. Occasionally, Cristoffels fulfilled special commissions without reference to Julius. One such had concerned the Genoese Prosper de Camulio. Another had taken him to Murano, to a family called Buonaccorsi with whom Nicholas had apparently struck up a friendship. The making of spectacles in Murano still brought the Bank extraordinary profits.
At the same time, and purely for his own interest, Cristoffels kept an eye on the island of Cyprus, where the King’s marriage-bed was still empty. The resulting reports he filed and kept for himself. The padrone had not asked to be told about Cyprus.
Intelligence about Nicholas de Fleury reached Scotland in stages, relayed across the country from Govaerts in Edinburgh to Oliver Semple and Cochrane at Beltrees, where the embellished tower was proceeding to completion, and the horizon was blackened with pyre-smoke from heaps of dead marigolds. The castles of Kilmirren and Dean were, of course, empty.
As soon as she heard, Katelijne Sersanders turned up in the Canongate office and extradited the parrot to Haddington. The Berecrofts boy helped. Being busy at sea, the shipmaster Crackbene wasn’t consulted.
James, Lord Hamilton, received the news thoughtfully, and conveyed it to Joneta, his natural daughter. Then he sent a hind to his son-in-law Davie whose uncle Jack had gone abroad and married a German.
When told, Whistle Willie said nothing, but kicked a specially made drum with the side of his slipper. The King, with his jewel coffers full and his Palace finished and furnished, was more philosophical. When, instead of de Fleury, another distinguished foreigner arrived, James of Scotland made him all the more welcome.
Gregorio, in Bruges, was not philosophical.
He had compelled Nicholas to come back for Godscalc. His other reason, unconcealed, had been to halt his foolhardy overextension in Scotland. In this he had succeeded. The haemorrhage