The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [219]
Nicholas knew him. The history of the past decade had been punctuated by thundering collisions between himself and the Patriarch in various parts of the world. Father Ludovico had been last heard of in Sweden, trying to bring the Pope’s peace to the Scandinavian wars. John knew him from Cyprus. John had known, Nicholas realised, that da Bologna was here. He had just kept quiet because he was sulking.
Nicholas said, ‘The wine wasn’t as wonderful as all that, and I only got to try six of the women. Father Ludovico, go away.’
‘I’ve just come. I see Satan has got you again. You are helping him in Christ’s work?’ said the Patriarch, casting an eye on his fellow priest.
‘He managed the drink himself,’ said Father Moriz. Nicholas was entertained.
‘And so tell me about the cannon,’ said the Patriarch, sitting down.
There was the kind of silence that often occurred in his presence. Then Nicholas said, ‘You’re not getting it. It’s for the King of Scotland. Anyway, we’ve done you a much greater service. We’ve shown Duke Sigismond how to get rich. If you want money, come back in six months.’
‘The Turks may be in Vienna in six months,’ the Patriarch said. His voice rolled.
‘Well, they may go away again. Bessarion had a low opinion of Vienna.’
‘Money, how?’ the Patriarch asked with apparent interest. ‘Ah! The silver mines! And, perhaps, the alum? You are exploiting the Tyrol alum in defiance of the papal monopoly?’
‘No,’ said Nicholas eventually. ‘That is, papal markets won’t really suffer. We’re sending ours north, beyond Flanders. Scotland takes alum from anywhere.’
‘I see. And the silver?’
‘Oh,’ said Nicholas airily. ‘The silver has nothing to do with us. We stumbled across it. But the French are sending to mine it. They’ve a lot of experience. Lyons.’
There was the kind of silence that happened sometimes when he spoke, as well.
The Patriarch was smiling. His eyebrows, unlike those of the younger priest, arched like shredded black wool. He said, ‘And the cannon?’
‘I told you. For the King of Scotland,’ Nicholas said. ‘It took a lot of trouble to arrange all of that. I shouldn’t like anything to disturb it, or there wouldn’t be any money for anything. You are here for money?’
‘The Pontiff,’ said Father Ludovico, ‘is much concerned for the soul of Duke Sigismond, since his return to Mother Church. The spiritual health of all the Germanies concerns him. Partly. Chiefly, I came to see you.’
He had been afraid of it. All the happy wine in his system disappeared. He said, ‘In this weather? Why?’
The Patriarch of the Latins in Antioch sat down and stretched his feet to the stove. His boots were patched and his hose were heavily felted. He said, ‘The Lord visited me with an inspiration. We like to keep an eye on you. I wondered if you’d heard the latest from Scotland. Is there anything to eat here? I had a hen from that woman Gertrude, but that was this morning.’
He had been here since morning. Nicholas could see Moriz and John exchange looks: eventually Moriz got up. ‘I’ll see to it,’ he said, and went out.
‘An expert on metals, so I’m told,’ said Father Ludovico. ‘No doubt he prays over them. It must teach him a lot. You were better off with Godscalc. Pity, that.’
‘What about Scotland?’ said John, which was helpful of him.
‘Oh, gossip. You may have heard it already. Couriers getting through?’ the Patriarch said.
‘They’re not as persistent as you are,’ Nicholas said. ‘What news?’
‘Well, the King’s married – but you knew that: you helped him celebrate. Then his sister went off with her husband – but you