To Lie with Lions - Dorothy Dunnett [122]
The Cardinal recalled that a lady was also to be expected. He was resigned. There were others present: it would not be disruptive. He was accustomed to managing diverse assemblies such as this: so soon after the papal election, there were bruised sensibilities everywhere; he was in practice. Alighieri, the Florentine merchant from Trebizond, had promised to bring the envoy of Uzum Hasan, the adroit Turcoman called Hadji Mehmet who had formed part, long ago, of one of Ludovico da Bologna’s fund-raising tours of the West, and was so employed once again.
Julius would know him. Hadji Mehmet had been in Venice in February, when de Fleury had somewhat cynically vanished from view, having committed his Bank to the West. Jan Adorne would presumably know Mehmet as well. The Genoese had a stake in the Levant. He must introduce young Adorne to Bishop Bonumbre.
‘I don’t see him,’ said Jan.
‘Who?’ said Julius. He tore his eyes from the doors.
‘Cardinal Barbo. You said –’
‘Did I?’ said Julius. ‘Oh well, there are still some people to come. Make yourself at home. Find a girl. You’ll never taste better wine: the best in Candia. Wasted on Greeks.’ Someone addressed him in Greek, and he responded, bright-eyed and fluent with a ready reply. Jan wandered off. Painted ceilings. Fine doorways. Elegant windows. All that the looters had left after Pope Martin’s death, with what the present incumbent had added, which was modest in scale. But, as Julius said, the wine was good.
Alighieri had not yet come with the envoy from Persia, an irritation which the Cardinal quelled, although he had wished Acciajuoli to spend some time with them both. He was pleased therefore when his major domo came to his side, and a moment later the solemn Turcoman stepped through the doors, followed by the Florentine agent. The Cardinal had walked forward, smiling, and was greeting them both when he saw that the newcomers were not alone: behind them stood two other men, the elder of whom was the Franciscan Patriarch, Ludovico da Bologna, of that particular Order of Observants of which Bessarion himself was Cardinal-Protector.
With no obvious haste, the Cardinal led Alighieri and his envoy across to the Florentine group, introduced them, and returned. Providentially, help was at hand.
‘Ah, Master Julius,’ said the Cardinal. ‘You know, of course, Father Ludovico, whom we are delighted to welcome. Perhaps you also know …’ He hesitated, recalling only that the child, far too pretty for comfort, was a protégé of Acciajuoli’s one-legged kinsman. He perceived, with mixed sentiments, that this time the boy was unescorted.
‘Nerio, isn’t it?’ said the notary. ‘And of course, we entertained the Patriarch at the Casa in August. How are you?’
‘How do I look?’ said the Patriarch. ‘No nearer to Constantinople. No nearer to hanging the Turk from the top of Sant’ Angelo. Libido, cupidity, voluptuousness and delectation stand in the way. I hope you are enjoying your wine. Is Jan Adorne here?’
Under the Cardinal’s surprised gaze, the two younger men, Nerio and Julius, looked at one another, and then suddenly broke into smiles. The smiles made Bessarion feel weary. The Patriarch, undeterred, continued. ‘I have a letter for him. Is he the idiot he seems to be? I pity his father.’
‘He wants to work in Rome,’ Julius said. ‘Perhaps that answers your question. He’s over there. I’ll take you to him. Nerio can join us in a while, if he wants to.’
‘Wait,’ said the Cardinal. ‘Hospites tamquam Christus suscipiantur – Master Adorno is your guest and mine, and I will not have him distressed. What is your business, Patriarch?’
The priest looked surprised, his curling black hair at all angles. ‘He was expecting to see Marco Barbo.