To Lie with Lions - Dorothy Dunnett [123]
It seemed innocuous enough. Bessarion nodded and turned to the sprightly young man, but Nerio was already locked in gay talk with three Greek theologians, two of whom Bessarion had never seen smiling before.
Jan Adorne saw Julius coming. The burly man at his side was a priest, although the mighty crucifix on his chest had something oriental about it, and he was coarse-skinned and black-haired as an ape, with a kind of grim simian mockery, too, in the thrust of his lip. Planted before Jan, he spoke.
‘Ludovico da Bologna, my boy; Patriarch of the Latins in the East. You walked in my footprints on Mount Sinai last year, when that whisker you have was no more than a coating of mould on a cheese. I met your father in Bruges.’
‘He is in Scotland at present. I know you, of course, by reputation, Father,’ said Jan. He kept his face straight. He remembered even his cousin Katelijne having to keep her face straight, when listening to his father on the subject of Ludovico da Bologna.
‘Then you’ll not be surprised,’ said the Patriarch, ‘if I tell you that Moses or not, every man that climbs Mount Sinai seems to return, in my experience, either a saint or a goat. Nicholas de Fleury comes down a virgin, and the pilgrim Adorne staggers home and gets your mother with child.’
‘They are husband and wife,’ said Jan. His face burned with anger and shock.
‘You’re happy for them. I’m glad. So what did the Adorne family expect the Holy Father to jump up and do for them? Install you in the Palazzo San Marco to count the cameos and oil the ivories and wax the bosoms and buttocks of the Nereides? Everything changes when a Pope dies.’
‘There was nothing for me in Bruges,’ Jan said. He hardly knew what he was saying. He was watching someone approaching.
‘The Bastard Anthony wouldn’t have you, I heard,’ said the Patriarch. ‘But God alone in His wisdom knows why your father sent you back to Rome. The meek, joyful pursuit in nakedness of the naked Christ it might be, but a troubadour of God you are not. So what are you looking at?’
Jan continued to look.
‘My dear,’ said Nerio. ‘How delightful to see you again. Are you recovered?’
Cold nausea filled Jan Adorne. Through the mists of carnival Venice he had pursued the wraith of an exquisite girl, masked, alluring. It had ended in public, in shame, with Jan vomiting drunk, and his love revealed as a cruel, pretty boy: Nerio from Trebizond. Julius had been there. Julius, standing beside him, was smiling. Julius had known that Nerio was coming today.
Jan swallowed. He said, ‘Do we know each other? Forgive me. The Patriarch and I have some business together.’
The dark-lashed eyes laughed into his face. ‘So fickle? Pray continue. I can wait. Antioch! Now I know why Syrians call it le pissoir!’
‘You should go there,’ said Ludovico da Bologna. ‘Provided you can find out which pissoir you are made for. Meanwhile, stand there and be quiet. Master Julius?’
‘Yes?’ said the notary. His voice had lost some of its amusement. Jan Adorne stared at the floor.
‘Nothing seems to surprise you,’ said the Patriarch. His voice, momentarily, appeared almost agreeable. ‘Every event bears the pricks of the drawing-compass. You can probably guess, for example, the contents of the paper I am about to hand Master Adorne.’
‘An indulgence?’ said Julius. His voice was amused again. ‘Or no. Master Adorne here could hardly afford it. He has spent it all on libido, cupidity –’
‘Who better should recognise it?’ said the Patriarch. He turned the hedge of his brows upon Jan. ‘Have you no sense? Perhaps the bishops in Scotland may deny their jewels to their see, but the wealth of St Peter by the Election Capitulation cannot be alienated. All that Paul owned passed to Sixtus. Sixtus has charge of the fifty-four silver shells filled with pearls, and the single diamond worth seven thousand ducats. A million ducats’ worth in jewels alone, many of them sold to the Medici already. What dream of wealth did you have?’
‘None,’ said Jan. ‘I wished to serve the Cardinal of San Marco.’
‘And who is