To Lie with Lions - Dorothy Dunnett [269]
‘I don’t know. We never speak of it. Are you going to marry your Anna?’ Nicholas asked.
Julius had blushed: a remarkable sight. He said, ‘If I do, it won’t be for her money.’
‘I’ve met her. I believe you,’ said Nicholas. ‘How did you find her? She’s beautiful.’
‘She found me,’ Julius said. ‘Through the Hanse merchants in Cologne. She had all this property from Wenzel, her husband, and wanted to realise it all and invest it. She applied to several others, but we offered the best proposition.’
‘How much did that lose us?’ said Nicholas amiably.
The flush had become even deeper. ‘Nothing. We made a profit. You can see the books if you like. Gelis was there at the time. She’d remember.’
‘Calm! Calm!’ Nicholas had said. ‘I’ve seen the books. I was joking. I shouldn’t blame you if she owned all the Fleury instead of half of it. So are you going to ask her to marry you?’
Julius, unusually for him, had been silent. Then Nicholas had said, ‘You want to, I’m sure. So why not? You’re afraid she’ll refuse you?’
Julius had said, ‘I have nothing. I don’t know who my parents were.’
‘That may be, but you are far from having nothing. And beautiful as she is, she hasn’t married anyone else, or even spent time with anyone else from what you tell me. Would you like me to plead for you? I can give you a fairly good character.’
He didn’t think Julius would take him seriously, and he didn’t. He said, ‘If anything would ruin it, that would. I have to wait. I must be sure. With someone like that, you only get one chance.’
‘Well, don’t wait too long or I’ll catch her for Jordan,’ Nicholas said. And after that, he let the talk lapse in favour of more interesting things, of the kind that had earned them a reputation in Bruges when he was an apprentice and Julius was supposed to be governing him. Stupid pranks, on the knife-edge of criminality and dangerous in the extreme, which remained enjoyable even when muted, out of respect for their whereabouts and their age. Then their escort made its appearance, and they had to behave.
The summons to Cardinal Bessarion came on the third day. When Nicholas saw him, his face grey, his long beard spread over the sheets in the darkened chamber of state, it reduced him to silence.
Dying, the Greek who had laboured to bring together the Latin and Orthodox churches had been given an impossible task: to induce Louis of France to conduct the ecclesiastical affairs of his country according to the Pope’s wishes; to reconcile France and Brittany and Burgundy, and induce them to turn their minds and resources to stemming the Grand Sultan’s advance to the west.
Bessarion would not succeed. Whether presently frustrated or victorious in France, the Duke of Burgundy’s mind was not on the East, but on freeing himself from his overlords, and on increasing his power and his lands in France and in Germany. Charles wanted nothing less than to be a king, or an emperor.
In Venice last year, Nicholas had cast his support and that of his Bank behind this ambition of Charles, and had given nothing to the present Crusade beyond a few elderly ships and some armaments. Julius, once the Cardinal’s secretary in Bologna, had abetted him. Now they received, as might be expected, the Cardinal’s measured rebuke. Without wealth, without title, without ambition, Nicholas de Fleury had stood against the Muslim in Cyprus and Trebizond; he had listened to Godscalc, his saintly confessor, and aided his attempt to reach Christian Ethiopia. Why now, laden with honours, had he turned his back on his glorious destiny?
Julius mumbled. It was difficult, one perceived, to avoid mentioning that all these exploits had come about merely because Nicholas was in the way of making some money. Nicholas himself replied clearly, with deference. His duty at present was to Duke Charles and to the home he was making in Scotland. Nevertheless, he promised all the wealth of the Bank when the Duke was able at