To Lie with Lions - Dorothy Dunnett [335]
He had already told Julius everything. It would have become obvious enough, and Julius could be discreet when it mattered. He hoped that Julius would join him, with the rest of his team, in the Emperor’s lodging. With Anna, if he insisted.
He had sent, by now, for all the men and the materials that he needed. He had summoned John le Grant and Astorre, with their ceremonial guns and their agile squadrons of horsemen and jousters. He had retrieved from all their comfortable positions the scribes and musicians and painters who had helped him before. The crates from Scotland arrived, although none of the Scottish musicians or artists: he had countermanded the Duke’s request about these. He need not trouble busy men with a tiresome sea journey from Scotland.
Before he left, the drought had unwillingly broken, with enough rain to spoil the vintage and half fill the cisterns, but not enough to restore all the mills. By then, Luxembourg had assumed the appearance of a mighty Burgundian camp, with every house on the rock full of billeted officials, and two thousand tents crammed into every available stretch of high land or sward by the rivers. They quartered an army. They sheltered the ducal treasure and wardrobe and artillery. They housed the regalia of the ducal chapel, with its priests and players and choristers. They lodged the men of the travelling council. They accommodated the household officials and servants. And in a stone house on the mount, the great goldsmith Loyet was preparing a crown and a sceptre.
Everyone Nicholas had ever known in the Low Countries seemed to be there; there was no time to meet them all. He encountered René, new-chosen Duke of Lorraine, whom he had last seen in Provence two years before, at the start of the long journey which would lead to the court of René’s grandfather in Angers, and beyond. He glimpsed Tommaso Portinari, and failed in his half-hearted attempts to evade him. Indeed, he was quite surprised at the strength of Tommaso’s fingers, haling him outside the room where they happened to meet. ‘Benecke!’ Tommaso had said.
‘What?’ said Nicholas. He thought what a paintable face Tommaso had, with the high cheekbones and close-curling hair and sensitive face. He looked furious.
‘Benecke,’ said Tommaso again. ‘You knew him in Iceland. He let you load up all that illegal stockfish. Did you tell him to steal my alum?’
‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘I’ve got my own alum. I might have wanted the painting, but I’m told it isn’t really you. That is, the only part that’s you isn’t a part. Tommaso, who was it? Can I tell Benecke? He might send it back for a repaint.’
‘So how did he know what the San Matteo was carrying?’ Tommaso said. By adroit manoeuvring, Nicholas had got him outside his workshop. He opened the door and everyone inside looked up. The smell of fresh paint and vellum and oil flowed from the room. Julius waved.
‘I don’t suppose he did,’ Nicholas said. ‘Everyone knows you’re rich and your ships are worth stealing, that’s all. It was sailing under the Burgundian flag. If the Hanse won’t respond, get the Duke to complain, but not yet. If Benecke walked in just now, he’d just crown him.’
Julius howled.
‘Which reminds me,’ Nicholas said. ‘You’re handling all the Duke’s silks for the ceremony?’
‘Yes,’ said Tommaso. Julius had put a large cup in his hand.
‘Well,’ said Nicholas, sitting down comfortably, ‘Julius and I are going to need yards and yards and yards of good silk for the Emperor’s throne room and costumes and tableaux. Suppose you tell us what you have.’
Nicholas left soon after that, with Julius and John and Astorre, plunging down the Luxembourg cliff to set off north-east to the vale of the Moselle, the wagons rumbling behind him, and the long cavalcade of his craftsmen and soldiers trotting after.