To Lie with Lions - Dorothy Dunnett [61]
‘The Cardinal Bessarion is still with us,’ the Patriarch said. ‘And a house full of erudite Greeks, and those less so. Zoe, the Cardinal’s ward, has also been painted. It is the salve of rich men: as a scalded head calls for lard, so they apply coats of paint to their vanity. The Duke of Muscovy has requested a portrait of Zoe.’
Julius sat up. ‘He wants to make her his Duchess?’
‘Perhaps. Moscow and Rome have discussed it. Then the business hung fire when Paul migrated to the Lord with his melons. Tell Nicholas. The King of Cyprus will be sad to lose Zoe.’
‘Zacco would never have married her,’ Gregorio said.
‘He bid for her. Zacco will do anything, will he not, to avoid consummating his marriage with Catherine of Venice? Tell Nicholas. Zacco needs him. So how is the Banco di Niccolò?’
‘Like all banks,’ Julius said. ‘Calling in its debts rather than lending money.’ He knew the Patriarch. If he couldn’t get Nicholas, he would be looking for gold. And they had lost enough gold already.
‘And what debts do you have in Cologne?’ said the priest. The pudding was finished, and the splashes had caked in the sun except where they still rimmed his lips, like salt round a goblet. ‘Or is it pledges you have been collecting?’
Gregorio grinned. Julius said stiffly, ‘Every merchant who sells to the Baltic has to have an eye on Cologne at the moment. Caxton’s there, writing books for the Duchess Margaret.’
He waited for the Patriarch to grunt. Caxton was English. He might be writing books, or even learning to print them, but he was in Cologne, everyone knew, because the town distributed cloth, and England’s exports had been blocked by the Baltic trading alliance called the Hanse. Cologne had broken away from the Hanse. In retribution, the Hanse had intensified its feud against England. Ships were being robbed, wrecked and sunk, to the extent that no one could even send an army anywhere safely. There might come a point – hence Caxton’s presence and his own – when Cologne’s privileges were costing too much.
He said something of all that to da Bologna. The Patriarch listened.
‘So you are working for the Lord’s peace. I commend you. Anna von Hanseyck, isn’t she called?’
‘The Gräfin Anna von Hanseyck,’ said Julius haughtily, ‘is a widowed lady of my acquaintance who lives in Cologne with her daughter, yes. She has been gracious enough to consult me about financial matters.’
‘She’s rich?’ the Patriarch said.
‘Not rich enough to finance a Crusade,’ Julius said. ‘And too much of a lady to merit having her name bandied about. May I offer you something to drink?’
‘Water. Water will do,’ said the Patriarch. ‘So tell me: what else you were doing in Cologne?’
He had heard rumours, obviously. Julius told him something, not entirely made up, about the Bank’s long-term plans. The Patriarch listened. He had paid for it with news of his own, and Julius didn’t mind gossiping.
Later, when the Patriarch had gone, Gregorio lay back in his chair, his scoop-nose red with the sun, and said, ‘You told him too much. Never mind. I don’t want to know about Denmark, it’s time I heard about Anna von Hanseyck. Tell me everything.’
Julius ran out of patience. He said, ‘You know everything. Christ God, you’ve read the documents; we’ve talked about it often enough. She’s the widow of Graf Wenzel von Hanseyck. When he died, she exchanged his land in the Rhine valley for gold, and I’ve helped her invest it. Half the Bank’s new ship is hers, and she’ll have a share in the profit.’
‘If there is a profit,’ said Gregorio mildly.
‘There’ll be a profit. My God, with Nicholas going to do what he’s doing? Anyway, she’s grateful. She needs help with her money and wants the Bank to advise her. I’ve said I’ll introduce her to Nicholas next summer. You