Caprice and Rondo (73 page)

‘He saved your life,’ she said. Astorre had said that.

‘Oh, aye. As Julius saved his. We made a good team.’

It was only later that she discovered that the
silly wee bitch
was Catherine de Charetty, the younger sister in Bruges who was going to marry her own second cousin. It was very much later that she found out what le Grant had meant about Famagusta. It had nothing to do with her sister, who had died there, but she was charitable enough to suppose that Nicholas had been affected by that as well.

She had not seen Nicholas in Trebizond, but she had watched him in Africa, where a simple voyage for profit had also turned into a trial of character and a testing-place for beliefs. She understood, for the first time, what John le Grant might mean by innocent; and, not for the first time, how alike he and Nicholas were. She had begun to realise, ever since Edinburgh, that these men and women were Nicholas’s family, as much as she or Jodi or Marian de Charetty could ever be or have been. And she realised that the act by which he had divorced himself from them was wholly hapless.

Nicholas had ruined his own life for nothing; because of a simple refusal to school his own talents, and a level of undiluted physical energy that made him excessively hard to control. Only Kathi, sometimes, had been able to manage that. And of course she herself had a key, but had vowed not to apply it. Passion was not enough, as her sister would have discovered. The question was … The question increasingly was, whether it was better than nothing.

As April approached, it seemed to Gelis that she had been separated from her son for long enough. She wrote to Scotland, asking with affection after the infant Margaret of Berecrofts, and enquiring what her parents’ plans might be for the summer. She also wrote to Clémence de
Coulanges, in the friendly, easier terms that befitted her altered relationship with the future wife of Dr Tobie, and asked for her news, and her advice.

At that time, it seemed to Gelis that Jodi was safer in Scotland than within reach of the cannons of France. She had a journey to make, and a letter to wait for. Then she would go to Scotland.

I
N
R
OME
, packed with the Easter pilgrims of a jubilee year, the name of Nicholas de Fleury had begun to irritate Anselm Adorne’s eldest son, a lawyer in clerical orders in the household of Cardinal Hugonet. Jan Adorne, who was thirty, had known de Fleury from boyhood and already despised him as a jumped-up apprentice, even before the present ceaseless reports of de Fleury’s doings in Poland, linked as they were to the dismissal of Jan’s own father. First, prominent at every Roman reception, there appeared a Persian mission led by Caterino Zeno the Venetian diplomat, who had advanced de Fleury money, it seemed, to help take his own father’s place. Then came further tales of de Fleury’s friendship with the Queen of Poland and the traitor Buonaccorsi, related by his father’s friend Cardinal Barbo, the papal legate to Poland.

The saga even continued in Naples, where Jan Adorne found himself on both papal and Burgundian affairs, since his master was brother to Hugonet, the Duke of Burgundy’s Chancellor. The Duke wanted soldiers, and had sent the Grand Bastard his brother to pick up a mercenary army under the nose of the Pope. It would be awkward, of course, since the army was intended to fight the Holy Roman Emperor, not the Turk. The Duke trusted his brother to explain that Burgundy was already opposing the Turk by sending to the court of Uzum Hasan the worthy Patriarch Ludovico da Bologna, and the excellent Nicholas de Fleury the banker, whose former partners in Bruges and at Neuss were so ably assisting the Duke. The Duke trusted that if, as a consequence, Uzum Hasan were to march on the Turk, due honour would be paid to these two intrepid men.

Jan’s noble Genoese blood boiled. Someone said (at the reception that followed), ‘Any such honour was deserved, of course, by your father. The Mission should have been his. I cannot understand why Lord Cortachy was recalled.’

‘Venetian jealousy,’ Jan Adorne said. He could only have said it to someone else of Genoese extraction. This was Prosper Schiaffino de Camulio de’ Medici, once the peppery Milanese envoy to France, whose Camogli ancestors had exercised their fishing skills close to Tana, and who knew all about Venetian jealousy. Jan turned fully, and gave the man a smile. Beside Camulio, he now saw, was a courtier of quite another kind: a man whose beauty of feature and hair quite overcame his lack of
height, and whose lustrous eyes, dwelling on Jan, caused Jan’s smile to widen quite naturally.

‘Ah, Venice!’ the stranger said, casting a glance, half affectionate, half comical at his companion Camulio. ‘At least in Scotland you will be free of her.’

Jan Adorne, changing his smile, turned his gaze back to the Genoese. ‘I should have congratulated you! They have extended your remit! Papal notary, collector for the Apostolic Camera and nuncio of the Pope in England, Ireland
and
Scotland! My father will be ravished!’ He kept his smile in place. His father, no admirer of Pope Sixtus, was not likely to be entranced by the appearance in Scotland of Camulio, a middle-aged protégé of the Pope’s nephew.

‘And so will the Pope’s dear Giuliano,’ observed the beautiful stranger gravely from behind. ‘But not enough, I fear, to send Prosper so far from his side. Fortunately for me, it seems that I may act for him as his business adviser. I hope to be in Scotland by June. I may even be fortunate enough to meet your dear father pursuing his duties. Or your cousins, Sersanders and Katelijne. Or even the wife and son of poor Nicholas de Fleury who, I hear, is pursuing some dreary task in the Levant.’

Jan gazed at him, reddening. ‘I am sorry …?’

‘My dear Jan, why should you remember your visit to Cairo, exalted as you now are in the heart of the Christian world? My name is David de Salmeton, formerly of the Vatachino. David de Salmeton, adviser to the Collector for the Apostolic Camera in Scotland, our mutual friend Prosper. Is it not delightful? Would Nicholas not be enchanted, if he knew?’

That night, Jan Adorne wrote to his father.

I’m sure you remember de Salmeton. I can tell you at least he is rich: I have seen the palazzo he lives in, and he spends, they say, like a prince. Do I remember that Kathi didn’t like him? She’d better change her mind now that she’s married a Berecrofts. A man with the ear of the Curia can make or break a merchant firm like her husband’s
.

That letter went off in April and reached Anselm Adorne in June, at the height of the solemn Masses, the rich processions, the extravagant banquets staged at Neuss by the Duke and the Emperor (without Nicholas de Fleury), to celebrate the end of the war and the siege. Adorne attended them without joy. Time, lives, and a hundred thousand florins of Burgundian money had been squandered on fruitless campaigns which had lapsed only because France had entered the field once again, and England was demanding attention.

Anselm Adorne read his son’s letter in his tent, and sent for his
chamberlain, for here was something he could deal with which was personal to his own family. God knew, he had little time for de Fleury, but he knew more than Jan about the nature of David de Salmeton. De Fleury was not, of course, within reach of M. de Salmeton’s displeasure, but his family were, and Kathi, who had helped foil him in Cairo. Anselm Adorne wrote to her in Scotland immediately, and also to his nephew Sersanders. Lastly, he sent word to de Fleury’s wife, supposing she still held that name, suggesting a meeting in Ghent.

I
N
PEACE
AND
WAR
, Anselm Adorne, Baron Cortachy, was a frequent and favoured visitor to both the palace and castle in Ghent. His sister had married Daniel Sersanders, a political firebrand, but born of a great local family. His daughter had served the Duchess of Burgundy’s English mother in London. He was a friend of Louis de Gruuthuse who was a member of the permanent Council. With generations of fiscal skills behind him, Adorne was one of the advisers upon whom the Duchess Margaret relied when she was forced to raise money, yet again, for the ducal wars. The calls Anselm Adorne made to the Duchess’s court were rarely social ones: they were to guide and warn the Duchess and Chancellor Hugonet in their dealings with those independent and rough-spoken communities within Flemish Burgundy which the Duke so blithely regarded as his vassals.

Technically, no doubt, they were. Technically, they had no right to revolt as Liège and Ghent itself had done in the past. As a boy, Adorne himself had been forced to flee with his family during another upset in his own Bruges. Merchants, diplomats, farmers of taxes incurred duties both to the burghers whom they represented, and to the Duke whom they also served. A clever man, trusted by both sides, could often keep both sides out of trouble. But not always. And sometimes wealth and high office did not seem worth the strain.

On this particular warm day in June, Adorne rode first to the castle, where the Chancellor awaited him. Although different in nature, the two men had long formed a useful alliance which had produced, among other things, Jan’s present post with Cardinal Philibert, the Chancellor’s brother. The Chancellor knew the gossip of Rome. He also knew Gelis van Borselen, who was in Ghent these days almost as often as Adorne, and who seemed to be proving herself to be as useful to Burgundy as her husband had been at Trèves.

The Chancellor had listened, in the interstices of a more urgent discussion, to the gist of Jan’s message. He said, ‘Camulio is a plotter; you know that. He will spy for anyone, but mostly for Genoa and Milan. With what he knows, he makes an excellent collector of taxes. But even he cannot
travel everywhere. Your David de Salmeton will be expected to exert local pressure. You say he is a dealer?’

‘He was an agent of the firm of Vatachino. They asked him to leave, I was told, after some error of judgement in Cyprus which lost them all their property on the island. He has not been heard of from then until now.’ He was merely reporting. He did not expect Hugonet to possess information, but knew that he could rely on him now to make enquiries. Since the Vatachino had called in its agents and withered, there had been no comparable power in that field. One wondered if the infiltration of Gelis van Borselen had contributed to that failure. The other theory, of course, held that the Vatachino had only been created to vanquish Nicholas de Fleury in business. De Fleury had gone, and so had his strongest competitors; except for this man, for whom the contest, it seemed, had become personal.

When, presently, Adorne repaired to the small house he still kept in Ghent, he found Gelis van Borselen already waiting, with the engineer John le Grant standing beside her. Their expressions puzzled him. Then comprehension broke, and he said quickly, ‘I have no news, good or bad, from the Levant; only a warning about David de Salmeton. You remember him?’

Their response this time was all he expected, and more. ‘What? What about him?’ the engineer said.

The woman who cared for the house entered and poured them some wine. He smiled at her. It was not the family mansion in which Anselm and Katelijne had been born: that had long since been sold. This small property still belonged to the Sersanders family: Adorne maintained it, and his nephew and niece used it when in Ghent. Kathi’s household would require, he thought, amused, to remain small. He raised his glass, and drank, and spoke when the woman was gone.

‘De Salmeton is going to Scotland. He has an advisory post with the Papal Collector. His dislike of your husband could affect your son and my niece, and I suggest it is worth exercising a little caution. Kathi intended coming to Flanders this autumn. I have told her instead to come right away, and bring your son and her husband and child. The man may have reformed. But until we know more, I feel our families will be safer in Bruges for a little while. I had no time to ask your permission. I hope you agree.’

‘How did you hear?’ the man said. The woman was gazing at him.

‘You do agree?’ Adorne asked her, troubled.

‘Yes! Of course, yes!’ Gelis said. She loosened her hands. ‘Of course, thank you. But how did you hear?’

He told them, while the three glasses of wine lay untouched. Once only, the woman interrupted. ‘David de Salmeton had money?’

‘He was rich, according to Jan.’

‘He would be,’ said the engineer flatly. ‘My lord, you’ve got your niece there to think of, but our wee lad is sore threatened, too. What boat did ye send with your letter?’

Our wee lad
. It was not, perhaps, surprising. The marriage was broken, and this was a kind man, with a streak of genius about him, like the other one. Adorne said, ‘Not even the Banco di Niccolò, I promise you, could have provided anything faster. I mean no offence, but the post of Conservator of Scots Privileges has its uses. And I have asked Sersanders’s partner to bring them back personally.’

‘I’m sorry. We’re anxious,’ said le Grant.

‘You came here especially to tell me,’ said Gelis van Borselen. She was desperately pale. She said, ‘I cannot quite understand how such a man comes to be attached to a papal official.’

It was what Adorne had sought to find out from Hugonet. Now he said, ‘He has been accused of nothing. Nothing has been proved against him but some maladroit behaviour in Cyprus. And even if it had, Prospero de Camulio has asked for him, and for this Pope, that is enough.’ He waited. Then he said, ‘You have worked with de Salmeton. You have seen what he did with the Vatachino. Is he clever? Is he dangerous? Or is he vindictive only where it is safe, at some petty court?’

The woman answered. ‘He is clever. He is dangerous. And in Scotland, he has found just such another petty court.’

L
ATER
,
IN
THE
GARDEN
of the tavern where they did not share beds, Gelis raged to herself and to John, who sat, saying little. Her furious anxiety, beginning with Jodi, dwelt on all the possible victims: Kathi and her husband and baby; Bel of Cuthilgurdy; the Berecrofts family themselves. Then her voice changed. ‘Robin’s family don’t know de Salmeton. They may not believe he’s a danger. They may not let Kathi go.’