The Unicorn Hunt (51 page)

Then it was the turn of le Grant on his own, and he had found himself, with no levity at all, explaining once more the history of the parrot he had sent by roundship to Nicholas de Fleury.

It had been a brief conversation, for Nicholas had guessed, of course, that he was the sender, and that the bird was connected somehow with the missing shipmaster Ochoa de Marchena, who had disappeared when sailing from Africa, along with four to five hundred pounds of pure gold, owned by the Banco di Niccolò and never recovered.

And, naturally, Nicholas had also recognised the mimicked voice
they both knew, which spoke Cypriot Greek as well as sweet French. The voice of Zacco, King of Cyprus, who had once been very well liked.

John produced his submission. ‘Whoever sent the parrot wants you in Alexandria. And I don’t know who sent it. It came to me from an Arab trader from Tor, and he got it from a chain of other people. I was to send you the bird, and they said you would know it was intended for you, because of the Spanish. They meant, of course, you would know it was linked with the gold.’

He paused. Sometimes, as now, the bastard didn’t even bother to put on an expression. He went on, ‘I recognised Zacco’s voice, too. I nearly plucked and stewed the brute instead of sending it on. Friendship with Zacco is not, at the moment, a recipe for advancement.’

‘It never was,’ Nicholas said. ‘His voice could have been accidental. The parrot belonged to his household. Or don’t you remember?’

John remembered all right. Zacco rarely spoke Greek. Zacco called no one else Nikko. He said, ‘We have to go to Alexandria anyway. If someone wants you so much, no doubt they’ll find you.’

There was a silence. Nicholas said, ‘Crackbene sold it.’

‘I shouldn’t necessarily blame him,’ said John. ‘I was afraid to write, and the bird was dumb to begin with. Did you bring it?’

‘It would have been sick. I brought its repertoire. I can’t make anything of it. But why send a slow parrot instead of a fast letter?’

‘Ochoa couldn’t write. Or you wouldn’t be sure the message was from him. Or a parrot-cypher was safer.’

‘Or it wasn’t urgent.’ He spoke as if the idea had just occurred to him. Then he ended the interview.

An hour later, Gregorio was summoned and told to bring John and Diniz to hear an outline of the company’s changed plans. Gregorio looked round and said, ‘I’ll get Tobie,’ and was stopped by the voice from the ice-floe. ‘Why not leave him? I am sure he is tired.’

The previous night, Godscalc’s last night on earth, Tobie had been missing for part of the evening and Nicholas for rather longer. John, a light sleeper, had seen Tobie return. Nicholas he had only heard. But Nicholas had gone straight to Godscalc and had stayed, through dark, dawn and morning, until Godscalc’s sleep sank towards death.

He had supervised, then, what had to be done, before transferring the same untrammelled competence to the company desk. He had seen Astorre. He had talked to John himself, without excitement,
about gold. Now, calling them together, he had set himself to explain his new plans for the Bank and the Charetty company: plans which must have been worked out through that long, silent death-watch; plans which made no mention of Scotland. And Tobie, by arbitrary decision, was excluded.

Afterwards, Gregorio took John to Tobie’s chamber. The doctor had had some sleep, but not quite enough: there were great purses round his pale eyes and his bald head was creased. Under the sheet he was childishly furry. Gregorio said, ‘We’ve just had a meeting. Nicholas wouldn’t send for you. I’ve brought you some ale.’

‘I’ve missed you all the time you were in Scotland,’ said Tobie, taking it. He waved the mug at John and drank from it as they sat down. He said, ‘Has he seen Gelis yet? Since the death?’

‘Yes,’ said Gregorio. ‘In private. She was already packed. I believe she has gone.’

‘She didn’t say goodbye to anybody?’

‘She was fond of Godscalc,’ the lawyer said.

John said nothing, for it seemed to be true. He had seen her ride out. She was red-eyed and pale. She was the same physical type as Primaflora, which was presumably why Nicholas had married her. He always seemed to get entangled with young women who didn’t like him particularly, but could supply, in excess, what he wanted. Come to think of it, there was nothing much wrong with that.

Tobie said, ‘About the meeting. Don’t worry. I’ll find him a pill for his temper.’

‘What happened?’ said John. ‘I saw you come in last night.’

‘And you told Nicholas?’ said Tobie. He stopped drinking.

‘No.’

Gregorio said, ‘I expect you followed him, and he saw you. I was worried as well. He’ll get over it. Tobie, he’s not returning to Scotland. He’s going to Egypt with John.’

‘God’s bonnet,’ said Tobie. He stared at the lawyer.

‘I know. He should have done it before. He should have gone to the Levant before he committed us so deeply up north. But he can return to Scotland, he says, in two years, and put all his remaining schemes back in action and collect what’s due on the rest. Adorne isn’t there any more; Sersanders is only an agent; there’s no one else as close to the King as Nicholas was in the end.’

‘And in Egypt?’ Tobie said. ‘He’ll get the Levantine trade going to the limit at last?’

‘And the missing gold,’ said Gregorio. ‘What do you know about parrots?’

*

It was an axiom long apparent to Gelis, that one attacked when one’s opponent was weakest. She assumed that her husband obeyed it as well. She expected him to turn the death of Godscalc to his advantage, and took steps, naturally, to counter him. It was by chance that she discovered, seeking to avoid Nicholas through the night, that he had left the house early and that Tobie had followed. She knew when Tobie returned, for she was waiting at Godscalc’s bedside to confront him. And Tobie was not a good actor.

She had wondered who would bring her word that Godscalc had died; and was not surprised when it was Nicholas who knocked and came in. Attack when your opponent is weakest. But if she had been sleepless all night, so had he. Or so she assumed.

On the other hand, he was a brilliant actor. He stood before her, subdued and chastened in manner, his words a model of what was considerate. His shirt was fresh, and so was the loose tunic over it. Once, she had known every garment he had. Every garment. She spoke from the window-seat where she had been sitting longer, she realised, than she knew. ‘I’m glad you came back in time. Where did Tobie really find you? Some brothel?’

He smiled, but the glance that it grew from was distant. He hadn’t known, she saw, that the doctor had followed him. He took a seat. ‘Didn’t he tell you? If you want the address, you can have it. Or did Father Godscalc exact solemn promises? What have
you
agreed to give up for Lent?’

‘You were there,’ she said. ‘He didn’t ask me to promise anything more.’

‘The blackguard,’ said Nicholas. ‘Not that you would have kept your word anyway. I take it that you are not proposing to take Henry under your roof any more than I am. I’ve made some financial provision. If he kills anybody, it will pay for the defence. Otherwise I propose to have him watched, as Godscalc suggested, from a distance. I shall send you half the account.’

‘Half the – He’s your son.’

‘He’s your sister’s son. I’m sure you remember.’

He had learned so quickly. Or no. He had always known how to retaliate. She changed her position a little, folding her hands. She said, ‘I fear that Henry is only a pretext. You are actually proposing, in your sweet way, to induce me to foot half the bill for spying on Simon.’

‘You mean that wouldn’t amuse you?’ he said. He settled his elbows and furled his fingers, full of interest. ‘Certainly, I don’t think you’d uncover any tremendous surprises. No, you’re right. In fact, the situation wouldn’t arise. Henry will be left where he is, and Simon and Jordan will go back to Scotland.’

‘Where you will be waiting for them.’

‘No, no,’ Nicholas said. ‘Fields and fields of corn-marigolds, but not me. You haven’t been listening. Scotland is what
I
have agreed to give up for Lent. For two Lents.’

She let a silence develop. Far away, the life of the house could be heard: soft footsteps passing up and down; grieving voices. A soul dear to them all – she thought – had left the earth, and Nicholas had knelt for its blessing. She could feel those craftsman’s hands resting on hers, and hear Godscalc speaking. Nicholas had been performing. It had meant nothing to him. Nothing, nothing. So, determined, alone, one worked with what did have some meaning.

She said, ‘Gregorio told me what a Decreet Arbitral was, and what you thought of it. And of your interest in Boyd land in Scotland. You want it to encircle Kilmirren.’

He produced an expression, briefly, of theatrical slyness. He didn’t deny it. He looked, indeed, as if he were thinking of something quite different.

She said, ‘All those schemes? All that consolidated goodwill? Of course you’re going back.’

‘Of course you would think so,’ said Nicholas de Fleury. ‘But since I’m not, let’s move to the next point at issue: your future. We reached an agreement.’

‘I remember,’ she said. Remarkably, she had kept her voice even. The next point at issue. The next item before you all, gentlemen. She was in the presence of the padrone. He had agreed that her child would be safe, and she had agreed to bear him what children he wanted. Fields and fields of corn-marigolds. Her skin contracted. She added impersonally, ‘And you have overcome your repugnance.’

He pulled his fingers apart in a generous gesture. ‘With great regret, I have to postpone our reunion. That is, I have to leave in a few weeks for Florence, and I may have to winter in Egypt. But I shall be back in Venice next year, and able to send for you and your son. Will Venice suit you, next spring? A happy nesting, like that of the birds?’

She must have moved. He looked up, his expression quite benign. ‘I don’t ask if you wish this; only if you understand it. If there is any difficulty, my attendants will find you and resolve it.’

She took her time, because she wanted to tremble. She was being given nine months. She was being given nine months because he had been telling the truth in one respect, if only one. He was keeping his promise to Godscalc. And since he had to reshape his whole future, he had released her from his immediate plans.

Also, by next year, he would think, the age of her child could no longer be judged with precision. He could introduce wife and offspring in Venice, a legitimate family. And on that basis, he would expect to beget his next child. Which was, of course, all he wanted. His reward and her punishment.

I have to postpone our reunion
. She studied him. He was not a man for whom abstention was normal. Despite Tobie’s vagueness, she believed that last night he had bought his own partners. He had had women in Scotland. It was a weakness, and therefore a lever. Nicholas was expert with levers. He used his knowledge of her for his own ends. He had expected to get what he wanted from Godscalc, but hadn’t. And suddenly she realised why.

She sat up. The chair, which was a new one, creaked slightly. Everything in the chamber was new; all the furnishings of the wedding night had been swept away, and even the bed stood in a different place. There had been a niche, once, full of objects fashioned by children. She said blankly, ‘You told him. You told Father Godscalc about Simon.’

‘Well, I showed him diagrams,’ Nicholas said. His tunic was lightly embroidered and his buttons were carved from blue stones. With her, he didn’t bother with dimples. He added, ‘He guessed.’

‘Hence the oath about Scotland and Henry.’

‘Sadly, yes.’

‘And none about the duties of parenthood.’

‘Sadly, no. Although he did try to send for the boy. If there is a boy. Is there a boy?’

‘I told you. So why did you pledge your word not to go back to Scotland?’

‘You tell me,’ he said.

‘You wanted a quid for your quo.’

‘A quid for my quid.’

‘You thought it would touch me, and you’d get your hands on the boy.’

‘
Get my hands on?
’ said Nicholas. ‘My intentions towards your invisible son are entirely peaceable. Find me something to swear on, and I shall.’ Again, the mockery showed. He was operating on one level. He was operating with his mind; his mind and nothing else, and that was how he must be met.

Gelis said, ‘A well-head? Never mind. I’ve listened to you. You did make a promise. You’re keeping it. I am willing to do the same. Not to show you the child, but your other requirement. You needn’t wait until spring. I’ll come with you to Florence.’

He began to laugh, and halted politely. His gaze brushed her
hands, which had clenched. She unclenched them. He said, ‘I’m sorry. You don’t know about the Bank’s arrangements for patrons in Florence. There is a house. That is, they’d make room for you, but I don’t think you’d like it.’

His eyes were large and open and grey. He didn’t expect her, this time, to believe him although – damn him – it might actually be true. He was chiefly making it clear that he did not want her. Or, amendment: he wanted her when he chose, and not before. And however caustic she proceeded to be – and she was – he had no intention of including her in his itinerary. Which made his itinerary, of course, the object of all her curiosity.

She rode out of Bruges before the rest of his meetings were over. She stayed overnight somewhere public, and she stayed the next night somewhere safe. The following day she arrived with her own private staff at the fortified hall presided over by Margot.

She saw Margot first. Next, she went to the inner room where the night-light burned, and sat down. Later, she rested her chin in her hands and started to think.

Much later, in the privacy of her own chamber, she wrote and sent off two letters. The seal on both was anonymous, and the courier who carried them highly paid. One was to her usual correspondent. The second was addressed to Sir Anselm Adorne.

In later years they would boast, in the company, about the compression of activity that enabled Nicholas de Fleury to leave when he did for Alexandria, changing and adapting all his plans. At the time, despite a swift, unexplained visit to Brussels and another to Antwerp, no one guessed what else he was doing, while the lamps burned day and night and couriers fled to the south.