The Spring of the Ram Page 8

  “With the help of the inventive Messer Pagano,” Nicholas said. “Did he want to stop us, or delay us, or merely remind us of our lowly station? Did you talk to him?”

  “At Pisa,” said the priest. “It was he who caused the accident to the ship. Minor damage, but it could have been worse, and we got it cheap in the long run because of it. I don’t know. I had the feeling that he knew who the galley was meant for. The wharfmen at Porto Pisano possibly told him some gossip. I even had the feeling he already knew who employed me, although I don’t know how that came about. But his attitude was not…threatening.”

  “What, then?” said Nicholas. The large gaze, intent, was disconcerting.

  Godscalc said, “He is a frivolous man. It’s hard to tell what lies beneath it. Perhaps nothing. In which case he’s all the more dangerous.”

  “He is Genoese consul,” said Nicholas. “I would rather hear he was frivolous than think he had the weight of Genoese state policy behind him. Or the support of their merchants in Bruges.”

  “The Genoese merchants in Bruges? I thought Anselm Adorne was your friend.”

  Nicholas said, “He is also a friend of the Dorias. I wish I knew more. I will know more.”

  “How?” said Godscalc. Tobie had opened an eye.

  “By asking Pagano Doria. He’s in Florence. You know him. I’ll call on him tomorrow.”

  Father Godscalc, whose study was mankind in undress, was extremely content, the following morning, to set out with his precocious master to visit the amiable, amorous sea prince of his Pisa encounter. They left Julius in bed. Tobie, who had exhibited a strongly casual interest, had been dissuaded from coming. The degree of Tobie’s fascination with Nicholas sometimes grated on Godscalc.

  On the walk through the town, Godscalc imparted what he knew of those fertile Genoese the Doria who were able, two centuries since, to field two hundred and fifty kinsfolk in any one battle. The family owned prodigious property, had interests in banking; had produced great seamen, admirals, army commanders.

  Godscalc said, “This particular Doria we are visiting is not responsible to any of the known Doria companies. He has been in the Levant, and in Sardinia, and has had an interest in many different concerns, not all of which have prospered. But at present, it seems, he is well enough placed. His clothes are rich, his attendants sufficient. His manner would be acceptable in the highest circles. And if the round ship is his, he must have good dividends, or the confidence of a well-funded banker.”

  “Then he is an adventurer?” Nicholas said. All the time he was talking, Godscalc saw, his eyes were moving, from face to face, from building to building. Sometimes an adult would return a slight bow. Twice, a child shouted a greeting. In two days, he seemed to have met a lot of people. They were now in the Orsanmichele quarter, and passing the silk merchants’ counting-houses. Soon they would come to the Via Por Santa Maria, where the Bianchi silk offices were. In their wide sheds and basements, the manufacturers received the sticky raw silk and sent out their scurrying messengers to low, dark homes all over the city where the spinners, the weavers, the throwsters, the warpers, the dyers each did their work, until the bales lay ready for export: the deep, glossy silks and profound, jewel-bright velvets for which Florence was known.

  Soon, Nicholas or Tobie or Julius would be calling on all these men—the Bianchi, the Parenti, the manager of the Medici silk workshop-to contract for silk to sell in Trebizond, and obtain orders for rare dyes and raw silk to bring back again. Pagano Doria was to sail east after Christmas. February was the earliest any round ship could normally leave, and as early as Nicholas, too, would be able to cross the seas safely. The two might well set out for the Black Sea together, the round ship depending on wind, and the galley depending on oars.

  Normally, there would be no competition, for different ships carried different cargoes. Nevertheless, thought Father Godscalc, it would be interesting to find out what Genoa was sending to Trebizond. If they discovered. He knew, from his encounter with Pagano Doria, that there was about the Genoese sea prince a polish, a subtlety, that no apprentice, however gifted, had the means to acquire. He didn’t wish ill to the youth now walking beside him but, like Tobie, he felt he had been made party to a piece of arbitrary management and, lacking Tobie’s clinical detachment, he could not find it in him to approve, no matter how clearly he understood it. Embarking on his first major project surrounded by older, capable men, Nicholas had to seize what chance he could of ascendancy. But he was of obscure birth, and just nineteen years old. And Pagano Doria was not Julius.

  The sea prince’s house, when they reached it, was not large but exceptionally elegant. Something about the lanterns, the courtyard, the greenery spoke of the feminine, and the chaplain felt no surprise when, on being ushered up the wide steps to the salon, the first impression he had was one of a thick, citrous scent not unlike incense. It had no obvious source, but resided in the carpets, the heavy fringed cloth of the table cover, the pierced container from which warmth drifted into the room. It seemed to say that the owner of the house was not Pagano Doria, and that she was not far away. He looked at Nicholas. “Au revoir,” Nicholas said, walking forward. “As the foxes say at the furrier’s.” Godscalc chuckled.

  Doria entered almost as soon as his manservant departed to summon him. He came in on his toes, like a swordsman or a dancing-master, as if in mockery of the two tall, stolid men standing before him. But there was nothing malicious in his expression (if nothing contrite either). He said, “My dear friend Father Godscalc, how happy I am to see you again, even if you have come to chastise me. And this is your genius, the gifted fellow all Florence is talking of. Messer Niccolò vander Poele, is it not?”

  Nicholas took a step forward. Beside tawny velvet, his cloth pourpoint and jacket looked undoubtedly workmanlike. In the scarred and unscarred sides of his face, the dimples made pits of coyness: his open eyes were as clear as an infant’s. Godscalc thought again what a handsome head the Genoese had, well set on his powerful shoulders. His legs, too, swelled and tapered to his heeled silken slippers, all to scale, so that his lack of height was hardly noticed unless you stood close, as Nicholas did. Nicholas said, smiling down, “It takes one genius to know another, my lord. Why should Father Godscalc chastise you?”

  “Sit!” said Pagano Doria. “There and there, and be comfortable. And you will take malmsey and ginger? It is freshly drawn from the keg; the ginger, pure. You have your own famous doctor—what need you fear? For of course you do not know me: you wonder if I am malicious. Am I right?”

  Swiftly, they were all seated and the difference in height had been banished. Wine was poured and offered and courteously drunk. To Godscalc it tasted as normal. Godscalc said, “You must know I have been told of your appointment.”

  Doria smiled. “And I of Messer Niccolò’s. I salute him.”

  Nicholas smiled again. “Thank you, my lord. It would seem to explain the damaged galley and the information laid against Master Julius. At any rate, the Milanese ambassador has agreed to see me this afternoon, and he will no doubt wish to send north, to discover whether these acts of subversion are supported by official Genoese policy. Florence, naturally, would be unhappy to think so. And obstructing a Christian army will not commend any kingdom or state to the Pope.”

  Godscalc blinked. The sea prince also checked for a moment. Then Doria sprang to his feet and, placing his cup carefully down, laid a light hand on one of Nicholas’s shoulders. He knelt, without removing his hand. Unbidden, Godscalc thought of Tobie when quizzing an imbecile. The Genoese said, “But what is this? My appointment wasn’t confirmed until I came to Florence—I had no reason to damage your ship; I was chaffing your good priest about it. How could I have known it was yours? It belonged to the State. And as for your notary…” He removed his hand and rocked back on his heels, drawing a stool and collecting his wine as he sat on it. Hands clasped round the cup, he shook his head, smiling faintly.

  “Did it seem suspicious? I mer
ely met Fra Ludovico in the street, and answered his questions about all my doings. I had been most struck by all I had heard of you, and your company. You do not know how impressed these Florentines are. And he, anxious to know who goes to Trebizond, asked for the names of these eminent men. I fear it was no fault of mine that he recognised that of Master Julius. He had met him before in unhappier times. When I realised it, I was sorry, but there was nothing I could do. Either the man would be vindicated, or a weak link in your great company would be cut away. I could not see great harm being done.”

  “But you were not surprised by our visit,” said Nicholas.

  “No,” said Pagano Doria. “Wise men make due enquiries before they reach conclusions. I thought you might come. But Father Godscalc I knew for a good man, who treats his fellow-men generously. I should say to him, by the way—Father: keep no secrets on my behalf. I have taken my leave of the lady, who has confessed to her husband. Tell Messer Niccolò what you wish. A man like Messer Niccolò is no stranger to the lovely dilemma, when beauty swears she will die unless you give her your favours.”

  The wine was pure, but it was extremely strong. Through a faint haze, Father Godscalc saw Pagano Doria smile at the younger man, and heard Nicholas say, “I must not, of course, contradict what you say under your roof. As a man happily married, however, my only concern must be my wife’s present and future well-being. The ambassador will find you here if he wishes to question you?”

  Again, the threat. And now the priest was sure that the sea prince was disturbed by it. But why? The Milanese envoy lodged with the Medici, but that was simply a mark of the unspoken alliance between the old man Cosimo and the Duke of Milan. And Milan itself had an interest in neighbouring Genoa, whose turbulent citizens rebelled like the storms of the sea, unseating doge after doge.

  And there, of course, was the nub of the case. Milan disliked the present French interference with Genoa. Milan disliked the French, and was as determined as Florence and Naples to keep them from power in Italy. So Milan would not care to see a French puppet (as they might see Pagano) ousting a Medici-backed Charetty company. Milan might see to it, quite simply, that the Genoese round ship never left Porto Pisano.

  Pagano Doria lifted his arm and swallowed his wine with a flourish. “Ah, my dear Messer Niccolò, if you must know,” he said, “I have received no instructions from Genoa. I shall, of course, do my best to make them a fitting consul, but that is their only concern. There are no deep-laid plots here against Florence. Merely…I have a living to make. And a talent for amusing myself, and sometimes others. Men of genius, serious men, must despise me. I doubt if you need be afraid of me, though. You, with your soldiers, your staff men like the doctor, the lawyer, the chaplain here. If I tried to cause mischief, I abjectly failed. You are Florentine consul, and you are leaving in due course for Trebizond. What can I do to harm you, and why?”

  “Sink my ship. Steal my markets. Serve double-strength wine,” Nicholas said.

  “Shall I water it?” said Doria. The eyes, bright as a pheasant’s, were for a second derisive.

  “Only if it discommodes you,” said Nicholas. “After all, we shall shortly have something to celebrate. What will you take for your ship and its contents?”

  Doria’s back slowly straightened. His lips, shapely and red, parted in a smile of delight. He said, “A munificent gesture. My dear Messer Niccolò! You will cripple the Medici family! I am sorely tempted.”

  “Then accept,” Nicholas said. “No unpleasant voyage in February; no threat of war with the Turk, or with me.” His voice was perfectly pleasant, but Godscalc saw that his gaze and that of the Genoese were locked together. Then, with a sound like a small sigh, the Genoese sea prince looked away. “Alas!” he said. “Even if you could borrow so large a sum—”

  “I can,” Nicholas said.

  Godscalc looked at him.

  So did Pagano Doria. “I think I believe you,” he said. “But even so, the fortune I shall make in Trebizond, Messer Niccolò, will be much larger. Without, of course, detracting from yours. There is plenty for all. The land of the Golden Fleece. The land of Colchis, where the flying ram made its way, the gift of Hermes. Whither Jason was sent on his impossible mission; sailed on Argo advised by his wooden oracle; reaped the fields full of soldiers; drugged the dragon with Medea’s assistance.”

  He laughed. “In Burgundy, they’ve created an order named after it, haven’t they? Supposed to summon men to free Constantinople. To rouse the Christian world, as that fool Fra Ludovico thinks he’s doing. But you can’t govern a state with paternosters—who said that? And the great Order of the Golden Fleece was really invented, so they say, by Duke Philip in honour of the fleece at his mistress’s thighs. Have you heard that?”

  “Everyone’s heard that,” said Nicholas. “Which do you want to be? Jason, the ram or the dragon?”

  “I am quite happy,” said the Genoese, “being Pagano Doria, unambitious though it may appear. I intend to go to Trebizond. We shall compete in some things. I shall not promise to be an easy opponent, but you are free to deal likewise with me. If you are afraid, or do not believe me, of course you will inform Milan and have me stopped. But I see a courage in you, a liking for risk and adventure that does not stoop to old men’s expediencies. But it is for you to say.”

  Godscalc glanced at Nicholas. He appeared sober still, except that his colour was a little high, and his eyes very bright. He was looking directly at the other man. A long moment went by. Then he said, “Yes. If it must be.”

  Pure delight informed the sea prince’s face. It was, you now saw, a self-seeking face; an artful face. But its expression was not one solely of triumph in the wake of an interview that might well have ruined him. It was one of outright rank happiness, as of a man stepping into an arena which he knew would lead, through whatever teasing and testing and trickery, to a reward of undreamed-of riches.

  Nicholas rose, his gaze on the other, and Godscalc could make nothing of the look on his face. Then he put down his cup and without thanks, or farewell, or courtesy, turned and walked out of the door.

  On the way from the courtyard he passed, with hardly a glance, the figure of a short, well-dressed woman wearing a face-veil and large coloured earrings. Father Godscalc, following quickly, did not see her at all.

  Chapter 6

  BECAUSE SHE WAS in the courtyard that day against orders, Catherine de Charetty had her first little tiff with her fiancé. She enjoyed it. She was far from tired of being fondled, but it made a change to be scolded a little. She remembered her father scolding her, and the extravagant presents he brought to her afterwards.

  She had come to Florence against orders as well. That is, she had announced she was leaving Pisa, and so he had been forced to bring her. She had come to realise how disappointed he was that she was still too young to marry, and sometimes it made him restless, so that he went out without her to find company. She knew from her mother’s friends that men, unlike women, got into trouble when they left home. They drank too much, and gambled their money away. It made her weep, now and then, to think about it. Pagano noticed it, and after that he stayed at home more. To begin with, when she and her Flemish nurse went out shopping, she suspected that Pagano was having a visitor. But when, once, she remarked on the smell, he merely produced with a flourish the source of it, and she had been ashamed as well as delighted. The scent had been mixed specially for her, and the apothecary had come that very day to deliver it. There was no one in the world like Pagano, even if he still could take her nowhere unless she was heavily veiled; and if there were princes in Florence, she hadn’t met them yet.

  Of course, she hadn’t met her stepfather Nicholas either, even though he didn’t leave Florence right away, as Pagano thought he would. By asking frequently, she learned that not only Godscalc, but her mother’s doctor and notary were in Florence with him. She understood very well, of course, that she would be sent home immediately if any one of them saw her before she was married. But
she was hurt that Pagano would not trust her even with the name of the place they were staying at. Then, coming back from some trip, she had seen Nicholas coming down the steps into her very own courtyard, and the priest Godscalc striding down after.

  Nicholas was terribly different. She had forgotten how plainly and cheaply other men dressed compared with Pagano. The scar showed more distinctly than she remembered and he seemed preoccupied and solemn and unattractively powerful. A tear ran down the back of her throat and she sniffed, because he was part of her home, and she hadn’t been home for a long time. But he looked, as Pagano had said, like a man who would send her back in a hair shirt and a chastity belt. It didn’t sound at all comfortable. The old, funny Nicholas with the dimples would have joined in the game of deceiving her mother. But this Nicholas was her mother’s husband. And slept in her bed.

  She had watched him leave with the priest, and had climbed the steps and entered her house in resentful mood. Then, when Pagano had shown his annoyance, she had enjoyed making him piqued in return. For what was he doing, talking to Nicholas?

  The answer was dull enough. Nicholas had called unexpectedly to buy some of Pagano’s cargo. Nicholas might, it turned out, be staying in Florence through Christmas, but that would be nothing to them. She and Pagano would hold a festival of their own, with Pagano’s particular friends. And so long as she wore her veil, he would take her out visiting. He had other friends who would be happy to see her. There would be music and miming. There would be pageants and balls. So long as she went only with him, and never where she might meet Nicholas.

  That evening he brought her a bracelet, and marzipan, and a dog, and a dress she was to wear only for him, once she had charming little breasts there and there. She didn’t mind now, when he showed her how he would caress them. Before going to bed she had another hot bath, and the new medicines that had come with the scent. By now she guessed what they were for and never objected. Sometimes, after the Flemish woman had gone, she got up through the night and took more.