So the months without Margot had passed, and Gregorio waited in the Hof Charetty-Niccolò, his home and his office in Bruges. The Ghost was coming, he knew; and Nicholas with her. The passage, he guessed, would be slow. The husband of Gelis must not seem to hurry too much, when the legitimate birth was so distant.
Because it was slow, the tidings of Lucia de St Pol’s death came before it. The courier came from Kilmirren and brought letters for Diniz her son, and for her Vasquez brother by marriage, and for the van Borselen family because, twenty-five years before, Lucia had been maid of honour to Wolfaert’s Scots first wife in Veere. The account said that Lucia had drowned in a river, by accident.
The letter had been written, Gregorio judged, by a clerk of Simon’s and signed by him. Which meant that Simon at least was alive. It did not mention Nicholas de Fleury.
The news brought sadness, and a passing regret. To Diniz it meant more – after the loss of his father, Lucia was the only link with his happier childhood. But she had been a weak-natured, excitable woman, terrified of her father and hardly redeemed by her Portuguese marriage. After that, so far as Gregorio knew, she had done nothing that was not purely selfish. And Diniz, of course, had another protector and deity now.
After that, Gregorio counted the months and the days, and was unsurprised when news arrived that the roundship the Ghost had been sighted, and that Nicholas de Fleury would shortly be with them. It was the third week in February, and seven months and more had passed since his wedding.
There followed the hubbub that occurs in even the best-run establishment of bankers, dyers and merchants when the owner is about to descend on it. Gregorio handled it all, helped by Diniz Vasquez in mourning, whose pregnant wife Tilde was the stepdaughter of Nicholas de Fleury. He even enjoyed the assistance of Tilde’s unmarried young sister Catherine, currently attended by three different gallants.
One of them, who was related to Gelis, stopped calling. Nicholas, who had not been seen with his wife since their marriage, was not popular with her van Borselen kinsmen, who suspected that he had engineered her disappearance from society. No one dreamed that not even Nicholas knew where his wife of one half-night might be.
Public curiosity about the lady de Fleury’s whereabouts had attained a lower and more forgiving level. It had been known for other brides to hide their qualms during pregnancy. They generally reappeared a year after the wedding accompanied by a babe with a full set of teeth. The babe, however, was expected to look like the husband.
Now that the prospective father was due to return, public curiosity (by the same token) revived. Merchants who invested in the House of Niccolò had good cause, of course, to call on Meester Gregorio, and relish a cup of his Portuguese wine, and establish that they would appreciate, presently, an interview with Meester Nicholas himself.
Rivals were worse. Tommaso Portinari, affluent, dashing, the Duke of Burgundy’s chamberlain and manager of the Medici office in Bruges, announced his intention of riding to Sluys, the port of Bruges, and welcoming his old friend Claes in person. Diniz endorsed the idea, out of sheer inexperience and affection. ‘Why don’t we all go!’
Tommaso Portinari had been drunk throughout his last meeting with Nicholas de Fleury and might not therefore remember it. Unfortunately, Nicholas would.
Diniz Vasquez was a young, able man who should not have to meet the first onslaught of whatever the Ghost was to bring. Gregorio persuaded him to stay to welcome his patron at home. He persuaded everyone to stay except Tommaso. When he left for Sluys, Tommaso and his servants rode with him.
It was usual for the master of an important ship arriving in Sluys to invite on board those magnates who were waiting to welcome her. When the Ghost dropped her tattered sails in the harbour, mobbed by boats and with cannon speaking courteously from the castle, Crackbene himself came ashore in the lighter to bring Gregorio and the ducal chamberlain back to the vessel. Julius came with him.
Crackbene addressed Portinari. Julius seized Gregorio’s arm. ‘Well?’
‘Well what? You have all my news. What about Nicholas?’
‘Oh, he’s gone off his head,’ said Julius happily. ‘You heard about Simon and Lucia? And young Henry did his utmost to murder him. We weren’t allowed to write and tell you. Listen –’
‘Lucia died,’ said Gregorio sharply. ‘We heard.’
‘That’s right. She drowned, after Nicholas and Simon tried to kill each other. And then Nicholas took a sword to Adorne.’
‘Adorne! Why?’
‘He was trying to stop them. Listen. We’re to take Tommaso aboard, and Nicholas will butter him up, and then I’ve to keep him in talk so that Nicholas can have a word on the quiet with you. But I thought you’d better hear something beforehand. Scotland!’ said Julius. ‘You know what he used to be like in Bruges. But by God, Scotland has brought out the man in him.’
He turned away. Gregorio heard him address Portinari by his first name. Of course, they had known one another a long time. Crackbene said, ‘We had a wager that Ser Tommaso would find his way here.’ There was nothing in the large-blocked Scandinavian face except the marks of rough sailing and a certain hardness of scrutiny that in itself was not a bad augur.
Gregorio said something. He was not going to ask Crackbene for advice. Then he got into the skiff.
The Ghost was not a ship Gregorio had ever sailed in. He remained obdurately angry that Julius had been the preferred choice for Scotland, and not himself. He understood it, of course. Knowing nothing, Julius could not impede whatever Nicholas had set out to do. Whatever he had done.
The ducal chamberlain climbed aboard first, and Nicholas greeted him. Gregorio heard his voice, which was the same. At first sight he looked the same also, and the sombre magnificence of his dress manifested a style he had already adopted last autumn. Nicholas said, ‘There is no need to frown. You are looking at two salt-pans and a coal mine. Tommaso tells me his staff has burst into flower and he’s marrying.’
‘When my lady mother –’ began the Medici Bank’s agent in Flanders.
‘When his lady mother has found him a wife. It is much the best way, to leave it to mothers. Why don’t you come in? The poop cabin has been scraped fairly clean, and we bought some wine from a keel in Newcastle, and Julius swears the pies have stopped moving.’ His tone embodied no threat, no trace of recollection. Tommaso, innocently drunk last July, blurting out the news of the death of the African Umar, might have been forgiven, forgotten. Then again, he might not.
The Duke of Burgundy’s chamberlain was given his due. But in a remarkably short time Tommaso Portinari was sunk in his seat, relating some long tale of triumph to Julius while Nicholas, on some excuse, was on deck. Gregorio joined him. He said, ‘He’ll have a very bad headache tomorrow.’
‘God forgive me,’ said Nicholas.
They were surrounded by seamen. The hatches off, unloading had already begun, and the lighters were assembling below on the water. Crackbene’s voice came to them from the prow, but he did not look round or come over. The air was raw. Nicholas said, ‘There is an empty cabin,’ and leading the way there, closed the door and set his back to it. He said, ‘Well?’
His eyes, cold and deep, completed the question. Gregorio said, ‘I don’t know what you have heard.’
‘I’ve heard nothing since you wrote in October. How should I?’ said the other man.
The gulls were screaming outside the casement: their shadows stirred in the cabin like vermin. The bitch. The bitch. Gregorio drew a steady breath. ‘You know then that the lady –’
‘My wife.’
‘– that your wife retired from the Duchess’s court to a convent. Or so she said. She didn’t say where the convent was, either then or at any time afterwards. Not even her family knows where she is. She did, however, send them a message to say she was well. That reached Veere in December.’
‘Oh?’ said Nicholas.
Gregorio looked up. He said, ‘I didn’t know when I wrote to you about
Margot. It means, if you care, that she must have carried for seven months successfully. Otherwise she would have come back.’
The grey regard, which had been intense, changed in quality. The other man said, his voice lenient, ‘Whom are you thinking of? Not my wife, surely. My wife and I invent much longer games. So you have heard nothing at all since December? No announcement?’
‘Would you expect one?’ Gregorio said.
The mild voice said, ‘No. I wondered if you did. Now tell me about Margot.’
The winches squeaked, and from below came the thunder of barrels. Nowadays, no one spoke that name in Gregorio’s hearing. He blocked her out of his thoughts, and dreamed of her nightly. He said, ‘We disagreed.’
‘You told her the exact situation? Yes, of course you did.’
‘I told her what I heard,’ Gregorio said.
‘And she took my wife’s part.’
‘She took the coming child’s part,’ Gregorio said.
‘It argues there is a child on the way,’ said the other reflectively. ‘Or at least that Margot’s humanitarian impulses have found something or other to engage them. In other words, no one is dead, or not yet. You have made no effort to find them? No, you haven’t.’
‘I have tried,’ said Gregorio.
‘But not very hard. So I shall have to do it for you. Do you want Margot back, or shall I leave her wherever I find her?’
The enquiring face opposite blurred, and cramp seized his guts from sheer anger. Gregorio said, ‘Keep your pain to yourself.’
‘Do I show any?’ the other man said in his composed voice. ‘Such things demand a little self-knowledge, that is all. I recommend a spell in the desert.’
Gregorio said, ‘Unfortunately, not having that advantage, I have to find my own way. I am not sure it isn’t better than yours. Nicholas, what have you done?’
Nicholas moved away from the door and took up his stance against the bulkhead where he rested his back, one knee doubled. The woodwork was sweating a little with cold. He said, ‘What did Julius tell you? Let me guess. Simon and I were conducting a running fight, and Lucia was the unfortunate victim? True enough in its way. She knew about Gelis, you see. Julius, you may be surprised to learn, does not.’
‘And Adorne?’ Gregorio said curtly.
‘Ah. Anselm Adorne, the Scottish King’s favourite counsellor. He has been created a knight, and given a chain with a unicorn on it. I was so jealous I stabbed him.’
‘Is he badly hurt?’ Gregorio said.
‘He was hurt. He was also magnanimous. He isn’t going to demand redress in Scotland, but he’ll have something to say when he gets back to Bruges. Fortunately, I should be on my way back to Scotland by then.’
The shock was intolerable. Gregorio said, ‘You can’t go back!’
‘To all these new Scottish projects?’ said the other man. ‘Of course I shall. I’m going to make you all even richer. Julius considers I ought to spend a few weeks in Bruges until – how did he put it? – the harvest is over, and it’s time to start planting again. Then, of course, I must go back north to my other crops. Well now. What else can I tell you?’
‘Nothing. Leave it,’ said Gregorio. He walked to the door. ‘I’m going back to Tommaso.’
‘What did you expect?’ Nicholas said. ‘You know what you shouldn’t know. That doesn’t make you my confessor.’
Gregorio turned. He said, ‘No. Your confessor thought he was your friend, but you haven’t asked after him. If you are interested, Father Godscalc is still in your house, but not as strong as he was, and Tobie has left off his army doctoring to care for him. Tilde, too, is near the birth of her child, and Diniz is anxious about her. Catherine –’ He broke off. ‘Am I tiring you?’
‘No. I am riveted. Tilde’s sister Catherine? Not yet married?’
‘No,’ said Gregorio. He tried to recover his calm, in the face of a suspicion that his loss of calm had been what Nicholas at that moment had wanted. He said, ‘She isn’t married, but not for want of pursuit. Paul van Borselen and a young faun from Trebizond are only two of the suitors Diniz has had to deal with.’
‘Indeed?’ said Nicholas slowly. ‘But not Jan Adorne?’
‘Still away, studying law at Pavia. And just as well. Jan would be a fine suitor for Catherine, now that you’ve injured his father. What were you thinking of?’
‘An old adage,’ Nicholas said. ‘If you are a peg, endure the knocking. If you are a mallet, strike.’
He had altered his negligent stance and stood balanced, as if the motion and sounds of the ship had again reclaimed his attention. He looked chilled. Gregorio said, ‘Your family. What will you do? What will you do when you find them?’
He had spoken too abruptly. Nicholas looked at him. ‘Why? You have a suggestion?’
Gregorio said, ‘I don’t know what you are thinking. You need someone who does.’
The concentrated gaze did not alter.
Gregorio said, ‘Nicholas? At least you won’t harm them?’
‘I am unlikely to harm Margot,’ Nicholas said.
‘Your wife and the child.’
‘You think there is a child? Well, what reassurance can I give you, other than the one you already have? My wife and I play a very long game.’
‘So you believe you can find her?’
‘Of course. I have a list – didn’t I tell you? – of every convent which could conceivably shelter her. She has paid well to stay concealed. And she is not in want of money. As you have no doubt discovered, she has withdrawn from the Bank the whole sum she acquired on her marriage.’
‘I know,’ Gregorio said. The sum was immense – a single rash, magnificent gift bestowed by Nicholas on his bride. Its withdrawal had frightened and shocked him. He said, ‘I cannot trace where it has gone.’
‘No. It has been expertly done. That is, secrecy has been assured for so long as it matters.’
‘And now you will search for them,’ Gregorio said. He could hear the door of the master cabin open groggily.
‘Now I shall wait,’ Nicholas said. ‘Not for long, for obvious reasons. But don’t you think my wife will invite me to visit her soon? To show to me alone that her pregnancy is actually over? To prove to me alone that Simon’s child has been born?’
‘And if she doesn’t send?’ Gregorio said.
Nicholas considered. ‘I should give her a week. Then I muster my men and we begin, one by one, to rout through every convent in Flanders. It may take some time. Unless, of course, you have an idea which way Margot went? It would spare blameless houses some harassment … Ah, Julius. You must be tired from talking so much. Can Tommaso still walk? Do you think we could induce him to go ashore now? Gregorio would be pleased to go with him.’
‘Oh God,’ Julius said. ‘You’ve told him what you’ve been doing.’ He grinned at Gregorio. ‘I told you. The devil’s own paymaster.’
Gregorio brushed past and walked out.
All winter, he had carried this abominable secret; had disputed with Margot over what should in fairness be done. In the end, she had left him for Gelis.
Throughout, he had been upheld by his knowledge of the moderate Nicholas of the past; by his belief in the mature Nicholas who had emerged from the anvil of Africa.
Throughout, he had built his hopes for the future on what Nicholas, given time, would have resolved.
And throughout, Margot – not he – had been right.
Chapter 14
IN SIX MONTHS, the Charetty – Niccolò mansion below the Tonlieu at Bruges had altered, as had its owner. It included, now, the adjacent building; and Gregorio had extended round both the solid fortified wall first begun by the Charetty daughters to keep Nicholas out. Now the two firms were one, but the precaution, after Liège, was a mark of Gregorio’s unsleeping prudence.
The gates were open, waiting for Nicholas. Riding through with his trim cavalcade he saw the forecourt cleared now of its accretion of buildings. A new archway led to the back, where yar
ds and stables and storerooms ought now to stand where the gardens and domestic offices used to be. His private accommodation had been moved to the other house. He had not altered his orders for that.
He hoped, remembering Scotland, that the builders’ work was mostly over. After the vast, storm-lashed estuaries, the towns which straddled ravines, the keeps and lodges and cabins of grey stone and plaster and thatch, Bruges had appeared like a flat-bottomed toy, with its interlocking paved streets lined with red brick-patterned houses; its small-bridged canals ringing with the laughter of skaters. It was February, and cold.
Standing in the slush of the forecourt were groups of people: his outside staff, gathered to see him arrive. Their faces showed a kind of clouded vivacity. He had come back and his wife was not here, but was pregnant. He had come back, and Mistress Lucia was dead. Then he saw Lucia’s son running over the yard – Diniz Vasquez, bronze of skin, dark and sturdy as his mother had been fragile and fair. A good man, who would run the Bruges office one day. One day, if it mattered.
He dismounted, and said what was fitting. Diniz looked up and said, ‘I heard you tried to save her. Thank you.’ His face was full of uneven colour, but he was not weeping.
Nicholas said, ‘She should have lived to welcome her grandchild. How is it with Tilde?’
Diniz dropped one of his hands and half turned. ‘She would like to see you; but not if you are busy. Have you time?’
‘For Tilde? What does Tobie say?’
‘Not much,’ Diniz said. ‘To rest and to wait. If you really have time, then – come and speak to her.’
Tilde lay in the chamber that had once been her mother’s and his. The mound under the bedclothes was not as great as it should have been, and her sunk eyes were apprehensive, her brown hair coiled dull at her shoulders. Nicholas sat and took her hand in both of his. He was, after all, her step-father.
He said, ‘In business, one makes a range of predictions, and then one plans for the worst. What has Tobie told you?’
‘Nothing!’ said Diniz.
Nicholas did not turn. ‘Go away, Diniz,’ he said. The girl’s hand tightened in his. After a moment, Nicholas heard the door close.