Niccolo Rising
M. du Lyon was given, briefly, an account of the fighting in the Abruzzi. The notary did most of the talking. Disappointingly, the boy Nicholas was not carrying papers, and wouldn’t accept any. He didn’t rise, either, to the news that Prosper de Camulio was in the city and about to leave for Genappe. Gaston du Lyon, who had a fine ear for rumours, rather wanted to know why this fellow Nicholas had spent some time, it was said, with Prosper de Camulio and the Venetians before going south to the Abruzzi. Laudomia Acciajuoli, delicately sounded, had professed not to know or to care. The Duke’s doctor, Giammatteo Ferrari, on the other hand, had shown a mild interest.
Gaston du Lyon was disappointed in Nicholas. He himself had, after all, performed several services for him. But for him, M. Nicholas would never have got that youngster Felix away from Geneva in May. The boy was dead. He had asked. In any case, the Dauphin had finished with young Master Felix. He had not been discreet.
Piqued, the chamberlain didn’t at once take the trouble to pass on his own news. He ignored Nicholas and spoke of the Naples war: after Sarno it seemed that Duke John, unexpectedly, had failed to take advantage of his victory and march straight in Naples. They might save the city yet, with the fighting season soon ending. The merchants would be glad. So would the Duke of Milan. He had expended 100,000 gold ducats, it was said, on keeping Duke John out of Genoa and Naples. Or trying to. And the Pope, they said, was already planning to avenge what happened in Sarno by sending a new army under San Severino.
In England, the Yorkists were in London. So that King Henry looked like losing the war, and his Most Serene Majesty the Dauphin’s father was unlikely, one supposed, to attempt anything against Burgundy now.
The notary, who was bright enough, responded suitably, and asked intelligent questions. The youth Nicholas continued to say very little. Since Geneva, the scar on his cheek had faded considerably. And one must not forget. He had broken the Medici cipher.
Gaston du Lyon said, with courtesy only slightly exaggerated, “I shouldn’t keep you both, tired as you are. Is your mission to Burgundy urgent, friend Nicholas? Or do you have time to spend at the Geneva fair?”
The response this time was quick. It reminded Gaston of the evening at cards with Monna Laudomia. The youth Nicholas said, “Should we call there?”
Gaston du Lyon gave him a glance which might have come from the Dauphin’s amused face. “If you do business with the de Fleury,” he said, “claim your dues before the rest of the creditors empty their boxes.”
The youth said, “I see.”
M. du Lyon hadn’t expected to be embraced on both cheeks, but he was disappointed. It was the other one, the lawyer, who straightened and said, “Monsieur? What did you say?”
Gaston du Lyon turned his head. “Only a little item of news. The depositors Thibault et Jacques de Fleury have been declared bankrupt.”
The notary said, “Are you sure?”
Taken aback, M. du Lyon paused, but forgave the man on reflection. He was certainly in a high state of excitement. “Yes,” said M. du Lyon. “There is no doubt. They have lost everything. It has caused a great disturbance, I’m told. They had many creditors.”
“Nicholas?” the notary said. “Nicholas. Jaak de Fleury.”
“Yes, I heard,” the courier said. “I’m obliged for the news. M. du Lyon, forgive us. We have to set out early.”
“You go to Bruges,” said Gaston du Lyon. “But you will have time to call at Genappe? My lord Dauphin, I’m sure, would be happy to receive you. News of affairs. The death of that poor boy, whom he loved as a son.”
“I shall do what I can,” Nicholas said. “But I think the debts on both sides have been honourably discharged. Monsieur, I am grateful.”
In diplomacy, one recognised the end of a contract. Another, more lucrative, had clearly offered elsewhere. He would warn the Dauphin. He wondered if the youth knew just how feeble the Dauphin’s father had become. Smiling, Gaston du Lyon saw his visitors to the door.
Had he gone with them he would have been amused to see the notary, exercising none of the restraint of his calling, literally capering in the street beside the large, silent figure of the former apprentice, with the black servant following disapprovingly behind.
“Jaak de Fleury!” Julius was saying. “Lord of the money-boxes. The pompous bastard who used to wring his servants dry. Including me. And used that poor woman for all he could get. And worked you like a dog. Don’t tell me he didn’t. Bankrupt! Can you believe it?”
“Yes,” said Nicholas.
“Well?” said Julius.
Creeping over him was the irritation which had been with him, illogically, ever since they left Urbino’s camp at San Fabiano. He didn’t expect Nicholas, God knew, to be the crazy clown of the lighter at Damme, or the Waterhuus joke, or the escapades with girls and with goats and the rest. But he hadn’t expected him, either, to have grown in eight months into a married version of Lorenzo Strozzi.
He said, “I suppose you’re worrying about all that cloth you delivered, and the money they owe us. All right, you can’t rebuild the Bruges shop, but there’s still Louvain, and the condotta. You can’t do everything right. My God,” said Julius. “Isn’t it worth the loss just to imagine Jaak de Fleury’s face?” He paused, stretching his imagination. He said, “And it’ll help the demoiselle, surely. At least she’ll know she’s free of the de Fleury family and all their intriguing. D’ you want to go inside already?”
Nicholas had turned into the gates of the inn without saying anything. In the afterlight of the sunset, a pair of sedate, well-groomed horses stood in the courtyard, held by liveried servants. Their harness was embroidered in silk, and the emblems worn by servants and horses were familiar from the falcons and diamonds and feathers all over the inside of their owners’ palazzo. And the motto woven into the horsecloths. Semper meant always. And always meant the Medici.
Nicholas said, “We have visitors. We could go away and wait until they’ve gone. But I don’t know. I’m tired.”
Once, you never had to bother with how Claes felt. Indeed, you never knew. But of course, the frantic energy had been sapped by the stress and the fever, and he had to take thought if he wanted to keep up the pace of this journey. Nicholas had always been good with plans. Julius said without much conviction, “They may be waiting for somebody else.” Then Loppe, who seemed to have transferred his mind-reading from Felix to Nicholas, slipped indoors and came out with a grimace and a report in his elegant, ducal Italian. The visitors were not only theirs, but had been installed in their private room to await them. The landlord had known what was due to the seigneurs Pigello and Accerito Portinari, of the local filiate of the Medici.
Loppe said, “They won’t wait all evening. I could get you a chamber elsewhere.”
He was speaking to Nicholas. He often spoke to Nicholas, Julius noticed, as one man to another, and not as a slave to his mistress’s husband at all. And Nicholas, he saw, did not even notice it but stood in thought, and then said, “No. We’d better see them. But you needn’t wait up.”
Loppe did not move. He said, “If it is late for one person, it is late for three. The seigneurs Portinari could come back tomorrow.”
This time, Nicholas looked at him, but failed to show either surprise or annoyance. He simply said, “No. I want to leave early.” And Loppe gave way at once, only watching his masters, as Julius saw, until they had entered the inn and begun to climb the stairs to their chamber. There, awaiting them with no sign of impatience, were Pigello Portinari and his brother and factor Accerito.
Messer Pigello, in a short gown of light material and a low belt which flattered his paunch, carried a high colour tonight in his bare, sunken face with its long nose. His puffed hat bore a large goldsmith’s piece with a table-cut emerald in the middle of it. He had even more rings on his fingers than the time Julius had seen him last, when he and Astorre had called at the palazzo to lodge the ducal bill for the condotta. The air of amiable condescension had rise
n to something like outright amiability. Accerito, with a smaller brooch, looked complacent as well.
Julius wondered if Messer Pigello recalled Claes, the lad who had delivered Pierfrancesco’s horses; and then remembered that, according to Felix, he and Nicholas had called on Pigello since then. On business, unspecified. On, then, the mysterious business Nicholas wanted him for, about which he’d heard nothing more? Certainly both brothers Portinari acknowledged Nicholas’ presence equally with his own. They were affable.
They were affable but reproving, like the Dauphin’s chamberlain. Since the Charetty company favoured the Casa Medici with its business, Messer Niccolò and his lawyer might be kind enough to call when in Milan. Messer Niccolò had, of course, heard of the closure of Thibault and Jaak de Fleury?
At once, Julius felt better, despite the mistake they seemed to making about Nicholas’ status. Messer! Or no, he ought to remember. The ridiculous marriage. Well, despite that, he was glad he hadn’t dodged the encounter. He thought of dispatching Nicholas to see to refreshments, and then realised, with a moment’s annoyance, that he should do it himself. When he excused himself, Nicholas hardly looked round, never mind stopping him.
Julius hurried. He was longing to know just how awful the Fleury disaster had been. When he and the servant came back, there was no room to put the goblets down, there were so many papers on the table. All the writing on them appeared to be in columns. The puffed hats of Pigello and Accerito moved up and down, almost chiming like wedding bells, as their owners discussed them. Nicholas, his hair frizzed with heat, sat in his travel-stained, decent jacket, apparently watching them. When their voices stopped, he sometimes commented.
Julius, who seldom found a reason for examining faces, noticed that Nicholas did look tired, and not very responsive. Julius, pouring the wine, made a point of brightening the atmosphere. After all, the downfall of Jaak de Fleury was something to celebrate.
The brothers Portinari, with Ambrosian courtesy, accepted the wine and went on turning pages and referring to Nicholas. Julius said, “Have I missed something?”
Everyone looked up. Messer Pigello glanced from his face to that of Nicholas and back again. He said, “A great deal of money is involved. I am happy, of course, to take the responsibility, but I should prefer you and your colleague to check it. And of course, there is the consignment of arms at Piacenza. The order placed with Messer Agostino by Messer Tobias.”
“That was for Thibault and Jaak de Fleury,” said Julius quickly. They looked at him. Suddenly his face began to burn. Julius said, “These lists are …”
“Bills for moneys owed your company by M. de Fleury,” said Messer Pigello. His voice, always polite, almost concealed his impatience. “And corresponding credits for the gold and the property of Thibault and Jaak de Fleury in possession of their agent Maffino in Italy, impounded on your behalf and on our own as soon as the bankruptcy became known. All these are in addition, of course, to the debts which, as you know, were purchased by us in June from the Charetty company. We were fortunate in having early warning of the failure in Geneva and have been able amply to recoup them.
“It is usual, of course,” said Messer Pigello, “for a far-seeing company to insure against disaster at sea. It is seldom that a merchant thinks of the consequences of disaster on land, and makes corresponding provisions. The demoiselle de Charetty is rare among persons of business.”
Indeed. “How did the Fleury fail?” said Julius abruptly. Nicholas, chinning the rim of his empty cup, didn’t return his gaze.
“A large, a very large withdrawal of capital. That is all we know. Coupled with an immediate demand by creditors, as the deficit became known. The August fair, as you know, is due at this time. Small tradesmen already committed to purchases can risk failure themselves, if they cannot call on funds they have lodged, in good faith, with such a company. Companies like your own, who have sold cloth on credit, may well never see cloth or money.” Messer Pigello, pausing, looked at his brother. “It is a lesson every dealer must learn, including our branch in Bruges. Not to extend credit, no matter how great the firm or the personage.”
“So we have all Jaak de Fleury’s undelivered guns in compensation,” Julius said. “And how much else?”
Nicholas put his cup down, and lifting his elbow, pushed a paper before him. “That. Enough to buy the business if there’s anything left.”
“Not the business in Geneva,” Pigello Portinari said. “They’ve wrecked it. I told you, word got about. There were a lot of small creditors. Some hothead started a rush, and the crowd broke in and took everything they could find and then set fire to the building. The owner got out. Jaak de Fleury. There’s an elderly brother, a sleeping partner called Thibault near Dijon. Our filiale in Geneva think he went there. I have to tell you to call, of course, on our manager, on Francesco Nori in Geneva. He has cloth of yours, and other things.”
Julius said, “That’s extraordinary.” He felt dazed. His natural elation receded. What had seemed an act of celestial retribution had turned into catastrophe. Nicholas, his unmoving hands on the table, was gazing at the manager in a way that transformed his whole solid face into an instrument of inspection. Julius realised there was a question no one had put. He said, “And what about Jaak de Fleury’s wife? The demoiselle Esota?”
Messer Pigello wished to gather his papers. He shot a look of enquiry round the table, and then began, unimpeded, to collect them and form a neat pile. He said, “Alas, it was sad, according to what reports say. The crowd meant no harm. But the lady was, it seems heavily built, and excitable. Instead of leaving quietly, she tried to bar the way to some, and urged others to help her. They paid no attention and pushed past. She fell, she was trampled. But it was her own weight which killed her. You knew her?”
“Yes,” said Nicholas. “She wouldn’t be able to deal with that.”
Messer Pigello looked at him. He said, “Some might say her husband should not have left her. But one should not condemn. People do strange things from fear, and from greed. As bankers, we know that. Now. The assets?”
Nicholas said, “It is for the demoiselle to agree, and for Meester Julius to advise. But I suggest the guns stay in Piacenza, the silver is lodged with Messer Tani in Bruges and the cloth is sold by your filiale here and Geneva, and the profit, less your commission, added to our account here with you for any use captain Astorre may have for it. Messer Julius?”
Messer Julius agreed. He could hardly do less. He said very little as the manager of the Milanese Medici and his brother, with formality, began to take both their lists and their leave. Then, seeing that Nicholas didn’t propose to cross the threshold, he himself accompanied the noble bankers downstairs and over the yard to their horses. Outside it was dark, and the swifts had gone to rest.
Returning, he heard the crash of glass breaking as he made the last turn of the staircase, and his foot crackled on splinters as soon as he entered the room. The wine flask, fortunately empty, lay under a window where it had arrived with such violence that the entire floor was glittering.
“I’m sorry. It slipped,” Nicholas said. He looked dyeshop pale, but otherwise perfectly stolid.
Julius said, “Well, you’ve made a sty of the floor, haven’t you? If you hadn’t also made a fortune at the same time, and if you weren’t married to my employer, I’d think about beating you. That’s either Loppe or the landlord coming up to find if we’ve wrecked his windows. You explain. And once he’s got the place cleaned, I want to hear what’s been going on. Everything.”
But he didn’t. While Loppe, completely silent, swept glass, Nicholas went off belatedly to make all the arrangements for their morning departure. Before he came back, Julius had commanded another flask of wine, this time of pewter, and was holding a personal celebration which led him at last to his bed.
He lay for a while, thinking. Being amused by a youngster who has the audacity to marry his employer was one thing. But working with or under him was quite another. The
way the doctor handled Nicholas might have warned him. If he was going to join them all in some new venture, he would have to learn to think of Nicholas as what Portinari had called him – a colleague.
He had left the Abruzzi ready to accept whatever appointment was going, while the army was laid up at least. Nicholas, easily tired to begin with, had put off describing the venture, but before their arrival at Bruges he would certainly know all about it. From what he’d seen tonight, he had no doubts that it was something profitable. This was a very young man with gifts which, of course, he had noticed. But now there were signs of something much more. The curious thing was that Felix, too, had begun to partner the servant he’d once used so carelessly. Had taken part in these negotiations. And more amazing still, had kept his own counsel.
Felix had gone. Now the heirs of the company were the little daughters, and the men they would marry. But that was only the Charetty company. Already, Nicholas was venturing out on his own. Soon, with the right people behind him, he might accomplish more than anyone dreamed. Which would mean sinking one’s pride. Becoming his colleague. And helping to guide him, perhaps, a little further than he might have gone on his own.
Had Nicholas been older, there would have been no question. Sheer curiosity would hold him. As it was, it remained to be seen if he could tolerate Claes, the demoiselle’s husband. But it was worth trying. By God it was.
He rolled over, and by the time Nicholas returned, was asleep. It would have pleased him to know that Gregorio in Bruges, much before him, had reached the same conclusions precisely.
That year, the Flanders galleys came early to Bruges. In the first week of September they floated under blue skies outside the harbour at Sluys, and the crowds on the headlands watched the light sails come billowing down. Then, straight and precise as if painted, in gold and red and blue and sparkling white, they rowed in to their berths, the light starring their trumpets.