‘You don’t see that as fortunate?’ said the Patriarch. ‘Adorne isn’t going to let you or your young master visit there, or you’ll upset his relations with Thorn. And de Fleury would be shown the door if he tried to come here, as would our handsome Julius, for supporting him. The wages of perfidy. So guess who will come, once her servants tell her that Adorne has stepped out of the house?’
‘Don’t you want to see him?’ Kathi asked.
‘Nicholas? No. I can wait. And yes, I know what he’s done. A foot-soldier of Satan, and a fit tool for any man’s hand.’
‘I’m sure you are right. So why do you really think he is here?’ Kathi said.
‘Why ask me? You didn’t like my first answer. The woman Anna might suggest something different. Or he may simply have fallen out with Paúel Benecke. If so, you might even know why.’
She returned the Patriarch’s stare without answering. He was absently massaging his chest through his habit. She said, ‘A foot-soldier of Satan. But you would use him?’
‘God would use him,’ the Patriarch said. ‘If I am to make one parchment Bible, I need the skins of three hundred sheep.’
‘But you don’t consult the sheep,’ Kathi said.
‘I don’t need to,’ said the Patriarch patiently. ‘They do what they’re told, and go directly to Paradise.’
ANNA VON HANSEYCK presented herself quietly at the door the following morning, rather earlier than her hostess would have chosen, but with otherwise impeccable timing, for Kathi was alone. The Burgundian and papal ambassadors, with Robin in attendance, were in the process of being formally received in the Burgh Halls opposite, and it was Adorne’s understanding that they would remain to welcome the royal party when it arrived. Kathi hoped that he was right.
Robin had called Julius’s wife a pretty woman, but many women were pretty without possessing the qualities that made the Gräfin so singular. In build, she was slim and well proportioned, but the clear bright skin against the profusion of charcoal-black hair was more Irish than German, and her principal features were not these at all, but the steadiness of the violet-blue eyes and her tranquil manner, touched with amusement. She was intelligent. Kathi who, without being vain, knew herself to be both quick-witted and mature for her years, yet recognised that here was a calm, a gentle detachment she would never possess. Fortunately, Robin had both, and lent them to her, as once he had tried to serve Nicholas.
Anna was younger than Nicholas, and considerably younger than her second husband. Indeed, her marriage to Julius represented, in Kami’s view, a mystery only to be accounted for by the blindness of passion. At any event, in the year that had followed, Anna had made her husband’s circle her own. Consistently deft in her relations with Nicholas, she had also made friends with his wife and their child. Seemingly, these warmhearted relations continued, even though Anna knew what had happened in Scotland. Kathi wondered if Anna, more subtle than Julius, had come to share his hearty tolerance, or would look harder and further, seeking the middle road between that and rejection. She hoped so. Kathi did not hold the illusion that she or anyone else could or should direct the future of Nicholas. But Paúel Benecke’s daughter had observed that he needed a Gerta, and that was Kathi’s view also. More accurately it was Kathi’s view that Nicholas needed a wife, and preferably the one he was losing. In the meantime, almost anyone of good sense would do.
It was therefore with some approval that Kathi heard her visitor’s first words on the subject, once the friendly preliminaries were done, and Anna was sitting divested of her wet cloak, her hands restfully folded. ‘Katelijne, I want to ask your advice about —’ She broke off and laughed. ‘I’m sorry. It is natural to you, but I still feel it a presumption to call him Nicholas.’
‘Try Colà,’ Kathi said. ‘Or Nikolás, maybe. He’s had so many names that he’d answer to anything, really. What about him?’
‘Two things only,’ Anna said. ‘He is the last person to want to be managed: I am only afraid of doing something wrong. Julius would like him to join our part of the Bank, working east of the Oder. Would this be good? As you know, he has a great deal of energy …’
‘Most of it currently going in the wrong direction. Yes, it would be good,’ Kathi said. ‘Unless he chooses to work in Poland on his own account.’
‘Would that be better?’
‘It’s too early to say, and none of us could influence him anyway. Julius might as well ask him.’
‘I thought so,’ Anna said. ‘I know he cannot go back, but I thought it might keep one channel alive, between Nicholas and his friends and his family. I had this hope — you will think it far-fetched — that he and his wife might be reconciled. But now I am not so sure. That is the other question I have.’
‘I see,’ Kathi said.
‘No,’ said Anna swiftly. ‘I have asked you too much. We should not be discussing these things. Forgive me.’
It was her perception, as always, which was so disarming. Kathi said, ‘I did hesitate, but you are right: it’s important. I feel as you do. Until this happened, I thought they would spend the rest of their lives together, he and Gelis. Robin thought so as well. If he had had his way, we should have come to Poland weighed down with gifts and messages and tales of Jodi’s prowess. Thank God we didn’t.’
‘Tell me why,’ Anna said. Her voice had changed.
Kathi gazed at her, frowning. ‘Oh dear,’ she said. ‘You see, it would simply have made matters worse if he hated her. And if he didn’t —’
‘It would have reminded him of all he had thrown away,’ Anna ended. ‘I am a fool. I am a miserable, unthinking fool. He sat as if listening to every detail I told him about the Bank, about Jodi, about Gelis. He said nothing much. I had a feeling sometimes that he was thinking about something else, but he didn’t stop me. He accepted the paper with the little boy’s poem. Only, afterwards …’
A poem from Jodi. Kathi felt sick. She rose and walked across to pour wine, her back turned. She said, ‘What happened then?’
‘He set fire to it,’ said Anna steadily. ‘I found it later that evening, in ashes. Does he love them?’
Kathi stopped pouring. My snivelling little wife and her bastard. She said, ‘To hear him, no. I can’t tell you what to believe. But if I had no love for a child, I might discard what the child sent, but I shouldn’t burn it as if it would infect me. Don’t you think?’ She collected herself and turned.
Anna sat where she had left her, motionless except for a glimmer under her lashes, like mist on the curve of a glass. Kathi set down the wine and went to sink down beside her. ‘But you weren’t to know what was best. Anna, he is a grown man who has to learn discipline. If you hurt him, he deserved it. And whatever he may feel about Gelis, nothing can be resolved unless she changes her mind. Perhaps she will. I haven’t seen her since Trèves.’
‘Nor have I,’ Anna said. She dragged her palm over her cheek. ‘This wasn’t my intention. I’ll go.’
‘Have your wine first. I don’t know the answer to your questions,’ Kathi said. ‘I’d say, give him work if you can, but don’t be disappointed if he throws it over quite soon. The point is that he must come to decisions, not us.’
Anna looked up from her cup. ‘Julius says that your uncle would never take Nicholas to Tabriz. But perhaps that would be best?’
‘Not for my uncle,’ Kathi said.
‘Nor for Julius,’ said Anna. ‘How well organised we should be without menfolk.’
‘And how dull,’ Kathi said, cheering up. She had heard Robin’s voice.
Later, when Anna had unobtrusively left, Kathi ran downstairs and found herself in the midst of what anyone else would have called a celebration, but her uncle referred to as an expression of cordial optimism. He had been received by the city. The magistrates had not asked him to welcome the King, but trusted that he would attend, as civic guest, the Pentecostal Mass at which the King would be present on Sunday. Thereafter, as a matter of course, the Chancellor’s office would
communicate a day and a time for his audience. It was done. Soon, he would have completed his mission in Poland, and they could set out for Tabriz.
‘Where is Father Ludovico?’ asked Kathi.
‘At the Franciscans’. The Marienkirche. They’ve got pickled oysters,’ said Robin. She loved Robin.
Later, having heard most of the story, he said, ‘You approve of Anna. I’m glad. Do you think she might talk to Gelis some time? Persuade Gelis to come here, and bring Jodi?’
Kathi thought of the burned poem, of which she’d said nothing. In the past, Robin had undergone more for Jodi’s sake than she had. Kathi said, ‘I suppose Gelis might agree to come, one day. Or the boy, with his nurse, or Dr Tobie. But not now. It would be the worst possible time for it now, when Nicholas has just publicly repudiated them. He is not fit for his son, not at present.’
‘So what can we do?’ Robin said. Beneath the reasonable tone, there was anguish.
‘Nothing,’ Kathi said. ‘Nothing directly. Now, we leave it to Anna.’
TO THIS PLAN, Nicholas de Fleury had no objection. Since he had access to the front as well as the back windows of Friczo Straube’s house, he was able to discern what might have escaped Julius: that Kathi and Anna had met. He thought he might mention it to Julius, in the interests of friendship.
Their strenuous attention, at the time, was being given to the current Zielone Światki or Green Festival, a happy blend of church and pagan spring ritual which had begun with flower-gathering in the country and would end in bucolic riot the day after Pentecost Sunday. As esteemed guests of the nobility, Julius and his former padrone performed their flower-gathering at one remove, alighting at various handsome dwory containing various handsome women who took part in the feasting and in the languid dances that followed, plaiting circles on the late evening turf while servants passed by with barrows of greenery. Some of the servants were slaves, black or Tartar. They looked well dressed and fed, and were presumably grateful for their good luck.
Anna was not present, nor was the Mission, which was being entertained by the Town. The Court remained over the river. The itinerary of the Patriarch was not known, although he had sent an unexpected message to Nicholas, in the latter’s well-known role as a master mechanic: he was wanted to fix up a dove in the Marienkirche. It didn’t seem much. And Nicholas, who could recognise the inevitable, whether emanating from the Patriarch or the Third Person of the Trinity, had promised to do it.
But that was for tomorrow. Now, he sat on a rug made from wolf fur and viewed his temporary host’s rolling domain, and silk-clad guests disposing themselves upon it. A dwarf dressed in velvet was turning somersaults. ‘That reminds me,’ Nicholas said. ‘What did Kathi think about all your schemes? I didn’t know you liked lampreys?’
‘Neun Augen,’ said Julius complacently, stirring the dish at his side with a finger. ‘Nine eyes. German. I’m getting to like German food. Fish in white vinegar. Puddings. What do you mean? I haven’t seen Kathi. We agreed to leave her and her uncle alone.’
‘Oh,’ Nicholas said. ‘Yes, of course you did. So what else do you recommend beside lampreys?’
Julius’s oblique eyes had become slits of suspicion. ‘Wait a moment. Has Kathi been spinning some tale?’
The late sun slanted over the meadow, and sleek limbs gleamed, and jewels burst into radiance. Nicholas had pushed his hat back from his subversive brown hair and large, shining eyes. He said, ‘It’s all right. You know what women are. I saw Anna go into the house when Adorne was away. I expect they talked about puddings.’
‘They probably talked about you,’ said Julius sharply. ‘Not that Anna could say very much, since you haven’t honoured us with your decision. I can’t wait about the whole summer.’
‘I didn’t ask you to,’ Nicholas said. ‘Although I was grateful for the introductions. Why don’t you go home and I’ll send you a letter? I expect to decide fairly soon. I’ll probably have it decided for me tomorrow. You don’t want to come and help me sheet up the Holy Ghost for Father Ludovico?’
They went home early that night, and Julius didn’t join him for their evening session as usual. But next day, when he went off to the Marienkirche, Julius went with him.
OF THE EIGHT CHURCHES in the double city of Thorn, the Franciscans had built their humble offering to the Blessed Virgin Mary in one of the best positions, next to the monastery they had established when the town was founded over two centuries previously, and behind the present Burgh Halls. Eschewing the vanity of a high tower, the monks had contented themselves with a pair of small spires on top of a Gothic monolith containing two mighty aisles and a nave eighty feet high and painted inside and out with everything from geometric three-colour patterns to graphic Bohemian scenes from the Gospels. There were tall stained-glass windows, a prodigious altar and flowers and stars on the vaults. Father Ludovico was eating dinner in the cloisters but came to greet Nicholas and Julius at once, wiping his hands. ‘Well, kneel,’ he said.
They knelt.
‘Right. You see that hook at your feet. There’s the other. There’s the pulley. There’s where the other hooks used to be. But when we fix the dove there, it doesn’t work.’
It was supposed to swoop down from the roof to the altar. Nicholas got to his feet, intrigued if unshriven. ‘Where is the bird?’
‘Here.’ The Patriarch proffered a bundle. Inside a napkin was a half-eaten pullet. The Patriarch blessed God’s left toe and disappeared with it back to the cloisters. Julius, his head tilted back, said, ‘I’m not going up there. Are you going up there?’
‘I need someone. There’s scaffolding,’ Nicholas said.
‘And there’s lunacy,’ Julius retorted.
‘Then I’ll take someone else. Father Ludovico?’
‘Now, there’s an idea,’ Julius said. The Patriarch had just re-entered bearing the dove, a ponderous object in sleek silver-gilt. It looked new and expensive. Nicholas said, ‘Is this the same weight as the last one?’
‘So that’s what’s wrong,’ said Father Ludovico.
It took a while to assemble the new chains and brackets and wheels, and by the time that was done, the Patriarch had found a smith and his apprentice who were perfectly prepared to do all the work on the scaffolding except that, by that time, a number of spectators had arrived and sotto voce wagers had already been laid on the Flemings. The Patriarch, who otherwise had been violently opinionative throughput, expressed nothing but indifference when, in place of the smith, first Nicholas, then Julius ran up the ladders that led to the top of the chancel arch. His confidence didn’t surprise Nicholas: Father Ludovico knew precisely what each of them was capable of. It did surprise him that, having contrived this encounter, the priest had failed to talk about anything at all but the bird. Then he put his mind to it, and thought of a reason.
It was this distraction, perhaps, which made him careless. Or the fact that he had drunk rather too much rather too often in recent days. Or the further fact that Julius, feeling cross about Anna, had transferred his annoyance to Nicholas and, as soon as they were working aloft, began to lecture him about Gelis.
‘Forget her lovers: what do they matter? Get her to bed; give her your best and she’ll forgive you. Then you can think about going back to Bruges — even Scotland. Adorne’s fifty. He could drop dead in Persia. The niece and nephew won’t give you away. And you never did try to apologise to Diniz and Tobie and Gregorio. What are the grounds for annulment, anyway?’
‘A flaw in the contract,’ Nicholas said. The nail he was hammering broke, and he fished out another.
‘What flaw?’ Julius said.
‘I don’t know. They haven’t found it yet,’ Nicholas said. ‘Will you hold that bloody thing straight?’
‘Then how do you know —’
‘Because lawyers will do anything if you pay them enough.’ The piece of wall he was working on crazed, and the second nail dropped. He stared at the wall, then took out the last half-dozen nails and stuck them into h
is mouth like short straws.
‘You’ll have to move further along,’ Julius said. ‘I’ll hold you.’ His hand, approaching with sudden intimacy, removed the nails from between Nicholas’s lips. ‘I’ll keep these, you’ll swallow them. Would you like me to talk to her?’
‘Yes, if you’ll let me entertain Anna.’ There were so many people below that falls of grit dispersed soundless as dew. He could see the spectators quite clearly, inscribed by the south-facing windows with sinuous figures in cobalt and carmine; a solitary dazzling ray from a hole in the glass was bothering the flesher collecting the bets. Nicholas could not hear what his audience said, and they could not hear the conversation he and Julius were having: it was between the stars and themselves.
‘Try it,’ said Julius. ‘I told you, that patch of wall is no good. If you don’t want to stretch, then we’ll have to wait till they fix some more scaffolding.’ He leaned over the rail at the edge of the platform, shouted down an instruction and squatted down with his back to the rail-post. ‘So why not write to your wife?’
Nicholas studied the wall; identifying three new possible sites and computing, effortlessly, the variations each would require, having regard to questions of weight, angle and speed. He said, ‘All right, I’ll write to her. I’m hungry. Aren’t you hungry? Let’s go down.’
Julius created a negligent barrier with a robustly shaped calf attached to an elegant ankle and foot. ‘Before anyone comes? You have to show them where to put the new nails. So what’s wrong, then, with poor little Jodi? Suffering Christ, why burn the little brute’s message?’