Niccolo Rising (72 page)

Prosper de Camulio de’ Medici, a man in his mid-thirties, possessed what Felix was beginning to recognise as the style of a diplomat and a politician. He was lightly dressed in a linen shirt and fine overtunic, and he wore a silk scarf embroidered with violets which had certainly come from France. With him was a Genoese called Tomà Adorno. Camulio and Adorno. Felix knew what they had in common, for Nicholas had told him.

Tomà Adorno was short and meaty and middle-aged, and his pale hair was bleached to wrack by the Levantine sun. Nothing of the slender, quizzical beauty of Anselm Adorne was visible in him, yet (said Nicholas) Anselm and he must be related.

So long entrenched in Bruges, so well-thought-of, so splendidly Flemish, the tribe of Adorne might have known no other roots. But six generations ago (according to Nicholas) the loss of Acre had driven the Adornes’ merchant ancestors from the Holy Land: one branch to Flanders, and one branch to their native Genoa. And even sooner than that, the shrewd seamen and traders of the Genoese fishing village of Camoglio had begun to settle in the Genoese colonies, and one Vivaldo de Camulio had a trade in cloth in Byzantium.

Four generations ago, in the time of Anselm of Bruges’ great-grandfather, Gabriel Adorno had become the first Adorno Doge of Genoa, and his kinsmen and fellow merchants had mastered the island of Chios and the alum trade of Phocoea. Within a couple of years, a Niccolò de Camulio was also living on Chios. In later years the family were to intermarry (said Nicholas) with the heirs of one Antonio de Medici, to produce Niccolò de Camulio de’ Medici, notary to the Commissarii of Genoa with the duty of reporting on rights and taxation in Phocoea and Chios. That was the line of their host, Prosper de Camulio.

Today the Turks owned the Phocoea alum mines, but the trade of Chios was still controlled from Genoa, and the Genoese merchants on Chios still included Baldassare and Paulo and Raffaele and Niccolò and Giuliano and Tomà Adorno.

Today the French occupied Genoa. But among the exiled Genoese still with an interest in Chios was Prosper Adorno, Count of Renda, seigneur of Ovada and of the two Ronciglioni, and the man with the strongest claim to be the next Doge of Genoa. He was Tomà’s cousin.
He was kinsman, many times removed, to Anselm Adorne. He was a longtime friend and supporter of Prosper de Camulio their host, and bore the same Christian name. He was the first of the Genoese rebels whom the Duke of Milan was supporting in secret since the Duke, too, wanted the French driven from Genoa.

He was also the man whose estate the doctor Tobias had recently visited to discuss, according to Nicholas, the interesting matter of alum.

Alum linked Tomà Adorno and Camulio. Alum and republican politics on a scale which cast Felix, when he thought of it, into a state of frightened excitement. The excitement came from the prospect of riches. The fear came when he looked at Nicholas and, now and then, allowed himself to realise that there was something here that he could not recognise.

Fear as well as his vestigial Italian kept him quiet, too, while the others were talking. The talk was not social. An undercurrent of resentment disturbed him. Nicholas appeared not to notice it. He went methodically about his business, which was to describe and produce for his Genoese hearers a written survey of the alum deposit recently found by the Charetty company in the Papal States, together with an estimate of its quality. The survey and the estimate were both signed and countersigned by Venetians. Felix had never seen them before.

It was Prosper de Camulio who raised his head from the paper and said, “This tells us, of course, that Venice has already seen the deposit and is aware that it constitutes a threat to its monopoly of Turkish alum. If, that is, the signature is genuine.”

Nicholas said, “The man who signed it, Caterino Zeno, is in Milan. He is waiting not far away to be summoned once I have your agreement to his terms and mine. If, that is, you consider him a reliable spokesman for Venice.”

Adorno answered. He said, “His forebears ruled Constantinople. If Venice has sent him, then they are taking you seriously. You don’t say where this deposit has been found. But Venice, it seems, has been shown it.”

Nicholas said, “It is Venice who is being asked to pay in return for concealing this mine. It would have suited Venice to make these arrangements direct with my company; to pay me for my silence, as they will do, and to guarantee me concessionary alum, as they will do. Unless I insist, there is no need for them to include Genoese merchants in their special terms.”

“But you include us, in return for a handsome payment. Why Genoa?” said Tomà Adorno. “Why not include the merchants of Lucca? Of Mantua?”

Nicholas sat, his big hands between his knees in their serviceable cloth, and rested on the Genoese his large and innocent gaze. He said, “The demoiselle de Charetty has always found the Adorne and the Doria and the other Genoese merchants in Bruges to be fair in their
dealings with the dye trade. I confined the concession to Genoa, otherwise it would have been worthless. You wouldn’t pay me for including your rivals.”

“And profit, of course, is what you want,” said Messer de Camulio. “You didn’t think of approaching the Pope? With the money from a mine as rich as this, he could finance a Crusade and free the Phocoea mines. Then there would be a world of cheap alum and no monopoly.”

Felix looked at Nicholas. Nicholas smiled. “I thought of it,” he said. “But would a Crusade free the Phocoea mines? Would there even be a Crusade, while Naples and England and France and Burgundy have found such urgent need for their armies? A lot of Christian wars have to finish before the Turks need fear the Pope.”

“What of Christian conscience?” Messer de Camulio said. “In protecting Venetian trade, you are protecting Turkish trade.”

“And who isn’t?” said Nicholas. “The West needs what Turkey can sell. Turkey needs the trade even more, and unless she’s pushed, won’t go too far in her wars in case she forfeits it. Kings make war, but traders, you can rely on it, are suitors of perpetual peace.”

“I see,” said Messer de Camulio. “Then why not demand your concessions direct from the Turk?”

Felix’s mouth had fallen open. He shut it. Nicholas said, “I could, of course, if I were a larger company. I could demand almost any sum for my silence, and force any concessions I wanted, for anyone I wanted, including a change in the franchise. I don’t have such power, but Venice has. I can’t approach the Turk. But I’m rather expecting Venice to do it for me.”

“I wondered if that would be your answer,” said Prosper de Camulio. “So your plan will in the end favour Venice?”

Nicholas said, “Venice has the Turkish franchise. I can’t alter that. Our concession will mean she takes less profit from us. It’s only fair that she recoups from the Turk. You are still better off, and so is my company.”

Tomà Adorno rubbed his chin. “True,” he said. “You’ve been lucky, Messer Niccolò. You’ve been enabled to make a discovery which holds to ransom a great many rich institutions, for a short time at least. And I think you are right. The price the Christian church will set on its goods will far exceed the tribute exacted by Turkey. But in the meantime the price of alum to you and to Genoa must fall, and in some way all clothmakers benefit. I’ve no quarrel to find with your terms. I should like to know, however, how you mean to exclude the Florentines. Once the Medici observe our concessions, they’ll begin to ponder the reason. Remember, they’re papal bankers. If the existence of this mine comes to their ears, they’ll proclaim it from every tower.”

“I thought of that,” Nicholas said. “But concessions are made for many reasons. Venice and Florence themselves, for example, are constantly in some such negotiation over the price of Italian silk.
Florence could well be persuaded that our cheap alum was a matter of trade adjustment. You can make ledgers say pretty well anything.”

“I daresay you can,” said Tomà Adorno. “I think you should produce your terms in detail and let us have done with it, before you decide to add Lucca and Mantua to your list of the favoured. Then we can send for your patron Caterino Zeno. A friend, I take it, of Alvise Duodo of the Venetian galleys? A kinsman of Marco Zeno who commanded the Flanders galleys himself?”

“Gentlemen,” Nicholas said, gently respectful. “You know him better than I do.”

No one mentioned, because they didn’t know, or they thought it irrelevant, the most important element in the history of Messer Caterino Zeno of Venice; which was simply the identity of his beautiful wife Violante. It played no part in the conversation the following morning, when the arranged meeting took place, and the agreement was ratified which made the Charetty company immediately wealthy, with the promise of healthy future assets in the way of concessions and fees.

Prosper de Camulio supplied the Milanese agent who was to transfer the payments to Bruges. Felix, hollow-eyed from a night in which he had hardly slept and barely stopped talking, counter-signed what had to be signed, and escaped, when he could, to shed some of his pent-up excitement at the Castello.

Much later, Nicholas joined him at the tilting-ground. Of course, he had spent some weeks there in the winter. That explained the shouts with which he was greeted, and the laughter as he clowned his way through the first practice bouts. Then the jousting-master came out, and flung a sword at him, and then an axe and a lance, and later got him on a horse and ran a course with him.

Nicholas, amazingly, didn’t fall off. Screaming at him with the rest, Felix became gradually thoughtful. When he was told, at the end, to mount and break a lance against his one-time servant himself, he lifted his weapon with none of the angry elation he remembered from that silly mock jousting in Bruges. The fight was different, too. He tried his hardest, but this time he didn’t dislodge Nicholas, although Nicholas rocked him twice in the saddle. Then someone came from the Chancery asking for him, and Nicholas took his leave of the master and left.

He didn’t come back. Felix supposed there were arrangements to make for the homeward trip. It would be a fast journey this time, with the great news to take to his mother. The Medici credit notes were already on their way to Bruges by Medici messenger. The Venetian and Genoese money orders they would take to Bruges themselves. Stripped to the waist, Felix ate under the trees with his new friends, and chatted, from duty, to someone he recognised, and dressed rather thoughtfully and called in his turn, when summoned, at the office at the Arengo of Cicco Simonetta. Then he went back to the inn.

Nicholas was there, under the vine canopy in the garden, with some
of their men at arms. Felix located him at once because of the laughter. When Nicholas didn’t rise to his call, he went out and joined them, and took some ale, and found he wanted to laugh quite a lot as well. Much later, in the room that they shared, Felix peeled off his sodden shirt once again and set out to obtain some answers.

Nicholas always gave answers. Nicholas said, “I’ve told the escort to be ready to set out for Bruges tomorrow. I’ve hired some extra men for security, but all the bank drafts have been copied in case of accidents. I wondered if you’d object to going back on your own.”

Felix stood, shirt in hand, and glared at him.

“You’ve got all the money,” said Nicholas.

He’d forgotten about Geneva. He’d forgotten all his suspicions. Felix said, “Where are you going?”

Nicholas said, “I thought someone should find Tobie and thank him. He arranged all of this. I expected to find him here. We owe him a lot, and I want to make sure he’s all right.”

“Tobias?” said Felix. “He’s on the other side of the country. With the Count of Urbino and Lionetto.”

“So they think,” Nicholas said.

“And what about my mother?” Felix said.

“You’ll be there,” Nicholas said. “She has good help as well. Now the money will solve everything.”

Felix said, “She doesn’t need me, does she? Only the money.”

Nicholas said, “Which do you think she would choose?”

And Felix said, “Are you coming back to Bruges at all?”

Nicholas grinned. “I’ve got to come back, haven’t I? Or you’ll spend the whole fortune on jousting-armour. Of course I’ll be back. I haven’t got any money, for one thing.”

Silence. Felix stood, pleating a handful of shirt. He said, “Why did you marry my mother?”

The large eyes didn’t avoid his. He could see no guile in them. After a while, Nicholas said, “Because it was the right thing to do.”

Felix looked down. He said, “I see.” After a moment he said, “I suppose she wants us both back. But she’s got help. We could get someone else to take her the money.”

Nicholas said, “We could, of course. Why? Do you want to stay in Milan?” The floor was littered with papers. He sat down, crossed his legs, and began to collect them together on his knee, shuffling them into order. He didn’t say, “Do you want to come with me?” In Felix’s mind, a vagrant desire recently provoked became, unexpectedly, an intention. Felix said, “I want to go down to Naples. I want to join Astorre and Julius and fight.”

Nicholas tapped his papers together and looked up. He said, “Well, I don’t see why not. You ought to have the experience.”

Felix stopped pleating the shirt. “You think I should go?” he said.

Nicholas balanced the paper pile on his scissored ankles. “If you want
to. It’s unfair to your mother, but she’s used to it. So long as you don’t salve your conscience with me. I’m no substitute if you’re killed.”

Felix stood and frowned. Nicholas returned to scanning his papers. Felix said, “I’m not going to be killed. Not with all that money there. Do you think I’m going to leave you to spend it? But –”

He didn’t explain any more. Nicholas apparently understood. He said, “Well, you know how Julius needs keeping in order. I dare say it might be quite a good thing in the end. I’ll probably get back to Bruges before you. You don’t mind if I buy myself some nice jousting-armour?”

He leaned his head back, his gaze owlish. Felix laid down the shirt, and grinned, and walking round the bed sat on it, looking down at Nicholas and his papers. He said, “You just want to get rid of me. You don’t know what happened today at the Chancery.”