Scales of Gold (85 page)

Crackbene looked up at him. He said, ‘She’s a lucky girl.’

‘And I’m my own man now,’ Diniz said. He sat down, his eyes still on the other’s.

Crackbene said, ‘Ochoa might know. There was a rumour. Someone said he was in Alexandria. He’d be scared, of course. Scared as I was, for other reasons.’

‘Do you think he took it?’ Gregorio said.

Crackbene pursed his lips. ‘Maybe. Maybe he’d got tired of the sea, but I don’t think so. And you can’t do that kind of thing and keep sailing. I think someone took it, and paid him to say nothing.’

‘Who?’ Nicholas said.

‘Someone who knew it was coming. Someone with a ship able to keep out of the usual ports. Someone who got quite rich – not marvellously so, as I remember – but quite comfortably rich after it happened. I don’t know.’

‘Neither do I,’ Nicholas said. ‘But thank you for telling us. You won’t suffer by it. I have a few ships and need masters. All we have to do is settle these cases. Gregorio? Soon?’

‘Soon, if I had my way,’ said Gregorio. ‘But not as soon as you’d like. I’ve taken this up with the magistrates. It seemed to me it would suit us to have this settled in Bruges, with your reputation as it is, Nicholas, and no one much enamoured of France. They’re willing to allow us to put it to arbitration, but to do that, they need someone representing the Lomellini as well, and the Vatachino, and Simon de St Pol on his own behalf and on his father’s. And two of the three are not here.’

‘Which two?’ Julius said.

Gregorio looked at him. ‘The Lomellini are willing to be represented by their kinsman in Bruges, Senhor Gilles. St Pol and David de Salmeton are at present in Scotland. However, I heard today they are returning in time for the Wedding. Nicholas? Simon is coming to Bruges with his sister. The date I have is the third week in June. As soon as they come, we can start the proceedings.’

‘Christ!’ said Julius. His own face smiling, he looked round the others. Crackbene smiled in return.

Julius said, ‘Well? What’s wrong with that?’

‘Nothing,’ said Nicholas. ‘We’d all been longing to know when Simon was coming to Bruges. And now we have a date. I think we should celebrate.’

Gregorio cleared his throat. He said, ‘We certainly have something to celebrate.’

‘Well, come on!’ Julius said. ‘Another flask! It’s not so long to wait. And when he comes, I suggest we all go down to Damme to meet him.’

‘Yes. We probably should,’ Nicholas said.

Chapter 42

O
NCE, ON A SUNLIT
September day nine years before, three young men in a bath had sailed along the canal from the port of Sluys to the port of Damme, and set in train all that was happening today.

One of the young men, Felix, was dead. One, Julius, the ambitious notarial secretary, was now a major shareholder in a bank, and a competent manager, and reasonably wealthy. One had become the founder-owner of what promised to be the richest business in Europe, and was the first man on earth to lead an expedition up the River of Gold, and find his way to Timbuktu from the west. Claes, they had called him when he was eighteen. Now his name was Nicholas vander Poele, Knight of the Sword.

All his friends went to Damme with Nicholas on the day the Scottish ship was due to arrive. She was to sail into Sluys, and her passengers were to take boat for Damme, where horses for Bruges would await them. These were the Scots merchants come for the English-Burgundy wedding. They included Simon de St Pol and Lucia his sister. They included David de Salmeton of the Vatachino trading and brokerage company. Nicholas did not expect them to include anyone else who concerned him.

He had known, from the start, that the others would insist on accompanying him. Julius, because he was Julius. Gregorio and Tobie, Godscalc and Diniz because they knew what they knew, and wanted to protect him from Julius. Nicholas thought, with a shaft of amusement, that he would probably have found it less trying with Julius blundering about on his own. She wouldn’t come. There was no point in pretending that she would.

The day was cloudy and warm. The city officers waiting under their banners were not unlike those waiting nine years ago, except that their dress left something to be desired. With the English
bride due in four days, every last ruby was already sewn on somewhere else.

There were a few Scots in attendance among them. The Bonkles, waiting to welcome their John. Metteneye, who ran the Scots hostel, and Stephen Angus, their agent. No churchmen: Bishop Kennedy was dead, and John de Kinloch was not here. Two members of the van Borselen family: Paul the bastard, and Wolfaert his father, to greet Lucia, who had served his Scots wife. And, of course, Joao Vasquez, the brother of Lucia’s late husband.

And someone else. Anselm Adorne, with his elegant clothes and his fair, ascetic face, stood as he had stood all those years before and said quietly, ‘Nicholas? May I guess why you have been avoiding me?’

Nicholas had called on him once, it was true, but not again. Nicholas said, ‘I thought it might be embarrassing.’

‘Because of the
Fortado
?’ Adorne said. ‘I have many ventures, Nicholas. If the men who ran it were knaves, then they should be exposed. I deserve any loss I may suffer. Don’t let it come between us. Not now.’

‘Very well,’ Nicholas said, with a smile. With both dimples deployed, rather absently. Nine years ago, he had ended floundering there in the water, and had been beaten for it. If he had been standing on dry land, like this: if he had worn a fine, shady hat, and an embroidered shirt, and a gold-trimmed pourpoint and doublet; if his hose had been long and embroidered and silken, his boots of kid, his sword buckled with jewels; would Katelina have married him? And then, would he have met Gelis?

The barge was coming. They could never sail a ship up to Damme. The luggage was transferred to lighters, and the prestigious passengers came like this, on a grand barge. Not quite as grand, he thought, vaguely, as the one Julius had bought him in Venice. He scanned the people it carried.

Jannekin Bonkle, of the button eyes and large, florid face, to whom he had confided certain business. Jannekin Bonkle, signalling success, and clutching his hat, which the signal knocked off.

Lucia de St Pol, with the towering headdress over hair of remorseless bright yellow, who sat extruding her chin as if she would scour him with it. Lucia, displeased.

David de Salmeton. Oh, yes. David of the soft, dark coiffure and charming face and long-lashed, perfect eyes; holding the silken swathes of his hat with one white, fine-fingered hand and smiling at him. Nicholas bowed.

Bel
. Why had he not expected that? Bel of Cuthilgurdy, Lucia’s companion. Godscalc’s companion. The dear, gallant person who
had come so far, and had brought Diniz back, and had cared for … had been good to a child no one wanted. She was gazing at Godscalc. Then she turned and flapped her hand at Nicholas, and he opened his arms over his head in rejoicing.

Bel, Bel. And accompanying her, the man who had caused all the wretchedness he had now overcome, and could put behind him. Beside Bel, Simon, his father. Simon who, of course, was not (he said) his father and should never be called so; who despised him, and had tried to destroy him, and who was now projecting upon him from his fair, wonderful, golden-haired, untouched person a smile of supreme mocking triumph. He couldn’t know. He couldn’t know – could he? – whom Nicholas had been hoping to meet, or measure his disappointment. Or perhaps, somehow, he’d guessed. It didn’t matter. Nicholas returned the look without fear, or yearning or envy. It had all disappeared, now.

And that was all.

Except for one person.

She was here. She was sitting so quietly, so low, that Nicholas did not at first see her; only he felt he should not look away; he should look past Lucia’s anger, David’s amusement, Simon’s contempt. He felt drawn to look, because the warmth of Bel was not the only warmth in the company. Gelis was there.

Julius said, ‘She’s come back! The van Borselen girl! Why’s she come back?’

Nicholas hardly heard him. He felt someone grasp his arm tightly – Diniz, he afterwards thought – and then release it. He walked forward to the edge of the quay.

Simon said, ‘Claes, as I live. Carefully dressed, so I see, by your servants. And Diniz, poor boy. It has all happened, hasn’t it, as I suspected? Nicholas followed you. And now you are tied to a dyer’s daughter, and he has the Charetty company.’

No one answered. David de Salmeton disembarked, bowing with a slight smile as he passed him. Jannekin bounced ashore, began to talk, and then was dragged off by Gregorio.

Lucia said, ‘I am sensible of how much we owe you. However, I must tell you, I cannot forgive you for this.’

‘I am sorry,’ he said.

‘Don’t be,’ said Bel. ‘Is she not beautiful?’

She was beautiful. He had never thought to consider her so, and never cared. He watched Gelis step from the boat, bare-shouldered, her hair in the jewelled coif of a maiden, her body come to perfection within the folds of her gown, the muslin band, the collar of pearls. He gave her his hand as she stepped up beside him. He said, ‘I thought it was going to take twenty-five years.’

‘It probably will,’ Gelis said. ‘But I thought I should like to spend them with you.’

He kissed her hand, being unsure what else he might be permitted to do. Someone was trembling. He said, ‘Does anyone know?’

The fine brows rose. ‘You have changed your mind? Then I have to tell you, Meester Nicholas vander Poele, that I shall take you to law. I have told all these my friends that I am to marry you.’

‘You have? Then there is no escape,’ Nicholas said. ‘I shall have to admit it to my friends as well. Tobie? Gregorio? Julius? Godscalc? Diniz?’

‘He simply wishes to tell you,’ Gelis said, ‘that I made such a very amenable mistress that he has decided to promote me to wife.’

‘Nicholas?’ Julius said. ‘Well, of course. I’m delighted. We all are. But what a damned funny place to propose.’

‘I didn’t propose,’ Nicholas said. ‘I accepted.’

It was wrong, since heaven had relented at last, that he should chafe because he never had her alone. First, the extempore intimation to her van Borselen relatives who expressed genuine pleasure, he thought, mixed with equally genuine relief. There, at least, he could stand on the wharf with his arm about her, and his fingers not so still as they appeared, so that her colour came and went, and she smiled. Then she had to go with her family, and he arranged to call, with due solemnity, on the seigneur of Veere.

He visited Louis de Bruges, seigneur of Gruuthuse, as well, and received his measured congratulations, and the excited regard of his wife. He wondered exactly how many people had found occasion to wander about the new wing of the Hôtel Gruuthuse at night.

He talked, perhaps most importantly and at greatest length, with Father Godscalc, alone in his chamber that evening. The priest lay in his chair, his feet propped, his twisted hands on a book. He said, ‘I am glad for you.’

‘It is against the laws of the Church,’ Nicholas said. ‘I thought you didn’t want it.’

‘Katelina and you were not married,’ Godscalc answered. ‘That was all that concerned me. And more important by far, the girl knows, and has forgiven you. Her struggle has been far greater than yours.’

‘I know that,’ he said. ‘Her struggle sent her to Africa. Without that, she would have hated me still.’

‘Did Umar know?’ Godscalc said.

‘Yes, he knew of it,’ Nicholas said. ‘It was one of the reasons he sent me home.’

‘Sent you?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Nicholas said.

‘And hence your provision for Henry. You and Gelis are agreed about children?’ Godscalc said. ‘You should have them, and soon.’

‘It has been difficult avoiding them,’ Nicholas said frankly.

He pulled a deprecatory face, and Godscalc laughed, and covered his hand with his own. ‘So all Bruges is aware. The Duke should be as fortunate. So you wish to marry as soon as you may?’

‘Sooner,’ Nicholas said. ‘But I suppose there are rules.’

‘They can be stretched,’ Godscalc said. ‘If you have a friend who knows an amiable bishop.’

‘You would help? Do you by any chance know how I love you?’ Nicholas said.

‘Perhaps you do,’ Godscalc said. ‘Sometimes love is very close to good planning. It can be whenever you want. Give her some days to prepare.’

‘Then will you ask her?’ Nicholas said. ‘Otherwise she will find herself here tonight, in her travelling clothes, being made wife over your portable altar.’

‘She might not mind that,’ Godscalc said. ‘But it is wise to consider her family. And Tilde and Catherine will, of course, wish for expensive new dresses. I don’t think you can afford to get married.’

‘That’s all right,’ Nicholas said. ‘I’ll save the price of a bishop, and get myself some priest who will do it for nothing. When?’

‘And there is your case against St Pol and de Salmeton,’ Godscalc said. ‘You have to make allowance for that.’

‘To hell with making allowance for that. When? When?’ Nicholas said.

‘Eleven or twelve days,’ Godscalc answered.

Twelve days from that moment, having been betrothed at Sluys and married at Damme, the inappropriately attractive English princess called Margaret, aged twenty-two, made her ceremonial entry to Bruges as the third wife of Charles, Duke of Burgundy, dark-natured, autocratic, and nine years her elder.

On the same day, between noon and the jousting, Gelis van Borselen, twenty-three, was engaged to be taken in third marriage also by Nicholas vander Poele, knight and former apprentice, and twenty-seven years of age since the previous December. They were to be united in the palace of Gruuthuse, and the wedding Mass was to be sung in the church of Our Lady adjoining.

It would be brief. The churchmen and noble families of Bruges
had much else to occupy them. After, they had made plans to go nowhere but Spangnaerts Street.

The scheme suited both the bride and the groom, who were each of a singular independence of mind, and anyway had, as was widely suspected, no momentous hymen to break. The union, as it were, was an old one.