Free Caprice and Rondo by Dorothy Dunnett Page B

the San Matteo , killing thirteen Florentines and wounding a hundred before making off with its whole cargo, including all that intended for Italy. The cargo has now been divided up and sold, despite Tommaso’s appeals at Hamburg and Utrecht, despite the promises made to the Duke that none of the Hanse cities would handle it. They all have.’
    ‘And the Peter ’s owners and crew all got shares of the booty,’ Kathi said. ‘Their daughters are expecting fine dowries. Paúel Benecke made himself a fortune, but the ship wasn’t his.’
    ‘Of course not. He did the killing. He’s disappeared. The men who did own the ship were a syndicate from the Confrérie of St George. Valandt and Niederhof and Sidinghusen. Three of the very gentlemen who are attending the Town Hall and entertaining us so very pleasantly at the Artushof. Who are proposing, if I am not mistaken, to continue to delay us without profit, even though I have letters to present to the King, and every day the year is advancing … They make no bones about admitting what happened. It was justified: it was an act of legitimate war; the San Matteo was in English waters; if anyone is to blame, it is the English. They even admit to the two altar-pieces.’
    ‘Tommaso’s is at Oliva abbey,’ Kathi said. ‘You wouldn’t get in, but they might let me see it, if you wanted.’
    ‘Is it? How do you know?’ Her uncle stopped pacing.
    Kathi said, ‘I thought I had a lot to tell you, but you seem to know it all. I’ve been with Paúel Benecke’s daughter all afternoon.’
    ‘Kathi?’ Robin said. She had felt his eyes on her, anxiously, throughout the recital.
    Adorne said, ‘You’ve …? My dear, I am sorry. I have been thoughtless. Sit down. Tell us what has happened.’ He took her to a chair, and sat down beside her. ‘Now.’
    She began with the conclusion, which was all that mattered. ‘Elzbiete,Benecke’s daughter, thought she knew where he was, and we looked for him. Nicholas has been with him all winter, and she thought I should find them together. But as you already know, Benecke has gone, and Nicholas with him.’
    ‘Where?’ Robin said.
    She shook her head.
    ‘Why?’ her uncle said. ‘I should have thought Nicholas would brazen it out. Unless he thought that I, like himself, would break my promise. There are two Scots ships in the Mottlau, and plenty of traders in Danzig.’
    She did not answer. She knew that. One of the chief events of the deadening, deafening misery of the afternoon had been Elzbiete’s insistence on visiting the Dominican church of St Nicholas, its ancient red brick visible from the shuddering ground where eighteen millstones thundered beneath the half-open book that was the roof of the Knights’ mighty legacy. The Knights might have been banished, their castles razed, their trade usurped, but what remained, as with Rome, as with all the great military societies, was the skeleton, still intact, of their efficiency, evidenced in the voices and eyes of the councillors who had dealt smilingly with Anselm Adorne that afternoon. Three generations ago, a Walter van Niederhof had been one of the best overseas agents of the Teutonic Knights; as a Henry von Allen had factored for them in France. The Knights had gone, but the trade of Danzig was still in practised hands.
    Paúel Benecke had not been in the Order’s great mill, although they had searched all seven storeys for him. Nicholas, of course, might frequent the church of his name — except that she discovered, too late, that this was the church of the Blackfriars commonly used by the Scots, who possessed here their own special altar. She had said, ‘Elzbiete, I’m sorry. M. de Fleury would not have come here.’
    At which a priest, turning round, had said, ‘You speak of Colà? Why, Fräulein, we know him well: he spoke often to our Scottish friends here, these latter days. Our wicked friend, this lady’s father, first brought him. Is he well?’
    The priest did