Free Scales of Gold by Dorothy Dunnett Page B

shells. Oh, you are greedy,’ said Father Godscalc.
    Silence fell. Loppe, stirring the water, kept the boat where it was. Nicholas said, ‘You are quick to judge. If I were to go, my Bank would have to underwrite both the trip and my absence. I should owe it some profit. That is not incompatible with what Cardinal Bessarion wants. I should become a legate, like Antioch, bringing an isolated church within the grasp of the West. We are all greedy for something.’
    It made Godscalc pause. Then he said, ‘But you would prefer Julius to learn all this later. Why? What are you waiting for?’
    His hands were steady now, for he could deal with this, and make the answer convincing. He said, ‘To see if the Crusade will be launched. If the Pope and Bessarion sail from Ancona, I am unlikely to be encouraged to sail in the opposite direction. You know Julius, and Tilde. I prefer not to agitate them over an expedition that may never happen.’
    The air was fresher now, but tempered still by the drifts of warmth from Murano. Seated with his back to those dim, distant fires, Nicholas watched his shadow swinging before him. Godscalc said, ‘What else happened on Cyprus that was so unspeakably terrible?’
    He was calm enough even for that one. ‘The weather,’ Nicholas said, ‘on occasion. The rest was delightful. I have a moderate amount of land here and there. Some day, you should come and see it.’
    ‘When you are so free with your invitations,’ Godscalc said, ‘I have a feeling that you expect shortly to find yourself elsewhere. Very well. I am out of order. Let us return to the matter at hand. Have you been candid? You have not. Have you convinced me?Only that an impetuous young man like Julius should not hear of something that may not occur. Should it happen at all? I doubt it. But on the other hand, you cannot depart overnight, and by the time your plans are in better order, I shall know more about you and about them. You have my silence meantime.’
    ‘Do I thank you?’ said Nicholas.
    ‘You think it’s none of my business?’ said Godscalc. ‘There are heathens in worse places than Africa. So how are you going to deliver me home without coming face to face with my notary and your step-daughter?’
    Compared with what had just taken place, it was not difficult. They brought the boat back to its owner, and secured another, with oarsmen, to take Father Godscalc alone to the city.
    Lit by the landing-stage flares, his rough-hewn face with its heavy nose and black brows looked grim. He nodded, but made no move to touch them, far less give them his blessing. It was hardly surprising. There had been a moment during that journey when he knew, and Nicholas knew, he had been close to being manhandled into the water. Or more likely, they would both have arrived there. He was a strong man, Father Godscalc.
    Nicholas stood for a moment and watched his black bulk in the stern of the boat as it moved across the lagoon. He didn’t turn to look back. Loppe said, ‘We should hurry. Meester Gregorio will have told lies enough.’
    ‘Meester Gregorio,’ Nicholas said, ‘as you know, is only a beginner. Did the porters give you trouble?’
    Loppe laughed, a rare thing. He said, ‘Don’t you think I am used to it?’
    They passed the Bank’s boat on the way to the tavern. It lay tied up at the main landing-stage, with a watchman beside it. Julius and Tilde had arrived. Without running, which would have been conspicuous, Nicholas led the way to the tavern.
    Now there were fewer people about, and all the boats on the Rio di Santo Stefano were tied up and empty. The evening social life of the town was taking place elsewhere. Here, in the working-quarter, squares of flickering light fell on the water from the upper storeys that leaned over the path, and there was an eavesdrip of continuous domestic noise, of chatter and laughter and argument and the wailing of children, and the clatter of dishes and spoons.
    All Nicholas had eaten