That first day, she conversed in desultory German. She was a magnificent shot. Her eye to her bow, she spoke wistfully of her visits to Salzburg, that last hope of the childless. As her shaft flew, she talked nostalgically of her rambles through the salt mines of Hallstatt, merely pausing to register the accurate dispatch and fall of a pheasant, a bustard, a hare. Drawing to a halt for cheese and ale, she would get him to demonstrate the use of the short Turkish bow from the saddle, turning at the gallop to shoot into his own horse’s hoof-marks.
She had learned hunting, herself, very young. The Sinclairs were excellent tutors. But, of course, she had lost her father when she was four and her mother at twelve, the year she was sent to the French court. She had been permitted to stay in France, too, although her sister the Queen had been dead for three days when she landed. What did Sir Nicholas know of the French style of hunting? They discussed it.
They stalked a herd of red deer, and made a kill. Afterwards, she gave the dogs their bread sopped in entrails, as she had given him his doctored wine. He treated her now with extreme caution.
She discovered, as he knew she would, that they had stayed at the Sterzing inn frequented by silver-miners, and had looked at the mines. They had cast an eye, before they became lost, at Gossensass. He was hopeful that she would steer him to Bruneck and wondered if, after Brixen, she would take him where he really wanted to go. He thought now that she would.
Whenever she mentioned workings, John began to ride very close, and so did the priest. Nicholas had made no real assessment of Father Moriz, other than that he was experienced, self-reliant, and rather too loquacious. It seemed enough for the present.
In any case, after the wine and a heavy day’s hunting, few of them felt as brisk as the Duchess, whose special draught had brought not only sleep but a curious detachment which lasted for the whole of that day. She spoke of Hallstatt, and the thin, clear air inside his head connected it instantly, as it should, with the salt mines of Taghaza. His thoughts did not go beyond that, because his personal embargo was absolute; but so far as it went, he experienced no distress. It was as if all substance had been withdrawn from his mind, leaving nothing but ether. It was not disagreeable.
The sensation continued all day, and was still present when they reached the temporary lodge within which it was proposed they should sleep, and the Duchess commanded an expedition to provide fresh fish for supper. The stream they found was rushing and cold, and the trout so plentiful that the party stayed until sunset burned on the peaks, and transformed the roaring spate into flame. Nicholas said, ‘A mill could work here.’ John looked at him.
‘It could,’ said the Duchess. She had stopped. ‘They are most useful on bigger rivers, near towns. You have seen them.’
‘Floating mills,’ Nicholas said. Then he said, ‘No, that’s nonsense. The stream is too small.’
To his vague confusion, she took him up. ‘Are you interested in water? Come with me. And your two colleagues. No’ – to her chamberlain – ‘we shall not be long. We are walking the other way up to the lodge.’ And, turning, she led the way uphill, and away from the river. Her officers stood watching, and then returned to their business. The senior lady-in-waiting stood longest before turning back.
Now the slope they were mounting was wholly dark. The sun had left the river below and was slipping higher and higher in the opposite wall of the valley, the distant mountains still dazzling behind. The route the Duchess had chosen was steep and rough and full of boulders: when Nicholas offered his arm, she took it. It was, he found, only a courtesy: she was as sure-footed on the hill, despite her shortness and bulk, as she had been firm in the saddle. John le Grant and the priest, protectively climbing behind, must have already guessed that the safeguard was unnecessary.
In turn she, too, must have satisfied herself about their adequacy on hills. She said, ‘In the Tyrol, you have already discovered, huntsmen require to be mountaineers. Now it is easier to talk, away from the noise of the water. You are afraid of water? Of the water back there?’
It was dark now below, where the river had dashed and swirled a moment ago, the flames surging. He did not want to speak.
The Duchess said, ‘Think of water. There is no harm in it. Cold, fresh, rushing water, sweet and blessed and plentiful.’
Cold, fresh water swirling about him. Not starlit ice, but a bridge hanging with fire. And from before and behind, death approaching, because he had bidden it. Approaching not for a yellow-haired woman – not yet. But for himself. He knew, before it happened, that whatever possessed him was again about to give voice. When it did, the verse was unknown.
Ta femme sera de la sorte
Dans les parois de ta maison
Comme est une vigne qui porte
Force bons fruicts en la saison.
A wash of pain followed, and he fell.
He did not drag her with him, because she freed her arm a moment before, almost as if she were expecting it. At the time he was only aware of the shock of meeting the ground; and of the exclamations of John and Father Moriz behind. The Duchess spoke. ‘Leave him. He is not, I think, hurt.’
‘No,’ said Nicholas. He began to collect himself, and his thoughts. He had taken the fall on his right side, his good side, and his right hand felt odd. Otherwise there was nothing wrong. He had been dreaming, of what he could not quite remember. Of water. He said, ‘My hand.’
The Duchess said, ‘It’s a real treat, now and then, to be proved right. Gentlemen, are you fit?’ Her eyes gleamed in the dusk. Nicholas got to his feet.
John le Grant, coming forward, said, ‘Your grace, we didn’t fall. Are you all right?’
Nicholas grunted. The Duchess said, ‘No, you didn’t fall. You felt nothing. Neither did I. The alchemist who walked here with me some months ago didn’t fall either, but he stopped at the same place. The water he found – the excavation is covered – will serve the lodge when it is channelled.’
Father Moriz said, ‘Naturally, the work left the surface uneven. But no harm has been done.’
John le Grant brushed that aside. ‘How did your expert find water?’
‘With a plumb line,’ said the Duchess. ‘I brought one. Or simply by the sensation he feels in one hand.’ She spoke to Nicholas.
He said, ‘If I had another cup of wine, I could do it again?’ He could not see her expression.
She said, ‘The wine had little to do with it, except for clearing your mind. Natural forces need space.’
He said, ‘I think you are reading too much into a fall. You are saying that you think I divined the presence of water? And that you expected I would?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Oh, be angry. No man likes a stranger walking inside his head. But if you know about me, then I know more about you. Your friends tattle. There is a physician who says that you dream.’
‘Everyone does,’ Nicholas said.
‘To be sure.’ Her voice was bland. ‘Aye, well. I won’t ask what you were dreaming down there, but something about that river struck deep. Enough, I hoped, to bring alive this gift if you had it. You have.’
‘I fell,’ repeated Nicholas. His shoulder hurt. He wanted to shiver with cold.
She continued patiently. ‘And it is important. To you, and to me. For if you can divine the presence of water, you can divine other things.’
‘No,’ said the priest. It had the weight of a command.
‘It comes from God,’ said the Duchess Eleanor. ‘Do you doubt it?’
‘I have seen it done,’ said John le Grant. ‘But why Nicholas?’
‘Either of you might have had the same power. Many do. I suspect,’ said the Duchess Eleanor, ‘that it might have been more convenient for the House of Niccolò to discover such a gift in one of its clerks, rather than the man at its head. But you have him. And he is valuable. So let’s go up and get warm and talk this over.’
Nicholas said, ‘You said you have a plumb line?’
He saw the flash of her teeth as sh
e smiled. Below and above, servants were waiting with torches. She said, ‘A canny man, your Nicholas de Fleury. Aye. There you are.’
The object she produced from her cloak was a toy: a ball of hazelwood on the end of a long hempen string. With a little work, it would have made a good farmuk. Nicholas took the string between finger and thumb and let the thing dangle at arm’s length, the ball at its end swaying gently. It gleamed faintly in the dim torchlight, its shadow lost in the blackness of theirs. He watched, keeping still.
The ball was increasing its swing. The cord rocked in his grasp: he tightened his grip of it. The swing became stronger and wilder. Now it described not a line but an oval, a circle. The ball cast itself outwards, dragging, leaping, and began to gyrate in a large ragged ring with a power that made his arm crack and began to flay the skin from his finger. It made a moaning sound, circling: Oh mill! Oh mill! Oh mill! Oh mill! Oh mill!
It throbbed and growled: What hast thou ground?
Nicholas hurled the thing from him.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Well, you’re as well to know. Come. We’ll be catching our deaths.’
Chapter 27
I FORBID IT,’ said Father Moriz. ‘Whatever my secular training, I have your souls in my charge. The Duke defied the Church; now the Duchess dabbles in wickedness. You will refuse, or I leave.’
The German gnome had turned into a firebrand. Fortunately, Nicholas thought, they had been given some time alone, he and John and the priest, before the Duchess commanded their company. The lodge being small, they were crowded into a room the size of a garderobe, but at least they weren’t outside under canvas. He felt as if he had either just been very ill, or was about to be. He said, ‘All right, I agree. I don’t do that again.’ He sucked his forefinger, which kept bleeding.
‘Well, we know why,’ said John. ‘You were scared bloodless, admit it. Of a bob on a string? All right: I’ve never seen it done that way before, but divining-rods aren’t new. The Queen of Sheba walked in on her webbed feet and gave the secret to Solomon.’
‘I suppose it’s a precedent,’ Nicholas said.
John calmed. He said, ‘Well, you suffered a shock. But, Father, the finding of water can’t be a sin? Moses did it.’
‘The Lord God is speaking through Nicholas?’ the priest said. ‘Or just through Eleanor of Scotland’s webbed boots?’
Nicholas said, ‘I don’t think you can fault her private life or her faith. The Tyrol needs silver. It argues courage to seek it in this way.’
‘She let you take the risk,’ said Father Moriz. ‘What happened to the diviner she spoke of?’
‘He died,’ Nicholas said. ‘She didn’t hide anything. She arranged for you, a priest, to attend. We are not being compelled to do this.’
‘But we’ll lose our chance at the mines,’ said le Grant. ‘Moriz, if we used a rod and found another Tolfa in Italy, would the Holy Father condemn us?’
Father Moriz put his hands on his knees. He said, ‘The Pope is in Rome. Nicholas is here, and in danger. If the Pope endorses the divining practice, then I might change my mind. On the other hand, I might not.’
‘Moriz!’ said John. ‘Such uncanonical pride! What would the Cardinal say?’
‘Nothing,’ said Nicholas. ‘He’s dead, after an acrimonious dispute with the Duke over silver mines. Do you suppose Nicholas of Cusa used rods?’
‘I thought you didn’t want this,’ said the priest. His face, coarse as a tuber, was attentive and his eyebrows stood out like brushes. He said, ‘I saw what happened.’
John said nothing. Nicholas said, ‘I may not want it, but I shan’t stand in your way. It is for you and John to argue it out.’
‘But you must have some view,’ the priest said.
Nicholas said, ‘It is a mystery. The end product is potentially good. If I felt physically threatened, perhaps I simply wasn’t prepared. It was also a … vivid experience in other ways. One would have to learn to control it.’
‘You could pray,’ said the priest.
John said, ‘You could pray with him. The rod could be blessed. Surely this is a life-giving mystery, not an evil one. Confined to the wilds of the mountains it threatens no one; no one but our employers will know of it. You have faith. You have studied the God-given stores that lie under the ground. You must believe this miraculous key to their whereabouts will do nothing but good?’
There was no need, really, for Nicholas to speak any more. Between then and their audience with the Duchess Eleanor, John did all the persuading for him.
Hence, when in due course they took their places before her, the Duchess Eleanor was pleased to learn that the discreet use of the divining-rod, closely supervised by Mother Church, had been added to the services the Bank was about to propose. They discussed these in detail, and also their journey to her castle of Brixen, and the explorations they would make in the south. What that entailed was left unspoken.
The discussion reverted last of all to the Duke, and the strategy to be followed (the word was not used) when the lord of the Tyrol finally summoned them. ‘It may not be,’ said the Duchess, ‘for a week or two. He is in a district he especially favours, and the hunting is good. Also, he has business to transact with some broker. You may know him. A man called Martin, representing the Vatachino company of merchants.’
She was sewing again. The silence was quite brief. Nicholas said, ‘Our paths cross, from time to time. In fact, the Vatachino interests coincide sometimes with ours.’
‘So Master Cavalli was saying. He is with the Duke,’ said the Duke’s lady. ‘He knows my mind. He will see that nothing is settled unwisely.’
She laid down her needle, licked her finger and, reaching for a new length of yarn, picked up the needle and forcibly fed it. When she held the thread taut, the needle hung like a very thin poacher. She looked up and smiled.
‘So,’ she said, ‘you must be glad that you have something unique to offer as well. A cup of wine, now, to help the three of you sleep on it?’
The wine proved to be ordinary and Nicholas, who had refused it, felt cheated. Back in their room, John le Grant manufactured outrage by the bale.
‘I thought she said she didn’t know where the Duke was? The hunting is good. I’ll wager it is. I wager she knows every mistress and every bastard; we’ll probably find half of them guests at Brixen. But the bitch! Not telling us …’
They had been over it five times already. ‘… Not telling us about the Vatachino,’ Nicholas supplied. ‘Well, there’s a lot we didn’t tell her. And she says they won’t have concluded a deal. And I believe her.’
‘Yes! Because now she knows our terms, she’ll use that to push down –’
‘John?’ said Father Moriz from his pallet. ‘Could we have some rest, do you think? It has been a long day.’
It had. A day Nicholas would rather not have had. No. One did not run away, however devastating the revelation had been. John had been partly right. It was loss of personal control that he feared; and the happenings today, part illusion, part reality, had combined two manifestations of it. He had not wanted to go on.
Well, now he was compelled to. And although he had tried to deny they existed, he had early started to realise that he would have to confront the episodes in his life he did not understand, and try to deal with them.
He did not envisage switching from numbers to prayers, but need not say so. Like John, he wanted Father Moriz to stay. It occurred to him that Father Moriz had a very good idea to what degree his various skills and doctrines were held in esteem. It further occurred to him that Father Moriz was bent on changing those proportions, and very likely had had no intention of leaving at all. This German was a man of conviction. One did not have to make allowances for Father Moriz.
John, half undressed, was still up and still talking. Nicholas slammed over and struck out the light. There was an astonished roar.
He wished he had taken the wine.
The castle of Brixen, when they reached it, was
as crowded as every other home of the Duke’s at which, by that time, they had stayed. By that time it was evident on what Sigismond of the Tyrol was exhausting his inheritance. The palace-fortresses were the work of a nervous man, never sure of his countrymen, and of a vain man, cousin to the Emperor of the West, who liked to carry from castle to castle a scholarly entourage, a continuous stream of eminent guests, a herd of countless liveried servants.
John, attempting to assess his expenditure, had based his guess on the size and quality of the Duchess’s hunting-party, on the magnificence of its hounds and its horses, its birds and its weapons and the priceless harness of its mounts.
Now they were familiar with painted chapels dressed with silver and gold, with libraries of singular books, with chests and shelves which carried, still, the remains of the ancient treasures the House of Habsburg had acquired or been given: the silk dalmatics, the sabres, the crowns with their jewels and enamels, the crystal goblets and altar-frontals, the caskets and relics.
In Brixen, significant and well escorted as they were, the company of the Banco di Niccolò merged into a community of many hundreds, of which the Duchess, lately their apparently sole companion, was the hub. In their daily excursions abroad, there were others now to guide them. And once they were in the hills, there was no longer any pretence that their business was hunting.
They visited mines, and the mountain slopes beside mines. In the Tyrol, the word for a miner and for a mountaineer was the same. And Nicholas used both the pendulum and the hazel rod he had been given and found silver twice in a week. The first time, it was a bag of coins concealed underground. The second time, it was genuine. An hour with pickaxes showed what they had discovered.
Each time, wet and exhausted, they came back to the warmth and bustle of the town and the castle and, retiring, wrote out their reports, once in code for themselves and once in edited form for the Duchess. These were carried to her by Lindsay. All the rest of their entertainment lay in the hands of noblemen who were her household officials, who introduced them to the sweating halls, packed with people and dogs, where the castle’s lesser guests and resident household supped; and conveyed them to the quarters where the other guests of great estate, with their retinues, received them in rooms equally packed.
The Unicorn Hunt: The Fifth Book of the House of Niccolo Page 44
