‘It is hard to tell which scent a woman may prefer, so here there are a number for the princess to choose from. I can always find more, or make more, if nothing here is to her taste.’
A sensualist, the duke picked up the vial containing ambergris. ‘Come here, Lady Anne.’ The girl moved closer, curtsied to him, and he lifted one hand, gently rubbing a tiny golden bead of scent inside her wrist.
‘There. This would suit you. You should always wear it — it has an intense, subtle beauty ...’ For a moment it seemed he would complete the sentence, but then he paused, contented himself with kissing the wrist that bore the ambergris, as Anne beckoned Deborah forward.
‘Finally, Your Grace, we have something else, something to adorn your bride.’
Deborah unfurled the bolt of peacock-blue silk, allowing it to spill, to ripple through her fingers. In that dim, quiet room, the lustre of the cloth was a piece of sky trapped within darkness.
‘From the lands beyond India, my Lord, the land of the Khans. The gold tissue, if I may make so bold, will serve your bride as a veil or perhaps a light cloak when the weather is warmer. I am so delighted that our ships were able to arrive this morning, in time for me to proffer what I have on behalf of Sir Mathew Cuttifer, and myself.’
‘Lady, your kindness will not be forgotten. I have a portrait of the Princess Margaret, and I believe your choice of colour will suit her marvellous well. Such an intense and brilliant blue; I have never seen its like, ever before.’
‘There are only two bolts like it in the world, so far as I am aware?’ She looked questioningly at Maxim, who nodded discreetly, kneeling at the duke’s feet.
‘Maxim, our steward, was under personal instructions to find this silk in Florence, or not come home! I had heard tell of it, this shot, peacock-blue, but never seen it before.’
The duke was silent. These gifts would not have shamed a fellow prince, and for this girl to be the donor almost beggared belief. When his courtiers spread the word of this most remarkable extravagance the world would talk of nothing else.
‘Lady Anne, your generosity, and that of your guardian, is princely. My brother-in-law-to-be and my bride will also be most grateful. Perhaps you can advise me — I should like to present the Princess Margaret with a gown made from this most wondrous blue silk.’
The duke had taken the bait! Now all Brugge would know of her goods and the frenzy of new trade would begin.
‘Ah, sir, I should like to do that, but there is one small hurdle I must overcome.’
The duke smiled. ‘Yes, Lady de Bohun?’
‘Simply put, Duke Charles, I cannot trade as I would like to — as part of a joint venture with Sir Mathew, my guardian. The English merchants oppose us in this.’
The duke looked sharply at the girl in front of him who was now modestly, steadfastly, gazing at his feet, as was proper.
‘But, sire, they could not stop me trading, on behalf of my guardian.’ She was careful to drop her eyes from his, careful to speak humbly. ‘If I had your permission to sell our goods, the cargo just landed.’
He laughed. She was breathtakingly frank; he found he liked her for it. ‘But would I not upset your trading community very much, Lady Anne, if I agreed?’
Anne, the blood booming in her head, became a little reckless. ‘It has happened before, has it not, Your Grace?’
The duke raised his eyebrows; she must have heard of the disputes between his father and the English. ‘And, honestly, sire, I feel these merchants are more than old-fashioned. Sir Mathew and I, we saw an opportunity they were too frightened to take up for themselves and we have landed our cargo first.’
‘And so you feel it is fair if I allow you to trade it?’
Anne nodded and, greatly daring, looked square into his eyes. He held that direct glance, until, after a moment she dropped hers.
‘Hmmm. I do not like my merchants to be unhappy. Any of them. However, I like courage more.’ He laughed mischieviously. ‘Very well, Lady Anne. You may trade this cargo, with my blessing. And assistance — if your English brothers become, how shall we say, a little agitated?’
Anne was so happy she could have kissed him, would have, yet some tiny element of restraint just held her. Better to curtsey and leave. She had won.
And as she backed out from his presence, the duke agreed with the unspoken thought. Anne had beaten the English merchants with an excellent, a magnificent throw of the dice.
He smiled naughtily. That would set the cat, a very attractive cat, into the dovecot. After all, the English were extremely troublesome, always had been, and just because he was marrying the sister of their king was no reason for them to become complaisant, especially considering their recent arrogance towards his city. He still bristled when he thought of some of the terms that had been forced on him when he’d asked them to return to Brugge.
Yes. Let the girl trade, let her see it through. She deserved it for courage alone. Then, later, he would see about her marriage. Such spirit was admirable, but perhaps, after a little experience of freedom, it would best serve to enliven the domestic sphere of some strong but lucky man.
He chuckled. That would be best certainly. Anne de Bohun’s competitive spirit, allowed free range for too long a time, might decimate the entire English trading community, and that would not be good for his city — in the long term.
But great fun to watch over the next few months!
Chapter Thirteen
William Caxton was anxious. And very annoyed. His problem concerned clothing — women’s clothing; specifically, Anne de Bohun’s clever stratagem of offering free making of their dresses to every lady who bought material from her for the duke’s wedding. It had guaranteed customers, of course, far too many of them, especially since she’d also bought up the time, in advance, of every seamstress she could find between Brugge, Damme, Sluis and even as far as Antwerp. In effect she’d treated the sewing women as if they were guild tradesmen with guaranteed rates — common sewing women! — and offered them all the same needlessly generous terms.
A scandalous idea, though he had to admit, very creative. No other merchant had thought so far ahead, of course — why would they? Now the result was that the cargoes of the rest of the English merchants, due to land at Sluis very soon, would most likely be ignored, and his companions would have risked their money, in the short term, for little or no reward.
The English merchants were naturally furious when they’d heard, and William shared their anger. Whatever secret admiration he felt for Anne, he must persuade her to abandon this current game. She’d made her point, but undermining the long-term trading stability of her countrymen would earn their deepest enmity. She had to be careful. Desperate men goaded by outraged wives who could not persuade formally loyal sewing women to work for them at any price were probably capable of anything.
Therefore, it had to be faced. She must be made to see the value of more conciliatory behaviour to her unwilling colleagues, and he had been deputised to tell her so.
Truthfully, though, he wished he was anywhere else but here, about to knock on the door of Mathew Cuttifer’s fine house on this dazzling spring morning. It was a day for pleasure, not for confrontation. He hated confrontation, especially with a pretty woman (Maud didn’t count in that regard).
Therefore, he hesitated; he was quite hot and blamed his wife for laying out a particularly thick jacket, though, in truth, he’d not noticed when he’d dressed this morning. Damn the woman, she must have known he’d sweat. Perhaps she’d done it purposefully when he’d told her he had to visit Anne? There was no help for it, however. He couldn’t take it off for this was a formal visit by the Governor of the Guild of English Merchant Adventurers to an illegal trader. He could not afford to look anything less than formidable.
Impatient with himself, he raised his hand and knocked sharply. It was only a moment before Maxim opened the door, but somehow it seemed an uncomfortably long time.
Anne was warm, too, going through
Meinheer Boter’s accounts. It had been an excellent month since the two ships had returned. And there was more to come because today she had arranged an especial viewing of a part of her cargo of silks, damasks and the lighter ‘summer’ furs, which had not been released yet: a viewing for the closest, most influential members of the duke’s court.
Meinheer Boter was delighted too that Anne had been lucky with her ships — delighted and relieved to the point of actual physical weakness. As his ledgers spelt out the figures from this remarkable month’s trading, his heart beat faster and faster, though he’d soberly, carefully and diligently enumerated the goods sold, line by line, to his employer’s ward.
Phlegmatic as he was, even he was amazed at the river of good silver, gold and copper coin flowing through the doors of the trading house of Cuttifer and de Bohun; amazed too at the nerve and composure of this young woman as she, just as carefully, item by item, checked the tallies with him.
Anne was more than content. ‘Enough, Meinheer. We have more than enough. For that I am proud and happy — and grateful.’ They smiled at each other, relieved and grateful colleagues — and conspirators!
Deborah knocked softly at the door of the workroom. ‘Mistress, Master Caxton has arrived and asks to see you.’ Her tone was carefully neutral, but a fugitive little grin could not be suppressed.
Anne smiled broadly at her foster-mother in return. ‘Master Caxton? How very pleasant. Please ask him to join me, Deborah.’
The chief clerk hurriedly closed up the ledgers that surrounded them both and bundled the sheaves of parchment back between their wooden covers. Then as Deborah showed William Caxton through the door of the workroom, Meinheer Boter bowed deeply, first to Anne and then to William before hurrying away, back to his own domain in the warehouse next door.
‘Master Caxton, can we offer you elderflower wine?’
‘Lady, I should be delighted. The perfect thing for a day such as this.’ The man and the woman exchanged polite smiles as he settled himself into one of Mathew’s elegant chairs.
‘The year has turned towards the sun at last, Master Caxton.’
‘Indeed. Gentle warmth enlivens all, although I have never been fond of the great heats of high summer. I prefer the climate of our native land.’
He was reminding her of where her allegiance lay. Anne’s face did not change from the gentle, welcoming smile. ‘Do you know, I think I agree with you, Master Caxton; though many might see us as strange.’ For a moment the talk died between them. They were both fencing to find the first advantage, but Anne could wait for her visitor to speak — this meeting was at his request, not hers.
Deborah stepped into the tiny silence with a silver salver on which was a crystal flask, stoppered with a tiny, exquisitely made dragon. There were two goblets as well, also of crystal, but of a deep rose. Caxton had rarely seen things so lovely, or so rare. It made him uneasy — they were symbols of Anne’s success and the failure of his guild to match her in this battle for the wallets of the burgesses’ wives of Brugge.
‘A dragon for a stopper? Pretty. Why a dragon, mistress?’
‘Oh, because I’ve never seen one, yet perhaps may, one day.’ William Caxton thought that a strange remark, but said nothing. ‘And here you see the result. Do you find it pleasing?’
‘The work is very fine — perhaps the best I’ve seen. Of its kind.’ They both smiled politely at each other, but Anne found it hard to suppress a giggle. ‘Of its kind’ indeed! They both knew he’d never seen such a thing before in his life.
Involuntarily Caxton’s eyes strayed to the painting on the wall. He’d heard about it, all Brugge knew about it in intimate detail, but it was the first time he’d actually seen the work itself.
‘And this is very fine too. A charming likeness of you and your nephew.’
And such a symbol of her growing self-confidence, he thought — the self-confidence which offended so many in William Caxton’s trading community by its man-like unnaturalness. The merchant found himself sighing angrily at his own cowardice. Hard words must be said to this girl and it was his duty to deliver them, however much he might wish to avoid the task because he liked her.
Distantly a child could be heard crying from above stairs.
‘Edward must have woken, Deborah. Would you see to him, please?’ There was a brief pause as the woman left, then, ‘You seem troubled, Master Caxton?’
Very well. Fencing over now.
‘Mistress, do you remember the conversation we had when I first told you of the duke’s wedding?’
It was mesmerising. Her hands gently stroking and stroking again the glimmering surface of the dress. He shook his head to clear the distraction.
Anne nodded, smiled faintly but said nothing. He was forced to speak into the silence.
‘The members of my guild, they are ...’ he cleared his throat. The choice of his next words were critical. ‘They are anxious. And puzzled.’
Now she couldn’t help herself. She had to laugh. Quite cheerfully, which unnerved William further. ‘Why, sir, are they puzzled?’
‘By your behaviour, Lady Anne. The steps you have taken to, er, control access to the milliners, the seamstresses.’
‘Trade, Master Caxton. Trade. That is what I am engaged in, with permission from the duke. I find that the offer of attractive terms to women who are accustomed to being treated very badly gives me a certain advantage. Forgive me for speaking plainly, but I do not believe any of our city’s statutes prohibit me from the actions I have taken.’
She was right, of course. She was in the stronger position, and had been as soon as the Lady Margaret and her companion vessel had docked at Sluis. Why should she give quarter to his companions in the Guild when they’d given her none?
Idiots. They’d all of them, himself included, been idiots where this woman was concerned, but who could have known that then? He’d underestimated her and that hurt most.
She saw his confusion, though he tried to hide it, and took a little pity.
‘May I give you more wine, Master Caxton?’
Perhaps the wine was stronger than it had seemed, for there was a buzz in his head; perhaps that would help this awkward conversation.
‘A perfect drink for spring, your elderflower wine — pure and very bright.’
The pale, brilliant liquid flowed like fine oil into the rose beakers and involuntarily he was captured by the beauty of the moment — the crystal goblets, the radiance of the wine as it caught the slanting light from the window, the white hand gently returning the dragon to the neck of the flagon.
‘So now, Master Caxton, let us leave this unpleasant matter and speak of other things. Things of advantage to us both.’
There was the very slightest edge to her words. He could sense power writhing like unseen smoke in this room. Very well.
‘But there is something I can offer to you, and I have come to strike a price, Lady Anne.’
The laughter was still light. ‘That may be so, but what could you have that I might need, Master Caxton?’
‘Your life. If you cease to trade ahead of the duke’s wedding.’ Reckless, badly said — he had never intended to be so unsubtle.
Around them the house was very quiet, though they could hear the cries of boatmen on the canal outside, calling for the bridge to be lifted up.
Anne was completely still; silent, considering.
Anxiety propelled Caxton over to the casement. It was open to the heber and the scent of spring flowers came through into the room. He found he was breathing very quickly; he had to pause before he spoke next, frightened the words would dry in his throat.
‘You see, mistress, I have been given knowledge. Knowledge shared by a very few members of my guild. You have enemies ...’
Anne shrugged. He admired her for that. ‘This is not new, Master Caxton. I am protected. You know that.’ A flat statement of fact as her eyes fixed on his, unmoving. He could feel the blood rising to his face.
‘Yes. Howe
ver, we are not speaking of a forced marriage. This is very different. Powerful, very powerful people, now know you live amongst us. They are not your friends.’
Her eyes sharpened on his, but she refused to ask the question. He sighed again. ‘Lady, unless I win some accommodation for my brothers, they will not permit me to tell you what we ... what is known.’
Anne looked at him, through him, and he was suddenly shamed. He valued her good opinion, something he’d not realised until this moment.
‘Well, Master Caxton, I am surprised. And dismayed. I have never expected that the merchants of your guild, and the others, would be friends of mine, especially now since they have shown themselves to be so chicken-hearted and, yes, incompetent in the way they conduct their affairs. But I hadn’t thought they’d be pleased to see me die over the issue of pretty clothes for their wives at a wedding.’
Anne picked up a small silver bell that was beside her hand and rang it sharply. The door was opened by Ivan, his face impassive, even as the clean, shivering sound died in the air between them.
‘Ivan, Master Caxton is leaving us. Please escort him to our door.’
She rose and stood immobile, hands clasped gently at her waist as William Caxton turned away from the window.
He was upset, very upset, and it burned greatly, unjustly, that he had come here today against his own judgment — but still, he had come, and said what he’d said.
He could feel that his face was a burning red as he bowed to Anne and was embarrassed to see that her own was smooth, expressionless, not even flushed. Outside in the spring sunshine he actually felt he would vomit into the canal from the searing guilt he felt. And then there was anger. Mighty anger. Not for her, but for the fools he was tied to in the Guild.
They were all cowards, and she was right. Chicken-hearted she’d called them all, him included, and incompetent. How could he have thought she’d agree to the shabby terms he’d tried to offer? For a moment he actually contemplated knocking on the closed door, but then, fury propelling his steps to a march, he stalked away. He would go to the Markt, he would find the others and then ... well, then they would have to think again.
The Exiled Page 10
