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felt differently.
    In the meantime, however, she had to admit that she was desperately pleased to see the old ruffian for reasons which Robin would share. She began, however, by laying meat and water before him, the first essential when entertaining Ludovico da Bologna, and only after that did she send for her husband. When he arrived he was scarlet, and she had to pull him down beside her for fear that he would start firing questions at once. Last winter, a man they both knew had vanished. And the last person for certain to see him, so far as they heard, was this priest.
    Typically, if the Patriarch noticed their anxiety, he ignored it.Instead, devouring his chops, Father Ludovico put some questions himself. So why, girl, had she decided to marry? And to a Scots lad? (Well, Robin, you’ve done well out of this, haven’t you?) The Patriarch supposed it was because of the gossip: she should never have gone to Iceland, of course, with de Fleury. But there it was, and he supposed they’d do as well as any other silly young couple. Then (switching subjects as Robin showed signs of exploding), how was her uncle? Stiff-necked as ever? Looking forward to five years on the road patronising the natives?
    ‘You’d better find out for yourself,’ Kathi had said, kicking Robin. She didn’t mind putting up with the Patriarch. She had learned patience the hard way, as maid of honour at the Scots Court, where she had come across the great mercantile family of Berecrofts, and her good-hearted Robin, of the fair hair and fresh skin and compact, athletic build (silly young couple, indeed). Her uncle, elegant aristocrat that he was, approved of her husband. Adorne, although his home was in Bruges, maintained close connections with Scotland, and had been honoured with land by its King. It was land he would not see for some time.
    She knew he didn’t mind that: after the death of his wife, Anselm Adorne had wanted this mission. Certainly, he disliked being leagued with the Patriarch, whose identical remit he saw as an insult to his own ducal lord. The Patriarch, on the other hand, was engaged on his own private scheme for mustering aid against the Ottoman Turks, and didn’t care what Adorne thought, or indeed the Pope, or the Emperor he was supposed to be working for. Ludovico de Severi da Bologna made use of anybody he could find, including brilliant bankers who abandoned their families and vanished.
    Further propitiated by beef and dumplings and pudding, the priest was quite ready to talk, in the end, when Katelijne, lady of Berecrofts, carefully opened that particular topic. ‘Where’s Nicholas de Fleury of Beltrees? Ask the Emperor. I left them both at Cologne in November.’
    Robin glanced at her. He was still flushed. He said, ‘But M. de … But my lord of Beltrees isn’t in Germany now. That is, he can’t be working for anyone now. He has nothing to offer.’
    ‘De Fleury? Why not? He hasn’t got a Bank any more, but he could advise. He could spy. He’d need to, wouldn’t he? He has no income, or none that I know of.’ The Patriarch lowered his tankard of water. A touch of grease swam on the top.
    Robin said, ‘But where would he be, if he couldn’t work for the Emperor? You were with him. Didn’t he tell you his plans?’ He sounded angry, for Robin. The Patriarch remained calm.
    ‘No, he didn’t. One, he was sick. Two, he didn’t mention he was about to disappear. Three, I don’t know what he’s done to make you so nervous. He had caused, it would seem, some catastrophe, but whatever it was, I can’t see our busy friend overwhelmed by remorse. No. He’llhave an uncomfortable winter, and get himself a job in the spring. He may even think he can come back and start again.’
    ‘No!’ said Kathi.
    ‘Really? As bad as that? People would learn what he had done, or his friends would be compelled to denounce him? Torture, lopped limbs, execution? You wouldn’t like to tell me what he has done?’
    ‘No,’