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did. It must be useful, being able to swim.’
    Fortunately, in all the years Julius had known him, Loppe had never taken offence. He said, in his accentless Flemish, ‘Buoyancy, demoiselle, is always an asset.’ He had had command of five languages even when he first came to Bruges. He waited, and sat when Tilde did.
    Tilde looked at Gregorio. ‘Margot says you don’t mind our coming?’
    ‘No, of course not, although you’ve missed Nicholas. He’ll call on you as soon as he can, that I promise. Where are you staying? With the Medici bankers again?’
    ‘Yes. Margot seemed to think,’ Tilde went on, ‘that we might see Claes today. In a few minutes. When he steps in on his way to Murano. Perhaps we might go to Murano along with him?’
    She had called Nicholas by his dyeyard name, and you could see Gregorio didn’t much like it. Or perhaps it was the suggestion about Murano he didn’t like. Julius found his interest sharpening.Murano was an island one mile north of Venice. Why was Nicholas going there? He said venturesomely, ‘A voyage? In this heat, what could be better? Unless, of course, we should be intruding?’
    ‘Perhaps he has a wife there,’ said Tilde de Charetty. ‘Another wife. He seems very carnal by nature.’ She sat, her hands in her lap and her eyes modestly on them.
    Julius nearly laughed. Instead, he said hastily, ‘We kept hearing gossip.’
    ‘There was something, a matter of form,’ said Gregorio. ‘Nicholas has no ties at present. I don’t really see why you shouldn’t come with us to Murano. Nicholas and I have an appointment, but you could pass the time viewing the island. And you can exchange all your news on the way.’
    ‘He’s not in prison then?’ said Tilde de Charetty.
    Gregorio, rising to summon a servant, turned and stood still. ‘No. Why should he be?’
    ‘We heard about yesterday’s killings. Didn’t he kill someone yesterday? And these stories of what happened in Cyprus. You know. That’s why we’re here.’
    Gregorio came back. He said, ‘I thought you were here to make sure he respected your dyerights in Bruges.’
    He’s worried, Julius thought. He’s not sure of Nicholas. But now he rather likes the idea of our meeting him. Why?
    Tilde said, ‘Tommaso Portinari says vander Poele has turned into a soldier and got a taste for killing, the way some people do.’
    Like an extremely deep bell, the soft voice of Loppe contradicted her. ‘I should not say so, demoiselle, and I was in Cyprus.’
    Tilde turned her head. ‘I thought you were on the sugar estates.’
    ‘Then perhaps,’ Loppe said, ‘let me say that I was in the boat yesterday when the two men were killed. One was an assassin, and the other his hireling. Meester Nicholas shot one of them only, to preserve his own life.’
    ‘And that is true,’ Gregorio said. ‘If you want to know more, Nicholas will tell you, I’m sure, when he comes. Meanwhile, I should much rather hear your adventures. Let me send for some wine, and perhaps something to eat.’ He went again to the door.
    ‘Well, thank you,’ said Julius. ‘But to return to the shooting. Who paid the assassin? Do you know?’
    A servant appeared. Gregorio spoke to him before he replied. Then he said, ‘It seems to have been an Egyptian. Someone from Cairo with a grudge against Nicholas.’
    ‘Because of the massacre of the Mamelukes in Cyprus. We heard about it in Bruges,’ said Tilde de Charetty. ‘Claes. I couldn’t believe it. Tommaso Portinari –’
    ‘You heard in Bruges? ’ Gregorio said.
    She looked at him in the way Julius knew all too well. She said, ‘I told you, that’s why we came. Because of the letters from Cyprus to everyone. I don’t really think Nicholas will want to keep his Bruges bureau open now, do you?’
    ‘Letters to whom?’ Gregorio said. He came back and sat down.
    ‘To virtually everyone. She’s right,’ Julius said. ‘The Scots, the Portuguese, the van Borselen family. I’m not