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surprised Nicholas is afraid for his life. I’m only surprised a Mameluke got there first. I hope he’s well guarded.’
    Gregorio looked from Julius to Tilde. He said, ‘And that really is why you’re here, I suppose? If Nicholas dies, you’d like to know our contingency plans for the Bank?’
    He sounded brusque. More interestingly, he hadn’t asked who sent those informative letters from Cyprus to Flanders and Portugal. He didn’t need to, Julius supposed. Everyone, including the insurers, knew who had stolen from Cyprus with the Doria , the Bank’s missing roundship. Everyone knew that the letter-writer was the same person. ‘It’s nothing to do with us,’ said Julius in a mollifying way, shaking his head several times in Tilde’s direction.
    Tilde said, ‘But the Bank is rich, isn’t it? If they kill Nicholas, Meester Gregorio, will you get all the money?’
    There was the kind of pause that often followed Tilde’s interventions. Then Gregorio said, ‘All the founding members of the Bank possess shares. Those of Nicholas would go to his heirs. The names of these are his own concern, surely. And as it happens, he’s quite well protected. I think you might even count on his survival.’
    It was unlike Gregorio to be caustic with Tilde, but Julius couldn’t blame him. The brat had come here, for sure, chiefly to witness the denunciation and downfall of Nicholas. But there was more to it than that. If Nicholas died without contriving to marry again, Tilde and her sister might have a very good claim to inherit.
    Nicholas arrived half an hour later, bringing with him the heat of the May afternoon and, Julius supposed, an excellent briefing from Loppe, who had excused himself earlier. The doors opened. Tilde half rose and sat down. Julius got up and walked forward and found a reminiscent smile sliding on to his face. He said, ‘You bastard, you look just the same.’
    ‘How disappointing of me,’ Nicholas said. ‘Thriving on money, I suppose. How are you? And Tilde? You’ve caught me, I’m afraid, in a crisis. Would tomorrow be better? Or do you really want to come with me to Murano?’ Julius stopped smiling.
    Quite apart from that discouraging greeting, Nicholas did not, in fact, look quite the same. The stupendous brocade must haveimpressed the shipyard, if not the Palace. His hair had been brushed straight and compelled to stay that way under an expensive hat of fine straw. Below it, his face had the stretched look that comes after long travelling and dubious food. Julius, recently consulting his mirror, had noticed that he looked almost the same way himself.
    It accounted also, Julius hoped, for the present attitude of high-handed detachment: not something Nicholas had ever been guilty of in the past. Half the time, in the old days, he appeared to be sitting inside your mind. Today, he showed no desire to come closer than spitting distance, even when he turned his attention to Tilde. His gaze, mild enough, reached her face by way of the stuff of her gown and her pendant. And Tilde, sustaining the survey, tilted her head and returned him a smile that made Julius wince.
    Nicholas gave no sign at all that he noticed it. He said, ‘It sets you off, as is perfectly fitting. I don’t want to quarrel. We shan’t do you any harm with our branch. I have nothing to do with dyes now.’
    ‘I know. You lost the royal dyeworks in Cyprus, didn’t you?’ Tilde remarked. ‘To the Vatachino. Julius says the Vatachino are going to be the big new power in trade.’ If you looked closely, you could see she was breathless.
    ‘Everyone in business has a frightening story about the Vatachino,’ Julius said quickly. ‘They’ve got a foothold in Bruges, and they’re into every damned thing.’
    ‘Especially dyes. Perhaps you ought to be watching them instead of me,’ Nicholas observed, still very mildly.
    ‘Julius isn’t refining sugar like you are,’ Tilde said. ‘Julius thinks we should stick to our