The Accursed Kings Series Books 1-3: The Iron King, The Strangled Queen, The Poisoned Crown. Maurice Druon

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      MASTER ALBIZZI WAS A TALL, dry-looking man with a long brown face, thick eyebrows and tufts of black hair appearing beneath his hat. He received Guccio with serene graciousness and the condescension of a great lord. He talked of his ‘house’ with a casual gesture of the hand, as if he attached no importance to the fortune of which his home was, nevertheless, a fairly remarkable manifestation. Standing behind his desk, his thin body clad in a blue velvet robe, ornamented with silver buttons, Albizzi had the manner of a Tuscan prince.

      While the usual greetings were being exchanged, Guccio looked from the high oaken chairs to the Damascus hangings, from the stools of precious woods encrusted with ivory to the rich carpets that covered the whole floor, from the monumental chimney-piece to the massive silver torch-holders. And the young man could not help making a rapid valuation in his mind. ‘The carpets, sixty pounds apiece, certainly; the torch-holders, twice as much. The house, if every room in it is on the same scale as this one, must be worth three times my uncle’s.’ For, though he might dream of himself as a secret ambassador, a knight-errant of the Queen’s, Guccio was none the less a merchant, the son, grandson and great-grandson of merchants.

      ‘You should have taken passage in one of my ships, for we are ship-owners too, and sailed from Boulogne,’ said Master Albizzi. ‘You would have had a more comfortable crossing, Cousin.’

      He had Hypocras served, an aromatic wine that one drank with comfits.

      ‘You want to have an audience with the Queen, do you?’ said Albizzi, playing with the great ruby that he wore on his right hand. ‘Your uncle Tolomei, whom I hold in great esteem, was wise to send you to me. I will not conceal from you that this particular business, impossible perhaps for others, will be easy for me. One of my principle clients, who owes me much, is called Hugh the Despenser.’

      ‘The particular friend of Edward?’ asked Guccio.

      ‘No, Hugh the father. His influence is less evident but all the greater for that. He cleverly uses the favour shown his son, and if things go on as they are, he is likely to rule the kingdom. He is, therefore, not precisely of the King’s party.’

      ‘In that case,’ asked Guccio, ‘is he the right person from whom I should ask assistance?’

      ‘Cousin,’ interrupted Albizzi with a smile, ‘you seem still very young. Here, as elsewhere, are people who, while belonging to neither one party nor the other, profit from both by playing one off against the other. You need only measure out your smiles and words, know how to profit by the weaknesses of the great, indeed, get to know them better than they know themselves. I know what I can do.’

      He summoned his secretary and rapidly wrote a few lines which he then sealed.

      ‘You will be at Westminster this very day after dinner, Cousin,’ he said, sending the secretary on his way, ‘and the Queen will give you audience. You will seem to everyone but a merchant of precious stones and goldsmith’s work, come especially from Italy and recommended to her by me. Like all women, Isabella likes pretty things. While showing her jewels, you will be able to give her your message.’

      He went to a great coffer, opened it, and took out a casket covered in red velvet and ornamented with a gold lock.

      ‘Here are your credentials,’ he added.

      Guccio raised the cover; there were rings with shining stones, heavy necklaces of pearls; at the bottom of the box lay a mirror framed in emeralds and diamonds.

      ‘Should the Queen wish to buy one of these jewels, what do I do?’

      Albizzi smiled.

      ‘The Queen will buy nothing from you direct, because she has no money in her own right and her expenditure is supervised. If she should wish to purchase something, she will let me know. Last month, I had made for her three purses for which I have not yet been paid.’

      When they had eaten, and Albizzi had made excuses for the poorness of the meal, which, nevertheless, was worthy of the most aristocratic table, Guccio mounted his horse again to go to Westminster. He was accompanied by a servant from the bank, a sort of bodyguard, who wore a short black leather coat and carried the casket fastened to his belt by a chain.

      Guccio’s heart beat with pride as he went along, his chin held high with a great air of assurance, looking out upon the town as if he were to become its proprietor the next day.

      The Palace, though imposing from immense proportions, was floridly Gothic in decoration and seemed to him in somewhat bad taste as compared with the buildings of Tuscany, and particularly to those built in Sienna in those years. ‘These people already lack sun and it would seem that they do everything they can to prevent the little they have entering their buildings,’ he thought.

      He entered by the gate of honour and dismounted under a vault where the soldiers of the bodyguard were warming their hands at a fire of huge logs. An equerry came forward.

      ‘Signor Baglioni? You are expected. Will you follow me?’ he said in French.

      Still escorted by the servant carrying the casket of jewels, Guccio followed the equerry. They crossed a courtyard surrounded by a cloister, then another, then mounted a huge stone staircase and arrived at the private apartments. The ceilings were enormously high and echoed curiously; the light was dim. As they crossed a succession of dark, freezing halls and galleries, Guccio tried vainly to preserve his air of fine assurance, but they made him feel small. In a place like this one could easily die without trace. At the end of a corridor some forty yards long, Guccio saw a group of men dressed in rich clothes, their robes edged with fur; each bore on his left side the bright gleam of a sword-hilt. This was the Queen’s guard.

      The equerry told Guccio to wait for him and left him there, amid gentlemen who looked at him with a certain mockery in their expression and exchanged among themselves remarks in English which he could not understand. Suddenly Guccio felt a vague, but overwhelming, foreboding. Supposing something unforeseen occurred? Supposing, at this Court, which he knew to be torn by rival factions, divided by intrigue, he should become a suspect? Supposing, before he ever saw the Queen, he was seized, searched, and the message were discovered? All the fears that a panic-struck imagination can conjure up attacked him, combining with his anxiety not to show his disquiet or let it betray him.

      When the equerry, returning to fetch him, touched his sleeve, he started. He took the casket from Albizzi’s servant’s hand but, in his haste, he forgot that it was attached by a chain to the man’s belt, who was suddenly dragged forward. The chain became entangled; the padlock fell. There was laughter, and Guccio felt that he was making a fool of himself. As a result, he entered the Queen’s presence in a state of embarrassment, humiliation and confusion, and found himself face to face with her before he even realised it.

      Isabella was sitting very straight СКАЧАТЬ