Authors: Dorothy Dunnett
At which John had stared at her in genuine derision and said, ‘You think they could stop Katelijne Sersanders if she wanted to leave? Dinna fret. She’ll tell them all she knows, and they’ll be the first to send them to safety. They’re a tough old crew, the merchants of Berecrofts. If de Salmeton wants a trade war, he’ll get one.’
‘If the warning comes in time,’ Gelis said.
Neither of them had so far discussed de Salmeton’s affluence and, in his stubborn soul, John was glad to kick the subject aside. Two months ago, he had been present in Neuss when, returned blanched and stiff from a long absence, Gelis had found and opened the promised missive from Nicholas. Except that it had not been from Nicholas: the message was not in his writing, nor in code, and had arrived by no recondite path
of the mind. It had come redirected from Bruges, and before that from Venice.
Inform John and Moriz that the enterprise sadly is void. They should not speak of it
.
Nicholas had had to send the first message direct: if he died, the information was important. Now it was no longer important, and he hadn’t troubled to write.
For Gelis, that was the blight; not the contents of the message, about which it was possible to be philosophic: endeavours did fail. Yet John had been surprised to notice how soon she recovered. It was as if her feelings were no longer engaged, or were differently focused, or as if she were armed by some unimaginable talisman. He wondered if she would have shown as much fear if Nicholas were in danger, not Jodi. Then he thought, ashamed, that she probably would, because he himself would. You didn’t need to be someone’s husband or wife to admire them, and be concerned for them, and desire to know they were safe. He wished he had the detachment of Nicholas; and then remembered, uncomfortably, the tales he had resurrected for Gelis which made the opposite point. A man who did not care for his fellows would have resented and shed them. Only an idiot would shower them with helpful statistics. He forced himself to remember, belatedly, just what Nicholas had done in Scotland, and to Julius, and why he deserved all that had happened to him.
He looked at Gelis and said shortly, ‘It’s all right. We’ll hear from him soon.’
I
N
E
DINBURGH
, where the month opened less warmly, Katelijne Sersanders, lady of Berecrofts, had no premonition of her uncle’s warning racing towards her, being satisfactorily immersed in a promising young household. Her greatest problem had lain in the handling of Jodi, Nicholas’s small son and her husband Robin’s disciple and critic. Her own care, above all, had been to refrain from replacing Gelis: to preserve, against all her inclinations, a demeanour towards Gelis’s son which was friendly, but not over-close: that of a sensible aunt. Her greatest triumph, had she been asked to name it, lay in the fact that Jodi had grown to be decently tolerant of his five-month-old co-habitant Margaret, who after all was only a girl, and not allowed to go hunting.
It compensated for the professional friction between Jodi’s new master-at-arms and Raffo, his bodyguard. A brawny, middle-aged mercenary with spectacular scars, Raffo had been one of the two men engaged to look after Gelis and Jodi. Jodi was proud to be the pupil of Captain Cuthbert, but Raffo, eighteen months at his side, was his friend. This, since his parents were missing, and Clémence and Tobie were in
the absent-minded stage of betrothal, appeared to Kathi to be extremely convenient. A boy needed someone to teach him how to kill things, and Clémence had reached her limit in that direction, now she had Tobie.
In any case, Kathi had Bel. In a city of stout-hearted, strong-willed old women, Bel of Cuthilgurdy had had more than most to do with Nicholas and his estranged Scottish family, and had shared his voyage to Africa with Gelis. Although her home was in the west, close to the Beltrees of Nicholas and the Kilmirren castle of the vicomte de Ribérac, Bel shared an Edinburgh house with her neighbour the vicomte, and since his absence in Portugal, often stayed there. Jodi grew accustomed to climbing the steep hill of the Canongate, passing through and up to the High Street of Edinburgh, and then being hoisted by Raffo to chap at the door of his wee Aunty Bel.
Today, to begin with, it was entirely as usual: he was welcomed in, his bonnet taken off, and his striped hose and new belt admired, while Raffo went off down the stairs, where the giggling always started, sooner or later. Then Jodi was given a biscuit and, seated beside his wee aunt (his
old
wee aunt), was asked to say what Margaret was doing these days (teething); when he had last heard from his clever mother (yesterday); and whether he had made any more drawings to keep for his father, who was away selling cloth to men with slanty eyes and flat faces.
Jodi, who preferred to believe that his father was away fighting Turks with slanty swords and hooked noses, described his latest drawing, which showed himself on a horse hunting foxes, but without the leading-rein and Captain Cuthbert riding beside him. Drawing the fox had given him some trouble, as he had only been once, and they hadn’t caught any. He could improve on it next time. Or he could ask Master Cochrane to help him.
It was just at this point that someone else chapped on the street door and unusual things started to happen, such as Aunty Bel’s serving-woman going to open it and then giving a cry, while the sound of trampling and jingling came from the outer room, as if a band of jousters had come in by mistake. Then, suddenly, Aunty Bel’s room was full of men. The door in front was flung back by the jousters, and the one at the back was thrown open by Raffo, who leaped through it, drawing his sword.
It had happened before. It had happened in Trèves. Jodi’s lip trembled, and he opened his mouth. Then he squeaked, having the breath knocked out of him by Aunty Bel’s stout little arms clipping him fast to her side.
‘Now then!’
said Aunty Bel. ‘The first loon to take ane step for-rit will get a ball in the tripes. Hand me that gun.’
Round-eyed, Jodi saw that there
was
a gun, propped up at the back of a cabinet. There was a wooden box by it. Raffo fetched them both. He said hoarsely, ‘Let me.’
‘No, no,’ said Aunty Bel. ‘I’m to load, you’re to split the first one that tries to stop me. You could light the match, mind.’
Jodi loved Aunty Bel. He thought Raffo was the bravest man he had ever met, except for his father and, perhaps, Robin. He was amazed and alarmed when the leader of the men in the doorway just laughed. He wore spurs, and had proper armour under his tunic, but he was too small to be a real soldier, and his hair, when he pushed back his chain hood, was black and waving and scented — like a lassie’s, Captain Cuthbert would have said. And it was silly to laugh.
The man said, ‘And when we have killed your henchman, what happens? Do you think you will have loaded the hackbut by then? Put the gun down, Mistress Bel. It isn’t Lagos. We’re not here to harm you. I only wish a word with the boy.’
‘Oh, aye?’ said Aunty Bel. You could see she knew what to do with a hackbut. She had taken some powder from a flask in the box, and was pouring it into the muzzle. She lifted a ball from a leather bag and gave it to Jodi to hold. It was heavy. The men in the doorway started to move, but the leader put out his hand. He was still smiling. Aunty Bel said, ‘And if that’s all, why the soldiers? Afraid the wee man will hit ye? I seem to remember, you fall down easy. Come another day. On your lane.’
‘So you do remember me?’ said the leader. ‘If for a somewhat unflattering reason. Under the circumstances, it is brave of you to refer to it. And the little boy’s mother, of course, was also present. Poor Gelis. The child has a look of her. I shall tell him tales of his mother. And his father, of course. How is Nicholas, wherever he is?’
‘Able to look after his own, even at a distance,’ said Aunty Bel. She held out her hand for the slow match.
‘I can see that,’ said the jouster. He had big dark eyes, and a dent in his chin, and the kind of teeth Mistress Clémence wanted to see Jodi have next. Jodi wished that Mistress Clémence was here, although he was glad to have Raffo behind him. The jouster said, ‘But does he have a writ that runs in the Curia? You may not know my latest appointment. Fate — and the good Prosper Camulio — have made me a Pustule Collector. You might say that I have come to collect your small charge.’
He seemed to think he had made a joke. He was probably not a Pustule Collector. Aunty Bel gave a grunt. ‘And you might say that the charge failed to go off,’ she said, in a steady way, going on with priming the gun.
It annoyed the jouster. He stopped making jokes. He said, ‘Take that thing from her and get rid of the man.’
Aunty Bel stopped what she was doing. Raffo stepped forward. Several jousters started to run in as if they meant to hurt him and then slowed down, looking over their shoulders. One of them stumbled and fell. Others bumped into each other and went sideways.
‘Mercy me!’ said a loud voice. ‘What have we done, Mistress Bel? Come to mend the roof like we said, and here, we’ve jiggled your guests, and spoiled all their lovely new tunics.’ And sure enough, the loaded sacks now being carried into the room were dribbling powder all over the jousters.
There were far more workmen than jousters, and the leader, who had big shoulders and black brows and a squashed face like a wrestler, was a much stronger-looking man than the Pustule Collector. Indeed, whatever a pustule might be, the newcomer didn’t seem to be afraid of him. He swung his load down, stood before him, and smiled. Jodi recognised him. He was a friend of Aunt Kathi’s brother Sersanders. He said, ‘Hello, Jodi!’ And then, turning back to the Pustule, ‘Hello, David.’
‘Well, Andro. I thought we were on the same side.’
‘We only came through the same door,’ the roof-mender said. ‘And now you’re going out by it.’ He took a look behind him. ‘And fast. She’s finished priming it.’
Jodi gazed at his wee aunt. She had indeed finished preparing the hackbut. She had settled it. She was aiming it. A spiral of smoke rose from the match. She was staring at the roof-mender, and the roof-mender was looking back with a certain expression. It was the look Mistress Clémence put on, without speaking, when she wanted Jodi to bow or say thank you. Aunty Bel didn’t bow or say thank you. She just tightened her mouth, and set the match to the touch hole.
The leading jouster gave a cry of annoyance and ran forward, knocking the hackbut aside. It exploded. Raffo pulled Jodi back and jumped at the Pustule Collector, so that their swords clacked and screamed. The roof-mender swung his bag at the Collector, hitting him on the shoulder. As he staggered, Aunty Bel pushed him hard, and he fell. There was a rumbling noise high above, and everyone opened their mouths and looked up as a hole appeared in the ceiling, and bits of wood and showers of grit and sections of plaster, big as tally-boards, began to fall down on them. Jodi sat down. The roof-mender sat down as well, as one of the biggest bits hit him. Aunty Bel, her headgear bent and full of pockets of plaster, cried out and jumped up to go to him. The Pustule Collector, his face and lips and eyelashes white, jerked up his sword and brought it whistling down on her head. But Raffo was there first.
Jodi shrieked. The roof-mender got up. Through the whirling fog, you could see that the other men had stopped fighting. His Aunty Bel stood where she was, covered in powder, with one hand gripping her chair. On the floor was someone else covered in powder, except that it was all turning red. Jodi’s Raffo. And above him the man whose big sword had hit him, the Pustule Collector called David. There was red all over his sword, but it was getting salty-looking with white. He said, ‘You all saw him attack me. Give me the boy.’
Jodi stared up at him from the rubble. The wall hurt his elbows and bottom. The roof-mender stood with Raffo’s sword in his fist and said, ‘I’ve done this once, and I can do it again. You’re not leaving this house alive.’
‘Yes, he is,’ said Aunty Bel. ‘He’s right. He has a protected position, and it’ll be his word against ours. Forbye, it’s my fault. I was putting off time. I knew that Raffo’d send a lassie to fetch you. I had no right to let it get so far.’ She was trembling.
‘That was my mistake, not yours,’ said the roofman. ‘Leave me to deal with it, and take the boy to young Robin’s and stay there. There’s a lot that needs doing.’
After that, Jodi didn’t see what happened, for he and his wee aunty helped each other down the back stairs, and brushed off some of the powder, and left by the back door with two big men of the roof-mender’s to guard them. Except, of course, that he was not a roof-mender, but Uncle Sersanders’ friend Master Wodman, using that as an excuse to get in.
Before he got taken out of the room, Jodi scrambled up and went over to Raffo, but someone had put a cloth over him, and he didn’t look as if he were coming just yet. Jodi spoke his name, for he was supposed not to leave him, but turned away when his wee aunty called.
Chapter 31
G
ELIS
VAN
B
ORSELEN
abandoned the Bank, her army and the Duke and Duchess of Burgundy that June in order to haunt the river and barge-ports of Bruges, awaiting the shipping from Scotland. The Duke raised camp at Neuss without catching her attention, and marched south to Luxembourg, ready to invade young Duke René’s Lorraine without her pained protestations joining those of John and Astorre. She failed to join the queue seeking speech with Chancellor Hugonet when it was announced that a meeting of the Estates of Flanders and Brabant would take place in Bruges in July, to be addressed by the Duke.
She did take heed, not being deaf, dumb or blind, when, at the instigation of his brother-in-law (absent in Luxembourg), the King of England (thirty-one and running to fat) arrived in Calais with fifteen thousand mounted archers, fifteen hundred lances, the flower of English nobility (including, reluctantly, the King’s brother Richard) and the Scottish Lord Boyd, parent of Thomas. The plan, to re-occupy France with the help of Burgundy, seemed somewhat weakened by the Duke of Burgundy’s absence on the way to Lorraine, and even more by the fact that the King of France was now attacking the territory of Burgundy, putting Dijon in peril.