Authors: Dorothy Dunnett
Since the attempt upon Jodi in Edinburgh, his wee Aunty Bel had spent a great deal of time in the city, divided between her usual house and the office and home of the Berecrofts family. There, she and Archie of Berecrofts shared news from the Low Countries about Kathi, married to his son and heir Robin; and kept a combined, judicious eye on the commercial depredations of their mutual enemy, David de Salmeton.
Of the man himself, she had seen nothing at close quarters since the day of the bodyguard Raffo’s death. He had lied his way out of that, and had since left them alone, being disinclined, Archie said, to risk the new business success he was working so hard to achieve. It was, therefore, all the more astonishing when David de Salmeton in person arrived one day at the grand Berecrofts house in the Canongate, had himself received in the parlour where Bel (how did he know?) was visiting Archie, and asked his host’s permission to convey some sorrowful news.
Left to himself, Archie would have denied the man entrance. It had been Bel, better acquainted with de Salmeton, who had counselled otherwise and who, hearing him now, sat herself down with some care. Sorrowful news. Being only human, she thought first of her son; of Claude and the children. Then, ashamed, she drove her logical mind to assess the areas of much greater risk which were also of import to Archie, chief
among them being Kathi and Robin. Kathi and Robin, dear God, and the babies.
David de Salmeton said, ‘I speak, of course, of Nicholas de Fleury, who, you will have heard, is dead in Russia. His widow and son have yet to hear. Fortunately, there is a Scottish emissary leaving for Flanders. I hope to sail with him and enlighten the poor lady myself. A widow and a fatherless child. Is it not sad?’
‘How d’ye know?’ Archie had said. Robin’s father, the most courteous of men, had no time for miniature beauties with waving black hair and large eyes, who killed people.
‘Oh, everyone knows,’ said David de Salmeton. ‘And is it so surprising? The poor man had little to live for. But I digress. Time is short. I merely called, in case you had a word for the widow? Or young Kathi? It seemed to me that she and Nicholas were particularly close.’
‘We shall send our own messages,’ Archie said, ‘when we know the truth.’
Shortly after that, the visitor bowed himself out. Archie swore.
‘Oh, all of that,’ said Bel of Cuthilgurdy. ‘But do ye believe him?’
Archie pursed his lips. ‘It’s true that the King’s sending his uncle to Burgundy. Half-uncle. James, Earl of Buchan. Hearty James. He’s supposed to be advising Duke Charles to make peace with the Duke of the Tyrol. Him that’s married to the King’s aunt.’
‘Eleanor,’ Bel supplied helpfully. ‘Our King James is sending his uncle to mediate between Duke Charles and the Tyrol, while Duke Charles is busy invading Lorraine? It doesna sound like very intelligent planning.’
‘No,’ said Archie. ‘But that isn’t why de Salmeton came, is it? He just wanted us to know that Nicholas de Fleury is dead, and de Salmeton is off to harass his son and his widow.’ He paused. ‘I’ll need to go.’
‘No, you don’t,’ Jodi’s Aunty Bel said. ‘They’re well protected. We’ll send word. There’s a shipmaster I know. And forbye, there’s a man who’ll do more good nor you would.’
‘Who?’ Archie said.
‘Ah,’ said Bel. ‘That’d be telling.’
There was a moment’s silence. ‘You don’t believe this,’ Archie said. ‘You don’t believe it, do you?’
Bel heaved herself upright. ‘I don’t want to believe it,’ she said. ‘You could say that, right enough. And I don’t trust that little popinjay, that’s another thing. But most of all, I must say, when Nicholas de Fleury manages to get himself killed, I think you’d ken by the bang, not the squeak.’
T
HE
SAME
RUMOUR
reached Bruges, and was duly noted, if not necessarily believed, in the counting-houses, the mansions, the kitchens, the
council-rooms and the cellars once haunted by Nicholas de Fleury. He had been gone for three years, and the commerce of Bruges was no longer affected by his absence, any more than the Banco di Niccolò, which had so successfully reconstituted itself.
In the Charetty-Niccolò bureau in Spangnaerts Street, Gelis van Borselen heard the rumours and, with Diniz’s permission, called a meeting of all his chief partners, as once she had done in Venice. When it was over, she went to see Kathi.
Robin was out, and the babies were absent. Kathi said, ‘If you’ve come to talk about Nicholas, I have to say I don’t believe what they’re saying.’ Since Rankin’s birth, she had become very slight.
Gelis said, ‘You don’t need to. He isn’t dead. But if David de Salmeton thinks he is, then he might abandon Scotland this winter, and come and amuse himself instead with the rest of us. There is a Scottish embassy coming soon. He could join it.’
‘The King is sending his uncle. I heard. I know Hearty James,’ Kathi said. ‘He quite likes Nicholas, too. In any case, we are safe. The Hôtel Jerusalem is a fortress. But what about you?’
Gelis said, ‘I’ve just talked it over with everyone. I’m taking Jodi and joining the Duchess’s tour. They don’t need me in Bruges: trade has gone to sleep, and so has the war, until both sides can drum up soldiers and money. The Duchess is raising funds in the coast towns and Holland, and that is van Borselen country. My own kinsmen will be manning the escort, and when we come back, it will be to the Gravenkasteel or the palace in Ghent. And these, you will agree, are secure.’
This was true. It was why the Duke’s wife and his one valuable daughter spent most of their lives there in the palace, or the castle so close to it. And Gelis would have her own noble relatives with her, as she said. Louis de Gruuthuse, of the council in Ghent, was married to one of her cousins. Another, Wolfaert van Borselen, seigneur of Veere, had been husband to Hearty James’s sister, a princess of Scotland. Wolfaert’s daughter, aged seven, was betrothed to the Duke of Burgundy’s nephew. Wolfaert’s bastard son was betrothed to Catherine de Charetty.
Kathi said, ‘A Scottish embassy will have access to the Duchess.’
‘Briefly, of course,’ Gelis said. ‘But they haven’t come yet, and even in Ghent, they won’t stay in the Hof Ten Walle or the castle. And by then, perhaps, it will be known that Nicholas isn’t dead, and de Salmeton may stay away till he comes. He does want an audience.’
‘You are sure,’ Kathi said. Her clear, hazel eyes were hard to avoid. ‘You always said you would know about Nicholas.’
‘I am sure,’ Gelis said. ‘It’s more than that. He wants me to know. He is divining, over and over.’
The forbidding gaze widened, then distanced itself. ‘Ah,’ said Kathi, and sank into thought.
Gelis sat silent. Once, she had never known when Nicholas set his pendulum swinging to find her. Then, the void between them had been empty. Time had filled it. Time had so inflamed, so compacted the spaces between them that each time he sought her, she knew it. And so he had stopped.
Until now. Until every hour, every day there came the minuscule jolt; the frisson that ran through her limbs, and buried itself in her body.
I am here. I am here. I am here
.
Kathi said. ‘He is outrunning the news of his death. He must be coming. He wants it known to everyone that he is coming.’
And, of course, she was right. So long as Nicholas was thought to be on his way, in a grotesque fashion, their danger was lessened. David de Salmeton hated them all, but he wished Nicholas to witness what he did to them. And yet —
Gelis said, ‘Unfortunately, not everyone shares our faith in the pendulum. Tobie, for one. He has gone to join Captain Astorre on campaign, convinced that Nicholas is dead.’ She stopped, her hand to her lips. Then she added, ‘Clémence let him go. She says he’s weary with not knowing what to hope for.’
‘I know,’ Kathi said, her eyes bright, her smile wry. And looking at her, Gelis felt pain, and disbelief, and fright and compassion all at once.
‘Not Robin? Not
Robin?
’ she said.
‘Who else?’ Kathi answered. ‘He’s a man. He has to prove it. Now he has heirs. And like Tobie, he doesn’t want any more hope.’
‘But he leaves you—’
‘Well protected. He didn’t know, when he left, about James’s embassy. It seemed too late in the season for David de Salmeton to trouble to come. He is better away,’ Kathi said. ‘He and Tobie will look after one another, and John. If there are no more troops to be got, the fighting will have to stop, anyway.’
‘I should stay,’ Gelis said.
‘No. Go to the Duchess. You have Manoli. Take Clémence: apart from Jodi, it would be good for you both. And if you do meet Hearty James, suggest just whom he might send to the Tyrol. I doubt,’ said Kathi, ‘if David would go, but it does me good just to think of our Eleanor and that little peacock expecting to charm her.’
They parted presently on the same bracing note, after Gelis had stolen into the children’s room to smile at Margaret and the baby. At least, Kathi had these. Meanwhile it was a fact, not referred to by either, that Kathi’s young lover had gone, while the father of Gelis’s son was alive and perhaps, at last, on his way home.
D
ISREGARDING
THE
UNTIMELY
COLD
of that autumn, the Duke of Burgundy’s English wife dragged her great entourage of ladies, noblemen, soldiers, officials and servants across the fast-congealing northern reaches of the Low Countries to raise an army for her husband’s conquest of Lorraine. As November descended, with its short days and long bitter nights, the Duchess traversed river ferries and sailed over gulfs, pausing to harangue the townspeople of Malines, Geertruidenberg, Dordrecht and Rotterdam, and passing magisterial nights in Leiden and Delft, Gouda and ’s-Gravenhage.
Throughout it all, Gelis felt exhausted, but safe. She was well accustomed by now to the Duchess, whose marriage, as long as her own, had proved fruitless and made no pretence of being close. It had been created for reasons of state, to link the English King’s sister to Burgundy; and Margaret of York, intelligent, well-read, energetic, had more than fulfilled her part of the bargain. The Duke’s daughter had been loved, these eight years, as her own.
As for her van Borselen relatives, Gelis gritted her teeth and was polite. At least she knew they would strain every nerve to protect her. A few years ago, Jodi had nearly died on a visit to Veere, and Robin had been slighted. On this journey, she and Jodi were in the care of Wolfaert himself and his household, always at hand, always grimly dutiful to excess. It was fortunate that Clémence was here, briskly prepared for the moments when Jodi grew tired of exhibiting his straight back and desirable horsemanship, and simply wanted to sleep, or complain, or play games. He was not quite a page, yet.
At night, they slept in one room, the three of them and their young serving staff, but no one ever stayed awake for long, except Gelis van Borselen, lying straight under her coverlet, her hair brushed to her waist, her eyes closed, her hands crossed on the shift at her thighs. So she awaited the moment when Nicholas, too, would find privacy and, pushing aside his dish and his cup, would reach into his purse, and take something out — what? A pebble? A ring? — and, allowing it to drop from its cord, would address his unspoken question. Where is she now? Here? Or there? Then would come the pang, and her heart would start to thud.
Once, she had strung a pebble herself and tried to use it, but nothing had happened. Pretending a casual interest, she had engaged Dr Andreas in conversation, but to no avail. Physicians who carelessly predict the demise of rulers form a dislike, thereafter, of astrological questions. So she could not tell where Nicholas was: if he were locked by the winter in Russia, or travelling home. She did not know if he was alone. It was her guess, because of the messages, that no one was with him: that he was racing towards her, perhaps on this very route. He knew about David de Salmeton, but had not been deterred by her letter — perhaps because he
knew more of the danger than she did. She had been wise to bring Jodi here, into the paramount security surrounding the Duchess. And although she would not admit it, she had been driven to come for another reason, for Nicholas knew where she was, and she was travelling towards him.
Lying there, her heart hammering still, she allowed herself at last to wonder what he was like now, this calm, clever, far-travelled man, still young, who had fathered her son, but had not claimed his rights as a husband in all the eight years of their marriage. As for what had happened in Scotland, she had recently re-assessed that, in the light of all she now knew about him. She would not condemn him again, until she had spoken to him. If she were to be given that chance.
That night, they had been entertained at the castle at ’s-Gravenhage. Descending the steps in the candlelit morning, Gelis saw the white of frost through the door and heard the icy clarity of the sounds from the stables, as the wagons for the Duchess’s ladies were brought out and harnessed: it was becoming too cold to ride. Yesterday, the sea had crawled sluggish and grey to its shore. The weather was closing in, and soon, they must make back for Ghent. She and Nicholas were not going to meet on this journey.
Jodi came hopping towards her, along with Manoli in his dazzling cuirass and Clémence in the furred, hooded cloak which was just rich enough for a physician’s wife without appropriating the rank of a noblewoman. Clémence, the correct, the discreet; who knew all that Tobie knew, but did not speak unless asked.
But now, she had news. ‘Have you heard? A courier has come from the Duke. It is confirmed at last. His daughter Marie is to marry the son of the Emperor. Official rejoicing is ordered.’ Her dark eyes added what her voice did not say. Official rejoicing might well have to be ordered: not every town would produce it spontaneously. The marriage was to take place which had been on the table at Trèves, in return for the royal standing Charles craved. The Emperor, escaping from that, had simply waited for time. And now Frederick was to marry his son into Burgundy, and no sceptre or crown need change hands, for Burgundy needed the Emperor’s help.