Authors: Dorothy Dunnett
The man looked up. His face was pink. He said, ‘Then what are you doing here? It is your responsibility, I presume, to protect him? Where is he? Where is his mother? Where is Katelijne Sersanders?
‘He is there,’ she said, ‘and unscathed. The two ladies are in attendance at Court. It is your responsibility, I presume, to attend the injured boy under your hand, if your oath counts for anything. I will go and see to the girl.’
She saw, as she went to do what she could, that Dr Andreas was running over the grass, his box under his arm. She was relieved. One heard of all kinds of doctors.
Chapter 39
S
EVENTEEN MILES AWAY
, at the top of the High Street of Edinburgh, Simon de St Pol of Kilmirren took his ease with his peers at the Castle, clothed, as he had always aspired to be, in the costliest of velvet and furs and envious of nothing he saw, neither the tapestries on the wall, nor the fireplace, nor the silver and gold on the tables of the royal chamber.
Tonight, the King had arranged a small evening distraction of cards, dice and music for the pleasure of her grace his sweet lady Margaret, and in honour of the future prince or princess whom (at last) she was carrying under her girdle. It was a select company, consisting of very little more than the five royal siblings and their favourites. With the King’s sister Margaret was the girl Katelijne Sersanders, about to be married off fast, Simon noticed, now that Nicholas had done with her.
With the Countess of Arran, that moonstruck cow Mary, was her lady of honour Gelis van Borselen.
It was the third time her former lover had contrived to join a company of which Gelis was part; of intent it had always been here, at the Castle, and under the most august of auspices. On the first occasion, he had seen her eyes widen; they had remained wide as he greeted her with exquisite courtesy, and continued to do so for the rest of the slight encounter. She had curtseyed shallowly in response to his bow, and had said little thereafter.
Afterwards the King had chaffed him about it, and Simon had laughed. ‘She is ashamed! It became an embarrassment: I had to thrust her out of my room. In any case, her eyes are elsewhere nowadays. That doublet! My lord King has never looked more comely, in spite of the length of the trimming.’
‘The fur?’ had said the King, looking down. ‘It is fashionable.’
‘For a man of thirty. For a desk-bound merchant, weak in the loins. Praxiteles, had he but clothed his great warriors, would have
shown them wearing hose from Milan, of the kind with a spray of gold on the uppermost thigh … When the Duke wears them, they say, it is as if he were coated with honey. Command the lady Mary to the Feast Day next week.’
That time, the lady Gelis had seemed more assured, or at least better prepared for Simon’s tactics. She greeted him as before, with detached coolness, while as before, he showed himself sweetly solicitous. This time, when the feasting was over, the King invited his sister to the dais, and bade the lady Gelis take the cushion below him, speaking to her several times as the evening wore on, and asking to examine her rings. His doublet that night was untrimmed.
Tonight, he greeted both his sisters almost at once, and brought them beside him to play at the tables. Simon, too gleeful to be apprehensive, overheard him address several remarks, in a low voice, to the Countess’s attendant. Gelis replied smiling, but glanced once or twice at the Queen who sat at a distant table and was being plied with attentions and wine by one of the King’s chamber valets. Simon exchanged a glance with Georgie Bell – Little Bell – who cocked an eyebrow in reply and then turned his back on the girl Katelijne, who was gazing at him.
Simon smiled at her too. She was no stranger, surely, to courts. A King, at twenty at the peak of his vigour, was going to satisfy himself somewhere. And if his Queen, a prude from her marriage at twelve, was now looking to her condition as an excuse to refuse him, he was going to befriend any man who could relieve his predicament. Especially if he were offered a fair adventurous foreigner, already known as a bawd who had gone from another man’s arms to her husband.
He had had no trouble convincing the King. The long separations, the friction between the sieur de Fleury and his wayward lady were common knowledge, as was Simon’s own affair with the woman. He had described that. He had described every detail of their conjunction; both as it was, and as he would like it to have been. The King, when his eye rested on the fine lady Gelis tonight, would see through her grand damask robe to her skin, and would not suffer the itch that possessed him much longer.
Simon proposed to make him wait for an hour or two yet. After that, he could have what he wanted. No woman could refuse herself to a king and expect any future position worth having. The King was seven years younger than Gelis and eager, and personable. She would surrender. A single night’s work, properly handled, could be turned to mortify her as she had mortified him and proclaim de Fleury a pimp or a cuckold. And for love of the King, and his Bank, the new Lord Beltrees might even tolerate – condone – perhaps even encourage the union. Were he here.
Simon had already seen the King’s valets, and the vats of warm water were prepared. After her chatter and gaming, the Queen would be tired and retire. Then they would all retire.
It did not occur to him that his victim’s mind, honed in a four-year contest of which he knew nothing, would set to work, after the first shock of perception, to assess his scheme in the light of her purpose. She saw that he wished to purvey the idea that the liaison had not been of his making, but an embarrassing affair of unquenchable lust and reluctant gallantry. He owed the van Borselen nothing now, and could risk it.
Next, he wished to prove that Nicholas, far from objecting, would share his wife with the King for whatever he might personally get out of it. The generously bewived Nicholas had done it before, after all, with Zacco of Cyprus. Zacco had accepted the courtesan Primaflora, whose arts survived death and could be studied still – sweeter than sweet, more bitter than bitter – in the arms of her husband and student.
It did not occur to Simon, the last and sorriest miscalculation of all, that Gelis might decide that what Simon had devised would perfectly suit Gelis van Borselen too. Let Nicholas wriggle out of this, if he could.
She knew of the baths. She remembered Nicholas, returning drunkly damp to her bed on the night of the Florentine football.
Should all fail, change thy country; for some cities can cure barren women
. He had protected Jodi, at least. Tonight Jodi was safely with Mistress Clémence and Willie Roger at Haddington; she had only herself to look out for. When the Queen retired, and the girl Katelijne, frowning, had followed her twelve-year-old mistress to bed, Gelis had watched, outwardly grave, while the King cajoled his older sister into coming with him to the baths, there to relax with her ladies and his gentlemen. There would be a glass of wine, a little music, some food. They would, of course, be suitably robed. It would be decorous.
They chattered, walking down the steep stairs, and she felt the King’s young hand at her side. It reminded her of a masculine finger, circling a wine-glass. Simon had thought once that she would come back to him, and his son, nauseatingly, had copied his style. Henry had received his punishment now, and what Simon was planning was part of the family reprisals. Jordan’s retaliation would be altogether sharper and more lethal and, she presumed, would fall principally upon Nicholas.
Her thoughts had turned that way so often that it was not surprising when, emerging from the robing rooms dressed in fine lawn like the others, she turned cold in spite of the scented steam that filled the
low room. Someone had spoken her name. A courier, outside the door, was talking to Simon who, in turn, had turned back to the King. Then they all looked at her. She stood on the damp tiles and said, ‘What? What, my lord? What has happened?’
The King came and took her two hands. He said, ‘You must be brave.’
The Princess Mary ran up, her face worried, and placed an arm round her waist. ‘What has happened?’
‘A message from France,’ Simon said.
‘From the battlefield? Ah no!’ said the Princess. ‘But they have the best medical help. Tom always said so.’
They led her to a bench and sat her down. She waited. The Countess was sitting beside her and the King stood, his hand on her shoulder. He was well made. His open robe showed his white linen drawers and the haze of curling red hair at his chest. He was sweating. They all were.
Simon said, ‘It was not on the battlefield. Apparently Lord Beltrees was waylaid on his way from the Loire. He had called at Saumur, and was perhaps thought to be carrying gold. At any rate, he was sprung upon when travelling unescorted, and his body lay by the river till morning. It has only lately been recognised. A vessel is bringing it home. I am so sorry.’
‘There is no doubt?’ said the King.
‘None, sire,’ Simon said. Mary was hugging her, and someone else was patting her arm. The others stood around in the steam, looking sympathetic. She fingered her hair, curling damply over her shoulders, and tried to think.
A trick. Surely a trick? But he had not come, even knowing that Jodi was in danger. He had not known. He was not coming, furious, to protect Jodi and regain face after her clever departure. He was not coming again. The game was over.
She looked at Simon and said, ‘Killed by footpads, alone? I don’t believe it.’
‘He is dead,’ Simon said. ‘My man has seen him.’
‘Your man?’ said Gelis. She saw his eyes flicker. She said, ‘Has your father done this?’
‘The vicomte? No, of course not!’ he said. ‘The vicomte is in Ribérac, with my son.’
And then she knew it was true.
She found she was standing. Someone – Mary – was trying to lead her upstairs to her chamber, but the King considered that solitude in first grief could be cruel. He wished the lady Gelis to remain with her friends, and gave her his wine. Presently, he asked her if she thought
the warm waters might even be soothing. He led her to the small tented pool, and he and Mary seated her tenderly in the warmth, and set wine before her, and fruit. Mary held her hand and talked, irritating her. She closed her eyes and leaned back, thinking of Jodi. Thinking of Hesdin. Thinking of Sinai. Thinking of the rain through an African night.
After a while Mary withdrew, leaving her maids. A little after that, it became very quiet and Gelis saw, opening her eyes, that the maids had gone, and there was only Little Bell, on a stool in the corner, drawing slow, yearning notes from the lute. Only Bell and his master who, seeing her stir, said, ‘Come. The water has cooled. Here is a seat by the brazier.’
He held a great towel, and leaned a hand to help her step out. She saw his face, and remembered. She said, ‘Sire, this is work for a servant.’
‘It pleases us,’ said the King. He set her before him and, opening the towel, wrapped it about her. He did not release her. ‘It pleases us to make you warm. For we think, despite all your grief, that you have had a cold bed to lie in for some time. Is that so?’
His arms tightened. He was not very tall. She felt his fresh cheek at her neck, altering as his lips moved. His hands smoothed down the folds of the towel and then, parting it, traced the clinging lawn over her belly. His fingers began to pinch up the fine cloth.
She had lain in a cold bed for a long time. The fight was over, and self-denial was no longer a buckler, a weapon. She knew now that she had been right to regard it so, for her heart was already racing, and the tide rising, prickling her skin. Death and mating. Young as he was, James had known that one led to the other.
Lovers spoke. Lust had no need of a voice, only of signals. He loosed his hands for her turning and then set again to what he had been doing with his fingers. The towel dropped. His lashes were sandy and his lips, a little parted, were pink. The lute had stopped and Georgie Bell, carrying it, had gone to the door.
He had gone, not to depart, but to answer a scratch. Voices murmured. The King stopped and turned his head, angrily. The lutenist said, ‘Lord?’
All the young man’s pent-up breath exploded in anger.
‘What?’
Bell’s face was red. He said, ‘I am sorry, my lord. But Lord Beltrees is waiting to see you.’
Interrupted desire has a peremptory pain of its own. The young man’s hands dropped, his face whitening. Gelis struggled to breathe and then, stooping, pulled up the towel and strained it about her. The King said, ‘You are mistaken.’
‘No, sire. It is the sieur de Fleury, just come in from Leith. He says he will wait.’
‘Does he –?’
‘He would also like to speak to madame. But he says he will wait until the King’s grace has completed his bathing.’
He is alive. He is here. The rest meant nothing.
James turned. Looking at his flushed face, Gelis thought that, from anger and lack of control, he meant to resume. She realised that if she resisted him, he probably would. For a moment she did not know, any more than he did, what she wanted. Then she made herself passive and waited, and James, his breathing slowing, stepped back. Then she saw the whole of what Simon had intended; and further saw that Nicholas had fathomed it, and was making his indifference known.
He will wait until the King’s grace has completed his bathing
.
He is alive. He is here. It has made no difference.
The King had scented deception as well. It was a common hazard, this kind of conspiracy. And it was hardly credible that Simon’s man should have seen Nicholas dead, and Nicholas should be here, at such a moment, alive. The King looked at her narrowly and saw, could not fail to see, a physical distress matching his own. His face softened and, bending, he set his lips to her breast. Then he released her and went.
She dressed slowly. Her body ached, and once she caught herself in a sob. She heard the King speaking outside the door, his voice metallic and cold. He was expressing his relief at seeing Lord Beltrees in health. A false report of his death had disturbed them. The dame de Fleury had taken it badly, and was only now in a fit state to join them. No doubt he would wish to speak to the lady alone in her chamber, and tomorrow, give them his news.