Caprice and Rondo - Dorothy Dunnett [318]
Finally, a statement emerged. The Duke, to his regret, had been unable to agree to an immediate peace, but had invited his cousin to shorten the war by leading a body of men to defend a pass for him. The King had excused himself, and was leaving immediately for Paris. It was the last day of the year, and the snow had begun falling again.
Diniz reappeared, looking worn, and tramped in his soaked boots and caked cloak straight up to Nicholas. ‘He didn’t come. Not de Ribérac himself, nor my uncle. The vicomte isn’t in Madeira or Portugal. He’s got leave to go back to Kilmirren.’
Nicholas looked at him. He said, ‘What did you think you were going to do? He is your grandfather.’
‘I hate him,’ said Diniz. He flung off his cloak.
‘I rather wanted to see him myself,’ Nicholas said. ‘But now it doesn’t really matter. You heard the bells ringing from Nancy? It seems some acrobatic friend has managed to climb in and tell them that the Duke of Lorraine is on his way with an army big enough to reduce us to sherbet. It’s a pity. Now they will never surrender. But at least Astorre will be able to say he’s fought with the Swiss.’
‘Oh, Christ,’ Tobie said. ‘We’ve no army. Out there, you could hardly count two thousand fit men.’
‘It’s ironic, really,’ Nicholas said. ‘I came to find de Salmeton and de Ribérac, and they’re both lolling somewhere in luxury while I’m stuck here with you. Well, come on. We might as well make the best of it. Who’ll take a wager on what Campobasso is going to do next?’
Chapter 43
FOR ALL THE MEN of the company founded by Marian de Charetty, the acute and mischievous spirit that drew them through the few days that followed was that of Claes, Marian’s husband. Claes, the gifted fool in adversity; Nicholas the man, who knew what now depended on him, and dedicated himself to salvaging what he could.
He could not alter the heavy folly of the Duke their commander, deaf to the appeals of his council to recoil and methodically rebuild his army, allowing the advancing forces to enter and reinforce Nancy, in the hope that they would then turn back themselves. René’s troops were twice his in number, but these were undisciplined louts, not the drilled Swiss of Grandson and Morat, inspired to protect their homeland at all costs. Once the pay began to fail, they would go.
None could influence the Duke, who derided such counsel and castigated his advisers as cowardly Frenchmen at heart. Nicholas could, however, expect to share the plans and the intelligence of those senior commanders who, weary but loyal, were thus being exposed to useless death. He could take part, with Astorre, in the devising of contingency plans, and he could return, with reservations perhaps of his own, and work over those plans with Astorre and the company. And because, in that lethal cold, the Charetty company was better drilled and cared for and nourished than most, the men responded. They responded to Astorre, whom they reviled and worshipped and trusted. They responded to the knowledgeable orders, the cracking speed, the bawdy jokes of young Claes, who had travelled the world and knew a thing or two. They knew they could depend on their chiefs.
He was forced to sacrifice John, as was inevitable, to the central artillery. They parted with no more than a feinted blow and, this time, a genuine smile.
He forfeited Diniz, unexpectedly, to the Duke, who had become disillusioned with Italians and Flemings and wanted a few soft-spoken, black-haired, reliable Portuguese, or even half-Portuguese, at his elbow. Diniz had looked distraught. ‘It’s all right,’ Nicholas had said. ‘You’re our strongest weapon. Just keep him from doing anything.’
But while he was speaking, the gleaming