Caprice and Rondo - Dorothy Dunnett [327]
‘But it may have been another man’s,’ said Margaret of York. ‘It may have been retrieved and worn by its owner.’
‘It is possible, my lady Duchess,’ Nicholas said. ‘But I believe there were other signs.’
He was dismissed, with a purse of gold. He did not see the new ruler of Burgundy: the Duke’s young, betrothed daughter, who would not believe, either, that her father was dead.
Louis of France believed it. The recapture of Nancy was known to him inside four days; the report of the Duke’s death in five. The King had tried, for form’s sake, to conceal his transports of joy. Then he had called in his captains from Toul, and ordered the armies of France to invade Artois, Picardy and the two Burgundies. For now, after all, there were only fifteen hundred battle-weary survivors to face.
Ghent shook with the impact of it all: the streets, the courts of the palace were screaming with new reports and fresh rumours. Nicholas forced his way, deaf, through it all. Such information didn’t matter to him. It was for the men who still owned a shaken Bank, and a broken army, and had to try to do something with both. He would lay his own plans. The childish outburst in Metz was behind him, and the illusion that had followed. A thinking man keeps his own counsel. Don’t try to piss your woes over me.
Nicholas left the palace, therefore, blank-minded; stumbling; and joined Julius and Tobie, his keepers. ‘And now, bed,’ Tobie said. They still possessed the use of Adorne’s house.
‘And now, Anna,’ Julius said.
Nicholas stared at him. Tobie, he was aware, was doing the same. Anna, the vengeful, the deceitful, the sensuous, insinuating Delilah, had gone from his mind. He said, ‘What are you going to do? Whatever it is, you don’t need us.’
‘I need you,’ Julius said. ‘The Duke has gone. The law courts may not even meet. You and Gelis were Anna’s chief victims. Unless you insist, no one may trouble to deal with her now.’
He was probably right. Nicholas said, ‘But I don’t want revenge. I told you so. You must reach some sort of decision yourself. I’d say, turn her off, and forget her.’
‘A would-be murderess?’ Julius said.
‘Well, what can she do, with no money or standing? Give her a pension and send her abroad. Madeira’s a good place,’ Nicholas said.
It should have been enough. It seemed incredible that Julius should persist, as he did, until Nicholas grew sick of arguing, and rounded on him. ‘Look. Go and see her alone. Tell her what you’ve decided. For all I know, she may think exile worse than waiting for months to be tried. Then go and tell the authorities.’ He paused. Then he said shortly, ‘And take a weapon. She’s dangerous.’
They looked at one another. Julius said, ‘At least, come to the house. At least, be there if I need you.’
Nicholas agreed. He felt mortally weary. He heard Tobie proposing to come and keep him company. Thank you, Tobie. Once it had all mattered so much, and now it didn’t. He said to Tobie, just before they left for the Hôtel Gruuthuse, ‘Gelis and Jodi are in Bruges. I have to see them. Even if the Bank won’t let me into the house.’
‘I know,’ Tobie said. ‘So does Julius. But you made Anna your business. You owe it to Julius to help him finish it. And nobody’s rushing to Bruges in one day. You want to be fresh when you get there. If things go well, I’ll set out with you tomorrow.’
THE CHAMBER WHERE Anna von Hanseyck was secured was pleasant and large, and not obviously a place of confinement, except for the locked door and the bars on the windows. Marguerite van Borselen, having taken Julius there, returned to talk softly to Nicholas and Tobie in her parlour. She commiserated with them both over their losses, and what they had been through at Nancy. Louis had been devastated. She did not know what they were going to do.
She was too kind to suggest that one of the things they might have to