Caprice and Rondo - Dorothy Dunnett [331]
‘Because, unlike Adelina, Gelis is someone who does not want to hurt you, these days,’ Tobie said. ‘But you must have found that out, by now. Will you stay at Spangnaerts Street?’
‘Not if it disturbs anyone,’ Nicholas said.
‘Oh, I think you should get a night out of them,’ Tobie said ironically. ‘You go to Adorne’s, and I’ll ask.’
AS HAD BEEN SAID, Katelijne Sersanders in her loss was surrounded by family and friends, and very much loved. The blow of her bereavement would also be softened, you would think, by the extent of a disaster which had made of her one of thousands of widows, and changed for ever the land she was reared in. She was even thought to be fortunate, being young, with no more than a short married life to grieve over. She was aware of all that. She could not say that, in those weeks of isolation and terror, her heart had been in Lorraine with two men, not one. Or her heart aching for one, and her spirit in bond to the other.
Diniz had brought the news of Robin’s death to her uncle’s house, and Nicholas’s wife had come with him. Adorne himself had ushered them into her room and had stayed, ever kind, ever gentle, while it was broken. Robin had died beside Nicholas, where he would have wanted to be. Nicholas was alive.
In Gelis’s face, telling her, there had been no room for relief, only wretchedness on Kathi’s behalf. It occurred to Kathi, incongruously, that she at least was spared the task of telling her children. They had loved Robin, but were too young to understand, or remember him. But of course, she would have to send and tell Archie.
There was no recognisable body. She knew there had been wolves. A funeral Mass would be held here, in the church.
Nicholas was going first to Ghent, but after that, would come here directly, with Tobie. Gelis said, ‘He will tell you everything.’ Then she had paused and said, ‘Be gentle. This will be one of the worst things that has happened to him, as well.’
So, living through the unreal days, Kathi waited.
HE DID COME to her first, riding alone to the Hôtel Jerusalem and speaking briefly to Adorne before Kathi was warned and he went, still alone, to see her in her chamber.
She had heard he was hurt, but had not known how much. He said, ‘I am so sorry.’ It came after a while, as if he had not really thought it necessary to speak. Anyone else might have added, defensively, ‘I did my best to protect him.’
She sat down, so that he could. ‘Was he happy?’ she said.
His expression altered. They talked together so seldom; sometimes she forgot, too, what it was like. He said, ‘Like Astorre. They were such fools.’
‘I know,’ she said. Then she said, ‘I made him happy, too.’
His face softened. He said, ‘Very few people have the life they deserve. Robin did, from beginning to end. You must be so thankful that you let him go.’
And no one else in the world would have said that. Until that moment, she had not wept.
After a while, he came to her and held her closely and quietly, as if he were comforting a young brother. Then, when it was over, he moved about, awkwardly, and found them both some wine, and would not drink until she did. Then they talked.
It was not much about Robin, or the fighting. It was about her uncle, and the fear for the future that was beginning to stalk Bruges, and Ghent. The future with an exhausted treasury, and no army, and France already inside the barriers. The future, with a girl ruling, betrothed to the son of a German Emperor, while the duchy lay disconnected, its separate parts warring against one another, its rich towns fearful for their independence and resentful of those who, like Adorne, like Gruuthuse, like Hugonet, had helped to raise armies and taxes, steadily holding a course which might pacify the Duke, and yet reserve to the towns some of the sovereignty that they craved.
The foreign merchants were uneasy. Already, there was a move to leave Bruges. Kathi made a small noise of commiseration. ‘Poor Tommaso. He was so angry with Uncle, when all he got for the loss of the San Matteo was a soothing letter