Caprice and Rondo - Dorothy Dunnett [57]
‘I suppose so,’ said Julius. He felt perplexed. ‘He’s never said this before.’
‘He’s never been so isolated before.’ Her brow wrinkled. ‘But what should we do? The boy is charming, of course, but his parents are parting, and Nicholas has nothing to leave.’
‘Or not yet,’ Julius said. ‘A lot may happen. Perhaps the annulment won’t take place. Or we have a child of our own. But you of course must decide about Bonne. You know what is best.’
He felt discomfort, as always, about Bonne, firmly lodged in her convent because Anna would not burden him with the presence of a thin, sullen child who had outgrown her strength. Anna’s daughter might not want to marry. She might want to become a nun, for all he knew. Anna said, ‘You are always so kind about Bonne. Let us wait and see. There is no hurry yet.’ Shortly afterwards, they all left for home.
Julius’s saddle-girth broke as they approached the town moat at full gallop, and he was cast rolling and tumbling among the pounding hooves and yelping, slavering hounds. Nicholas was the first to help him up and he was able, cursing, to remount. He had been lucky. And it was the last mishap between that day and Thursday, the day when Anselm Adorne rode into town with his married niece and the Patriarch and the Danzigers, followed almost at once by the King.
Chapter 8
BLESSED AS Anna von Hanseyck was not, the Burgundian Ambassador’s niece participated in his ceremonial entry to Thorn, deeply thankful that it wasn’t timed for the morning. Kathi was sick in the mornings.
She had told Nicholas that she wished to be sure, and now she was. She had not told her husband. It was fairly typical, she thought, that the first high-water mark of her family life should be disrupted by a riverside brawl. The Danzigers had gone to stay at the Artushof. Dismounting at the handsome house they’d been allotted next door, she observed that Robin looked grim, the Patriarch smug and her uncle superbly composed. Of course, the papal nuncio was well known: his voice exploded in sonorous syllables from a raceme of tonsures, birettas and mitres. But Anselm Adorne, too, was acquainted with some of these officers. He was accustomed to occasions of state. And he was here to conclude at least part of his mission: to present and have answered his Duke’s personal message to the King. The King who was arriving tomorrow, and who might, among other things, overrule decisions made or not made further north.
Before nightfall, she had found out where Nicholas was. Ludovico da Bologna had informed her, taking her up to the top of the house and pointing out the Market Square she had just left, its bunting obscuring the vacant trestles and stalls and the arched entrance of the vast quadrilateral edifice at its centre, where the Mayor and Council would receive the King, and the King would receive Anselm Adorne and his Mission this Pentecost. The rain poured down, and a sodden triangle flicked in the wind, striping a passing dog yellow. The Patriarch said, ‘You are facing north. Half the merchants and most of the officials of Thorn stay in the residences lining this square. Look to the east, to the right of the Halls. The agent of the Banco de Niccolò occupies one of those houses. It is tall, narrow and painted red, black and white. You can see it from here.’
‘And Nicholas is staying with him?’ she said. The lower windows were tall enough to give a good view. It was like one of the thinner houses of Bruges, except that it had a wooden awning over its door, and its doorstep, spreading outwards and sideways, formed a narrow stone apron upon which, presumably, the inhabitants sat when it wasn’t raining. There was a simple balustrade round it, and steps led down from that to the street. Most of the houses had similar shelters or balconies, some of them of wood. There were cellars beneath them. She added, ‘It’s very near.’
‘You don’t see that as fortunate?’ said the Patriarch. ‘Adorne isn’t going to let you or your young master visit there, or you’ll upset his