Caprice and Rondo - Dorothy Dunnett [79]
In adversity, Adorne could be both collected and patient. Now he said, ‘Robin, I can hardly do that. What are they going to ask, and how will it be unfair?’
But it was too late for Robin to answer him. As the question was asked, the President returned to his seat, bringing with him the last person a dismissed Burgundian ambassador would wish to see: Caterino Zeno, with his glossy black hair and his sallow face round as a button. He was already equipped for his display: his left forearm, as he bowed to Adorne, was sheathed in an elaborate bracer of embossed leather, and the thumb ring on his other hand was of jade. Gifts from his wife’s uncle, no doubt, like the bow chased with gold, and the great sheaf of eagles’ wing-feathers that his servant held in their quiver, a snow leopard’s tail furled round their stems.
Foreign rubbish, Kathi diagnosed bitterly. Persian rubbish, such as Meester Nicholas de Fleury and probably Meester Julius of Bologna had been trained to handle in the Levant, as Zeno had in Tabriz. And now they were being brought into use to ridicule the Burgundian ambassador. The former, the unwanted Burgundian ambassador. And even as she formed the thought, Zeno spoke — not in Italian but in loud and creditable Polish, addressing her uncle.
‘My lord, forgive me. I have usurped your position, thinking that the King’s jealous love would prevent him from sparing you to us. We know you must hasten to Persia, but we also know your reputation for chivalry. The President and I beg you to do us the honour of leading us in this, our small demonstration of horseback archery with the small bow. A round at the mast, a round at the butts, a round of flight shooting, and then some trick work together. My lord is familiar with all this, of course.’
He knew enough Polish by now to understand the gist of what was said. He also knew its intent. Her uncle answered, in Italian, ‘You flatter me, sir. The short bow is not my weapon. I have some skill at straight shooting, that is all.’
‘But that is all you require,’ said Caterino Zeno. ‘Leave the last phase to us, but give us the pleasure of sharing this skill with the guild. I have a bow you may use. It will serve you well at the mast and the butts and perhaps you would demonstrate a flight shot to end with. That is all we ask. Pray agree!’
Anselm Adorne had suffered one public humiliation. He would not show cowardice by trying to evade another. He said, ‘Trick archery I must leave to you. But yes, I should be glad to open with you in a display of the other kind, so far as is in my power.’
Anna was biting her lip. Robin growled. Kathi wondered what he had expected to say to Nicholas when he arrived. Perhaps to ask him not to take part, or to accept Robin as his squire, or to allow Robin to shoot alongside him. But Robin had rarely used the short bow. A first-class archer, as her uncle was, could wield it, as he had said, in straight shooting. He had excused himself, reasonably enough, from the other kind. But to save his face, and his reputation, he must excel at what he did.
They had not expected him to agree. Kathi saw the President’s surprise, and Zeno’s mischievous grin, and the air of weary resignation with which her uncle rose, shed his splendid robe, and followed Zeno on to the field in the white shirt and sleeveless pourpoint and hose that emphasised his flat shoulders and still-supple waist, his fair, whitening hair curling round his neck under his deep velvet cap. Her lips compressed and her stomach rose into her throat. She excused herself and stepped quickly out, seeing Robin’s glance of surprise as she went.
Some time, she would have to tell him, but not now. Not until her uncle had agreed to send them both to Tabriz; and perhaps not even then. She wondered, while being sick, if Persians were good at midwifery. She wondered, with angry impatience, what had gone wrong this time with Nicholas, and at what point even Robin would see