Caprice and Rondo - Dorothy Dunnett [87]
‘Well, you were right. I had shot him,’ Nicholas said. Below him, there took place, remarkably, a faint widening of the patient’s lips. ‘And not before time,’ Nicholas added, responding to it with a tentative smile of his own.
‘You were always a bloody bad shot,’ Julius said in a whisper. Then he shut his eyes, and the doctor signalled that he should go.
Anna followed him out, and he did not know whether to touch her or not. He said, ‘I am so very sorry. What do they say?’
Her eyes today were less violet than black, and stained underneath with her vigil. She said, ‘They are not sure, but there is hope. They say it will be a week before they can be sure. Will you stay until we know?’
‘Of course,’ Nicholas said. ‘Did you think I would walk out?’
‘He jokes,’ she said, ‘but I know he would want it.’ She frowned. ‘We have taken your room.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said. He had had an interview with Adorne, stiff and cold in the Artushof. The Burgundian party was leaving, and the Danzig merchants with it. If Pan Nikolás wished, he might take temporary occupation of one of their rooms, with a bed for his servant. Thorn wished him to stay; the Danzig merchants still had hopes of him. So had the King. Jelita had transferred his belongings already. Adorne, receiving his thanks, had made it clear that he proposed to maintain the distance between them. He had not seen either Kathi or Robin this morning, and the Patriarch had gone out.
To Anna, Nicholas said, ‘Is there anything I can do? Anything at all?’
She looked up at him. Then she said, ‘Later, perhaps. Nothing just now, Nicholas, except perhaps to pray. He must mean as much to you as he does to me — perhaps more. You have known each other for a long time.’
He left quickly, but Cailimaco caught him as he ran down the steps. ‘How is he?’ He listened. He said, ‘It was my bow. I feel as if I had killed him myself. You were not accustomed to it.’
‘I was perfectly used to it,’ Nicholas said. ‘And I was and am grateful. Whatever happened was none of your doing. But now, if I stay, my duty must be to Julius. I shall have to make my apologies to you and to the King and, I suppose, to Signor Zeno.’
‘He has gone,’ Cailimaco said. ‘Come in. You look as if a glass of wine might not come amiss. He has gone to Hungary, where they will knight him and make him great promises, which they will not carry out. But I think he knew you would not go to Tabriz.’
Nicholas followed the Italian into his house, and stood in the hall. He said, ‘Who fired the shot that brought down the pavilion, and why? Zeno killed him.’
‘No one knows,’ the other man said. He pointed to a chair, and clapped his hands for a servant. ‘It was a murder attempt. The supports of the awning had been tampered with. It only required one shot by that bolt to bring it down.’
‘But against whom?’ Nicholas said. Now he had the wine, he wasn’t sure that he wanted it. He sat nursing the cup.
‘Who knows? Someone with a grudge against the elders of the town? Against the Burgundian party? Against the rich foreign merchants of the Artushof? They will investigate,’ Callimaco said, ‘but I doubt if anything will be found.’ His robes, as he took his seat, fell in graceful folds to the floor, and his fingers holding the wine were long and supple. He said, ‘I am more concerned over you. Will you talk about it?’
‘I made a mistake,’ Nicholas said. ‘I can, I think, draw the necessary conclusions without too much help. But I thank you.’
‘The sick man can recognise and heal his own ailment? It is possible. It is not what I meant. (You are not enjoying your wine?)