Caprice and Rondo - Dorothy Dunnett [88]
‘You spoke of them,’ Nicholas said.
He was ignored. ‘You are acquainted with the natural sciences, with the phenomena of the earth and the mathematics of the stars. You have experienced different customs, different climates. You have been exposed to prophecy: you have lent yourself, through the art of the pendulum, to forces you do not understand …’
‘I brought—’
‘You brought my cameo. In my turn, I thank you, but I do not want it. You have made it yours. It obeys you.’
‘It is the other way round,’ Nicholas said. ‘But I didn’t come —’
‘You didn’t come for such questions, or to assuage your guilt or your grief. You came, I think, for what I was about to offer you. To discuss what has happened, and to place it in relation to other events.’
‘What has happened? The fall of the awning?’ He was being stubborn.
If he was being stubborn, the other man, this time, was being deliberately wilful. Callimaco said, ‘I dream of writing a book. I had hoped, if you had stayed, that you would discuss it with me. It would contain all the themes I have mentioned. It would provide a context for the event you have not described: the discovery that one has deprived a friend of his life.’
The audible thud as the arrow entered the firm chest. The muddy, lustreless stain from which trembled and swelled a body of glistening scarlet. Once, they said, Callimaco had proposed to kill a man, in cold blood, for a principle. Nicholas said, ‘You will have to write your book without me.’
He received a long scrutiny. At length: ‘You are under no obligation,’ said the other. ‘There may come a time when you think differently, and I shall still be here, I suspect, with the book as yet unwritten. You did however make me one promise. What did my cameo tell you?’
Whoever is unsupported by the Mystery of Love shall not achieve the grace of salvation. Whoever shall cast love aside shall lose everything. ‘Something I already knew,’ Nicholas said, ‘but had tried to forget.’
‘Something painful. Shall I say I am sorry?’ Cailimaco said.
‘No,’ Nicholas said.
‘Because you deserve pain? Or because it has restored to you something of worth?’
Nicholas rose, and laid down his cup. Buonaccorsi, taking his time, did the same. Since Oliva, Nicholas was aware, the other man had changed in his perception. It was not enough, not nearly enough to urge him to confide. Nevertheless, he did consider the question, and answered it under his breath. ‘Both, I think,’ Nicholas said.
Nothing more of significance was said: he had taken his stance, and Callimaco had accepted it meantime. They parted with the light embrace warranted by their strange paper friendship, which had been replaced by something hardly less fragile. Making his solitary return to the place where he now lodged on sufferance, Nicholas found it empty of all but house-servants. Adorne and his family were out taking their leave of their hosts, as were Sidinghusen and Bock. He did not want to see them. He particularly did not want to meet the Patriarch yet. But standing there at his window, looking across at the bustling market, beneath the booming tower of the squat Burgh Halls, he was conscious, as seldom before, of being entirely alone.
Chapter 12
WHATEVER ADORNE’S opinion of Julius, it was not in his nature to leave Thorn without calling on Anna, to discover what she might need, and how her husband was faring. Kathi went with him, and stayed longer so that, alone, Anna could talk to her freely. She considered her brave. Listening to Anna, she thought of the contrast of her own night in Robin’s arms, wrapped about by new joy, while Anna might never know that comfort again. Yet Julius’s wife bore no grudge against Nicholas. ‘They are like children, careless with drink, wild with excitement …’ And she had rubbed a hand over her face. ‘It is my only fear, that when Julius recovers — and he will recover — Nicholas will still be here, unregenerate, and the mischief will start all over again.’
‘He will want to help you,’ Kathi said. ‘He will do anything you wish,