Checkmate - Dorothy Dunnett [264]
They would hold their peace, it seemed; not least because there was no concrete evidence. But, Adam thought, should that proof come, there were those among the nine who would cry patriotism, whatever wisdom counselled. And Richard Crawford would be one of them.
He had watched the brothers through those days, helping with Archie to defend the little left of Lymond’s privacy. A reluctant watchdog, Culter held a post of small dignity, vulnerable to a thousand shafts of wit … which did not arrive. Francis at his most quiet, his most responsible showed his elder brother the face, Adam thought, his friends sometimes saw. And from that realized that Francis, in those final days, was drawing from obscurity an old friendship, to be remembered later maybe, and recognized.
He did not know that he himself reflected all of this until Lord Allendale, on edge; unmoved by alien weddings which boded ill for England, said, ‘Why so despondent? Now you are French and need never go back to cold winds and sour marsh and sodden mutton and kail for your faring. I hear you write to Philippa’s mother. Do you tell her all the news?’
Brooding and restless with a sharp edge, in those days, to his tongue, Austin Grey also had changed from the courteous, diffident youth Adam remembered. Adam said, ‘I have told Kate all that has happened: yes. As you know, it is hard to get letters back just now, with shipping at war in the Narrow Straits.’
‘And you have told her, I hope,’ Austin said, ‘of the drugs of which your friend avails himself so freely? Perhaps you provide them.’
‘No,’ Adam said. ‘But I should, if it were necessary. He has cared for me, when I needed it.’
‘He nursed you, perhaps, when you received the lash you bear on your face?’ Austin said.
For a moment Blacklock was silent. Then he said, ‘Yes. He sat with me all night.’
‘A faithful friend and physician. And who, as a matter of interest, had given you so brutal a lash?’ asked Austin Grey.
And Adam, on a long sigh, had looked at him and then turned and left without answering; for it was obvious that he knew the answer, and was tormenting himself as well as his captors. But at least, Adam thought, he did not have to go to the wedding.
*
At nine o’clock, Messieurs of the Town of Paris, variously attired in crimson and yellow and black, mounted mules and left the gates of the Hôtel de Ville, accompanied by all the town bands of archers, arbalesters and hackbutters in their livery, and led by the ten sergeants of the town in parti-coloured robes pinned by the silver ship emblem of Paris. From there they crossed the Pont Notre-Dame and reached, with difficulty, the parvis, or open space in front of the Cathedral which was jammed by people disputing like starlings.
Above their heads it could be seen that a platform had been erected in front of the west entrance to the Cathedral, with a canopy of Persian blue velvet studded with gold fleurs de lis and bearing the arms of France and Scotland. On either side of the great doorway were two hangings of the same material. And leading from the platform and round the right hand corner of the Cathedral was a high wooden gallery twined with vine leaves which continued, the town fathers knew, to the doors of the Episcopal Palace. Thus the royal celebrants, when the time came, could reach the church doors by bridging the people.
It was clear how the King of France intended to enter the Cathedral, but not so clear what route was set apart for Messrs the Aldermen, Receivers and Controllers, not to mention their mules.
They tried the doorway near the Church of St Marine and were hustled out by a gentleman usher. To enter the choir, in the end, they had to return to the great door and lower themselves, with a manful absence of imprecation, on to the long bridging ramp which