Gemini - Dorothy Dunnett [151]
Now that he was less needed at home, Tobie had begun to establish a practice. Some physicians, preferring not to lodge in a great household, operated from their homes. Most followed the custom of Bruges and rented rooms in a tavern, which were also used by other professionals, such as scribes or lawyers or notaries. Himself, he liked the Argyll inn, because he admired the great Campbell who owned it. He claimed to be astonished at Clémence when she suggested that the chief attraction might lie with the hostess. But truly, you would search St Johnstoun of Perth and Stirling and Edinburgh before you found a brewster-wifie as good as Lang Bessie.
It was an innocent dream, for a once-randy doctor. As a medical man, Tobie admired the splendours of Bessie, but that was all, for he was also part of a team. Argyll’s tavern made just the kind of meeting-place Nicholas wanted, when he needed John or Andro or Tobie to tell him what was happening, or to meet Colin Campbell himself, or Scheves or Whitelaw or Avandale outside their houses. Women couldn’t so easily come there, or Robin, but other places were found. It was like it used to be: a team of experts in Bruges. It was better than it used to be: for Nicholas was at the centre, well liked and well supported; with even Anselm Adorne content to be his partner. Burgundy had been too big; so had France. Tobie himself had once chosen Urbino. Scotland was like Urbino: it was the right size for them all. They could help, here.
He even got to appreciate Conrad, the formidable doctor who had once looked after Jodi. He respected Scheves, not because he was now an Archbishop, but because of the medicine he had studied at Louvain. As for Andreas, the other Louvain graduate, Tobie had long since identified a common streak of levity which had banished all their old rivalry, although he shied from the other man’s charts and would not let him talk of astrology. Nicholas plumbing the earth had been bad enough. Tobie was thankful, he mentioned to Clémence, that the lad’s divining had stopped.
Tobie didn’t realise how much Clémence worried, on his behalf, in case anything happened to Nicholas. Or that in Iceland, long ago, Kathi too had been struck by the place Nicholas held in their lives, and had been afraid for them all, and still was. Kathi, active and chattering, often helped Tobie with his visits. Margaret also wanted to come, but was to wait until she was four. Margaret didn’t like being without Jodi.
Yule came, and they all received presents.
The King gave his physicians thick scarlet gowns, and caps with lappets.
The Queen got a new hat from five murders, the King having discovered that he could raise money by pardoning crimes. He had begun (he jested) to pursue some slight misdemeanours for small clothes.
Tam Cochrane received a gold chain. So did Adorne. Nicholas got a fancy engraved ring from Sandy, and another, elegant in its restraint, from Adorne. He felt embarrassed by Sandy’s and touched by Adorne’s. He wore neither.
Gelis gave him a drawing, once torn and now lovingly pieced together. It was of himself, young and laughing and nude, and it was signed by Donatello, who had added a certain word under his name. Nicholas showed it to John, who went away and didn’t come back for a while.
When he did, it was simply to say, ‘It’s all right. I’m not going back. Or not yet.’
The lure, the enchantment of the world they had left. The enchantment of beauty: of glorious buildings and exquisite gardens, of fabric and carvings; of music and poetry and paintings. The sublime significance of the sea, and the snows, and the deserts.
Nicholas said, ‘I know. I know. Some day perhaps. But not yet.’
Sod beauty. The messy significance of sorting out people.
THE SIRE DE FLEURY and his friends were invited to join the Court, which had settled at Craigmillar Castle for the festive weeks following Epiphany.
It had been an open winter. Ships