Gemini - Dorothy Dunnett [153]
You noticed, now, when Nicholas was present in a room. Or you did if he wanted you to. Disapproving, Tobie knew how it was done: how Nicholas could alter his walk so that the weight of his open robe took the eye, offering glimpses of velvet and embroidered lawn and hose-silk; of all the sheaved muscle from the round of his thighs to his ankles. He knew how the candelabra were engaged to illumine the broad, dimpled cheek and muscular neck, and the intimate, smiling grey gaze. And how, when Nicholas moved, the unforced, flexible voice would carry with ease, as over the chatter of rattle-mice. When thus, he drew life to wherever he was, eliciting animation and laughter. It might have been disquieting unless you knew, as Tobie did, how different it could be. ‘Stone on one side,’ Mistress Bel had once said of Nicholas, ‘and skitter-raw on the other, like a badly-baked cake.’
Tobie had seen Gelis, conducting a meeting, employ something like the same arts. But now, pale and golden and shimmering, moving smiling among all her friends, she spoke quietly, her back to the room, a foil for her husband.
David Simpson said, ‘How we all love him. Zacco’s darling, do you remember? If Nicholas came to my bed, I dare say I would take him tomorrow, lout though he is. It is a dangerous magic. It is a magic? No one could pretend he is handsome.’
Davie Simpson was handsome. He stood before Tobie now: a short man with a large-eyed, beautiful face, and loosely waving black hair below the velvet brim of his hat. With swordsman’s shoulders beneath the pleated silk doublet, showing the Holland shirt sewn with white silk at the throat, and archer’s strong fingers playing with the intricate buttons which were jewels.
Tobie said, ‘I like your dress. Not short of gold, then?’
‘Not while I have naïve friends,’ Simpson said. ‘Oh, look! The Princess Mary has sent down her page to summon us all to the Presence. Do you recognise him? The doting small Jordan de Fleury, come to collect his own parents.’
It was Jodi, in miniature yellow taffeta and kersey hose, gazing up with glowing grey eyes at his smiling father. Tobie felt cold. Yet they had foreseen this. Simpson would be here: that they knew. So would Jodi. So were Nicholas and Gelis and himself, John and Kathi and Wodman. All of them abhorred by Simpson.
Simpson had been reading his thoughts. He said, with exaggerated relish, ‘You are quite right. I have decided that life is too short for tolerance. If something irks me, I remove it.’ He looked amused.
Jodi was leading the way to the stairs, which were of the steeply spiral variety that led Gelis to fear for the seams of her skirts. She clutched them, twisting, and climbed. John and Wodman were ready to follow. Nicholas did not at once move. It seemed to Tobie that the other man had been touched by his fancy, and had seen the curtain float back, and had even glimpsed what stood behind.
Then Nicholas saw Simpson, and smiled.
Chapter 18
And confectioun wennomous it suld nocht
To sempill folk be nother sauld nor bocht.
UPSTAIRS, HEAT AND noise pulsed from beyond the carved screen that guarded the end of the Great Hall of Craigmillar. The hall, being only thirty-five feet in length, became easily crowded, despite its deep window embrasures; and its low painted ceiling repeated all that it heard. Nevertheless, there was a dance in progress, led by the King partnered by Katelinje Sersanders of Berecrofts, who was small enough to make James look gratifyingly tall. He might, clearly, have been taller, had he not been taught to ride at too early an age. Kathi, chattering