Gemini - Dorothy Dunnett [156]
‘It’s magnificent,’ Tobie said. ‘Ask John or Andro. The pot’s over there. Is Adorne with you?’
‘He thought the King would be going to bed,’ Andreas said. ‘I was to come and investigate. It looks very black.’
‘It tastes quite remarkable,’ Tobie said. ‘Especially with the spiced wine. Get some and come and sit down.’ He watched Andreas go. He found it quite stimulating until the King’s voice broke through, a little slurred, a little peremptory. ‘Sir doctor! Dr Andreas? We have a command for you, Master David and I. We have a command for all of you.’
Andreas stood where he was; then, bowing, walked to where the King had sunk into a chair not his own and was fanning himself. Nicholas also had risen. David Simpson, at the King’s side, smiled and said, ‘And you, Nicol. The King wants some magic; and who better to supply it than you, with your divining, and the particular powers of my lord Archbishop and Dr Andreas, disciples of the great astrologer Spierinck? Did he not follow Dr Andreas’s father as Rector of the University of Louvain? Were you not there yourself, Nicol, with your young master?’
‘You have heard me boast about it,’ said Nicholas, a little shame-faced. ‘As who would not, when the King’s own kinsman the late Bishop Kennedy studied there, and Dr Andreas’s father was the Duchess’s trusted physician? As for magic’—he flung out an arm—‘none can surpass us. Only bring me a rabbit.’
There was a ripple of companionable laughter, abruptly cut off. The King said, crossly, ‘We do not speak of common pursuits, fit for children. We speak of magic.’
As he said the word, half the candles went out. The King looked surprised, and then vaguely pleased. Simpson looked merely pleased. The snuffers bowed and retired. Nicholas said, ‘My lord King, forgive us. You desire us to leave.’
‘We desire you to stay,’ said the King. ‘And to utilise your pendulum. And tell us when Christ is returning, and when the Pope is expected to die, and how many heron we shall raise in Bathgate bog on the morrow.’
Profound silence fell. Dimly seen, the King smiled. Albany grinned, and everyone present broke into laughter, with the exception of Nicholas, Andreas, Scheves, and some of the Preston family. Nicholas said, ‘My lord?’
‘Yes?’ said the King. ‘You mean you wish to be excused? Indeed, we seem to remember that you had little success with your tricks in the past. We expect better things now.’ He had shed his furred gown, as most of them had, but although his skin sparkled with sweat, he lay back in the gloom, his lids heavy, his mood one of confused, slightly malicious enquiry. Albany sat at the top of the dais, and Mar sprawled on a step under the thoughtful gaze of Will Scheves.
Nicholas said, ‘I am afraid, sire, that my divining was as poor as you say: I have long given it up. Of course, there was no connection with prophecy, only with underground minerals. Even so, my clerical friends were uneasy and, certainly, the Papal Collector would not approve.’
‘That,’ said David Simpson quickly, ‘is precisely why, with the King’s leave, I should like to put it to the test, and on rather more serious matters. Dr Andreas predicted the Duke of Burgundy’s death, and it came about. He may have means of telling, even more important to us than the death of the Pope, whether our own lord is in danger. Or can you assure us, Nicol, with your pendulum, that his grace the King will have a long life?’
The candles flickered. Time passed. The King shook his head, as if trying to clear it. He sat up a trifle and frowned, peering at Nicholas. He said,