Gemini - Dorothy Dunnett [161]
His voice was bantering. The beseeching figure of a moment ago had quite gone. The King had not responded and David Simpson had understood, Tobie supposed, that he was not going to succeed. However angry and uncertain James might be at this moment, there were witnesses, there was evidence, and very soon it would be plain what Simpson had done, and he would face the penalty, which was death. The final reward for a petty, miserable life.
And yet his voice was teasing, amused; and Nicholas was looking at no one else. As if they were alone in the room, Simpson said, ‘You must forgive me. I had no idea you could truly divine. What a convenience!’
‘I am glad you think so.’ The King was looking elsewhere. Nicholas added, ‘And with accuracy, as a rule.’
‘Without any doubt. You saw Andro. I left a message. They will wait for me till sunrise tomorrow.’
‘Where?’ Nicholas said. Mar was shouting again, and men were trying to restrain him. The drowsiness was leaving the room: as the King’s voice rose, issuing orders, the stools and cushions were kicked aside, and the innocent afflicted were encouraged to stand to one side, preparatory to leaving. Among them was Gelis who, to Tobie’s eye, had drunk nothing at all and had simply been overcome by sleep. Then she was masked by the trailing shambles of Willie Roger and his musicians, one of whom brushed against Nicholas, who took the chance, presently, to rearrange his shirt-sleeve. Within it, if the doctor was not mistaken, was a small sharp instrument normally used for the trimming of strings.
Then Tobie and Nicholas himself were lashed by the wrist and herded with the other suspects to the opposite side. Simpson, his hands tied, walked beside them, together with Anselm Adorne, as yet unbound. Katelinje and John le Grant followed. Coming close to Simpson, Nicholas spoke, as if continuing a conversation, which indeed he was.
‘Where?’ he said; and the Procurator, smiling, answered, ‘Your castle, where else? How proud he will be, to die there, at sunrise, for you.’ Then he was pushed aside.
Tobie murmured, ‘What?’ But it was Henry de St Pol who usurped what he had been going to say, nodding to the guard who held Nicholas by the free arm before thoughtfully dismissing him and, twisting the arm, taking his place. Nicholas swore.
Henry said, ‘Yes, what? What have you done this time, dearest Uncle?’
‘Nothing,’ said Nicholas. ‘It’s the Blackfriars silver all over again. Do you know what I want?’
‘To escape?’ said Henry, and laughed.
‘No. To have David Simpson escape. His men have taken a hostage. If Davie doesn’t join them by sunrise tomorrow, the prisoner will die.’
‘Who?’ said Tobie; but he knew. He had heard the five letters that made up the man’s name. He was still trying to digest that catastrophe when John of Mar burst through the door to the turnpike. There, instead of descending, he set off, screaming and lurching, to scale the spiral steps to the roof. The flat, stone-flagged roof from which you could see the sea, and Edinburgh Castle.
The King shouted. Men raced to follow. Nicholas swore. Tobie, coming to life, said, ‘Mar didn’t help you. You can’t help him.’ Something ripped down his sleeve and parted the rope that bound him to Nicholas. He saw, to his utter astonishment, that David Simpson was one of those who had leaped for the door. Simpson was free. Simpson had been freed by Henry, who had now vanished. A hand, belonging to Nicholas, gripped Tobie hard and propelled him likewise to the door. As men bounded up the stairs, he and Nicholas bounded down. At the foot they saw no sign of David, but Henry de St Pol sprinting up with three horses. Behind him were two riders already mounted: Andro Wodman, looking displeased, and Gelis.
Nicholas stared at her. He said, ‘Why not? So where are the Chapel Royal Singers?’
Henry grinned. Gelis said, ‘I’m coming. And you’ll also need Henry and Tobie. Get up.’
Henry said, ‘You could send the doctor away.’
But