Gemini - Dorothy Dunnett [180]
She was present, in velvet and furs, with her long, unbound red hair crowned by a jewelled circlet that cost someone, such as the exchequer, quite a bit. Her attendants and her sister Mary sat beside her.
Johndie Mar, their brother, was seated nearer the throne, and on his cheek was the red mark that spelled trouble. Johndie Mar, everyone knew, didn’t want his sister married in England, but that wasn’t going to change anything. Violence wasn’t the answer. Procrastination, there was a great word, now. And once the marriage took place, there were certain advantages. That girdle cost a pretty penny. And her shoes.
The rest of the decisions were the kind that could be rattled through: to pursue new trading measures with Burgundy; to arrange to keep the peace between the dense crowds of quarrelling families who had abandoned litigation in favour of force. It was just as well. It was just as well to get through it all quickly, after Johndie Mar had had his say.
What had happened was not at first clear to the crowds who waited to see the King emerge from his Parliament (‘He’s an awful wee man, is he not? And where’s Margaret? Where’s Bleezie Meg? How d’ye fancy a sonsy big Englishman, hen?’). But as the delegates emerged, and spotted their wives, and began to call out, everyone knew soon enough.
That Johndie Mar. Standing up and shouting that they were selling his sister. And the officers of the house thumping their staffs, and the King going as red as his brother, and Argyll (it was always our Colin) leaping forward to get hold of Johndie and take him away, shrieking still. The Guard helped. (See that bonny yellow-haired lad, I’d buy him).
And then Meg had burst into tears, and been taken out by her sister.
And then Drew Avandale had stood up and made a speech about how the nation had prospered in these years of peace with England, and how important it was to strengthen the links between the two countries, at a time when trade with Burgundy was at its most prosperous, and mischievous intrusion by others should be repelled. Which everyone took to refer to the French, who didn’t want England to trade with Burgundy at all, and especially not to feel free to ally with Burgundy to resist the French advance into Flanders. For, of course, there was that. You might feel sorry for wee Meg, but she was performing a patriotic service, going to England, as well as getting her girdles paid for by somebody else. Well, that was what most thought. But here was someone shouting outside the Parliament door, and they had to silence him. Poetry, he was talking. Collecting for Blind Harry, maybe. Here, that was a joke.
The procession afterwards was all the way down to Holyrood, where there was to be a banquet, with guests. The Burgundians were to be there: Adorne of Cortachy, who was a handsome man, the lassies all agreed, with his nephew and niece, and the big fellow, Nicol de Fleury. The one that sang, and put on the plays, and dressed everyone up. He was all right, was Nicol. And a right marrow of Sandy’s. Where was Sandy? Where was Nicol, come to that?
Avandale said, ‘Speak in a low voice, if you will. You are telling me that it is as we feared? Albany has set out for the Borders?’
Adorne said, ‘I am sorry, my lord. With Liddell attending Parliament, nothing so rash was expected But the Duke has collected some men and is riding south, gathering more. He has made no public proclamation of intent, so that there has been no excuse to stop him. Dispositions have been made: there are bands of men at various places who will try to divert him in innocent ways.