Gemini - Dorothy Dunnett [211]
You could see his attention waver. And you could see Henry watch for his opening.
It came. His dark auburn hair wet, the red flag of his inheritance burning over one cheek, John of Mar made a single wide swing that left his heart open, and Henry swept his blade forward.
The killing blow never fell. Nicholas made a single, vigorous gesture and the little knife left his fingers in a whistling arc that ended with a thud in Henry’s body, between shoulder and neck. Henry’s sword dropped to the floor, and Henry himself went crashing back against the unshuttered windows of the gallery. For a moment he swayed there, his eyes closed. Then his weight tumbled him over the sill and back downwards into the street, where the crowd’s chatter rose to a roar. Mar stood, looking surprised. Nicholas swept past him to the window, and looked down.
The storeys were low. Henry had not fallen far, and the packed heads and shoulders had cushioned his landing. Already their battered indignation was giving way to good-natured concern. Nicholas looked down and saw Henry’s body tumbled amongst them. As he watched, it began to unfold. Henry’s shocked face appeared. His upper doublet was sodden with blood and his face was chalk-white, but he was not dead or dying.
Johndie Mar said, ‘What did you do that for? I’ll go down and kill him!’
‘Do you think so?’ said the Earl of Argyll doubtfully. ‘That is, there is no doubt, my lord, that you won. He was disarmed. Men will see that he has been adequately punished. Is it worth any more? As I mentioned, my rooms are upstairs, where we can sit comfortably with some very good wine.’
The King’s brother stared at him, coughing at intervals. Sweat shone on his face and he stood unevenly, as if in pain, although there was no sign of a wound. For a moment he resisted with petulance; then, driven perhaps by discomfort, he followed Argyll upstairs to his parlour. After a moment, Whitelaw discreetly came down.
By that time, Nicholas was out in the street. Dusk had deepened to darkness: breaking through the flickering circle of torches, Nicholas de Fleury dropped, a shadowy, anonymous figure, at the wounded boy’s side. St Pol’s eyes were closed, but every time someone touched him, he swore. He had no broken limbs, and you could see that the wound was deep but not threatening. Nicholas rose and stepped back, still unnoticed, as Argyll’s men came running out, followed almost at once by an apothecary. Then Henry was expertly lifted and conveyed, not to the tavern, but further uphill, to his grandfather’s house. Shortly after, the apothecary emerged, packing his satchel. To enquirers he said, ‘Nothing too serious. He was lucky. He is young.’ And added, sotto voce, to someone he knew, ‘Damn the boy. A little more enterprise, and we might have been rid of Johndie for ever.’
Nicholas went home.
IT WAS NOT, by that time, going to be the second homecoming that Gelis had personally envisaged, but she was far too charitable to object. Even when, stirring at last the following morning, Nicholas greeted her with shame-faced apology, she smiled, coming forward, and, sitting on the edge of the bed, took his hands. ‘You asked if I minded if you got very drunk, and I didn’t.’
He had told her, in essence, what had happened. Now she said, ‘I sent Lowrie to ask how Henry is. The answer seems to be extremely angry, and in some pain, but not in any danger. Bel has been sent for, and word has gone to Kilmirren. The old man may come over, they say.’
‘With a knotted whip,’ Nicholas said. ‘No. At least he will appreciate what would have occurred if Henry had actually