Gemini - Dorothy Dunnett [248]
In Scotland, the basic counter-measures were already long in place. For Nicholas, one of the headier satisfactions of the past months had lain in the preparation for this war. Plans had always existed, changing week by week and month by month as secret pacts came to light, and balance shifted between England and Burgundy and France, and, outside that close triangle of power, among the more distant states whose accommodation and markets they depended on.
Every country had spies. From long experience abroad, Nicholas had a knack for interpretation, for disentangling what was false or misleading. Added to that was his numeracy: the fast, effortless calculations upon which war logistics relied. His team had other skills.
In Burgundy, he had been an outside adviser within a structure which was already firmly in place, and headed by a strong-minded wrong-headed leader whom none could contradict. Scotland was different. He had been here now for four years, eight times as long as any previous visit. In pursuit of his own business he had explored every part of the country, and met all those of importance within it. In these last months, in common with the macers and heralds, he had quartered the country, carrying orders, seeking information, holding consultations. He was part of an active, intelligent group surrounding a King who might be as ambitious as Charles or Louis, but who had none of the abundant energy, the charm, the innovative imagination that could have drawn the men of worth to his side and made every corner of this small country his own. The well-intentioned lessons in style, in self-confidence had failed. After decades of quarrelling, the loss of Albany and of Mar had left the King isolated and astray. His unruly sister Margaret had deserted him for a lover. His sister Mary, now free of responsible advisers, had relapsed into emotional planning for the welfare of her first husband’s children, and sent him demands instead of sisterly compassion. Resentful of guidance, he brooded.
Will Scheves spoke of it to Nicholas. ‘Cortachy has been a courtier and adviser to great lords, and is a delightful companion to men of his own world. But this young King of ours will not confide in a paragon. We should have made you the King’s man from the beginning, instead of Albany’s.’
These days, he looked oppressed, as did Andreas. Nicholas thought of the King of France, and his physician-astrologer, whose reputation, too, depended on the health of his patient. And, of course, his financial wellbeing. It was said that when Louis fell ill, he paid his doctor ten thousand crowns monthly to encourage him to prolong his life. Nicholas said, ‘I think worse might have happened if Albany had been left un-supervised. At least we knew what to expect. And the King has some friends.’
This was true, for between them they made sure of it. The men of the chamber were not drinking-companions like Barbaro, or elevated dwarves, as in France; but they gave the King companionship, and played cards, and made music with him when he wished it. Had Nicholas not served Albany, he would have passed his days at the Castle in such a role. He didn’t think that the Archbishop was suggesting that he should do so now. He didn’t possess the King’s entire trust, as Adorne did. If he were to influence the throne, it would have to be done in some other way.
Himself, he fretted over his distance from Albany. Twice, there had been letters from Sandy in which, either directly or indirectly, Nicholas had been commanded to come back to France. When he had replied with explanations in place of instant obedience, the letters had stopped. Liddell still heard with some regularity: