Gemini - Dorothy Dunnett [265]
The meeting over, Nicholas and Anselm Adorne walked uphill to the High Street; impeded as ever by the onslaught of eager bodies who wished to sell something, or extract news or impart it, or establish a personal forum on a question of public importance. Fresh from the sea, it was a change to be among pigs, and horseflies, and children; and banging from the hammermen’s shops, and disputatious clamour from packed, busy markets. Every brosy face on the causeway had a name, or a nickname. However unavoidably courtly their clothes or glittering the chains of their chivalric orders, this was also true of themselves. Everybody called Nicholas Nicol, and quite a few called Adorne Seaulme, an unexpected tribute from the horseless class which he received in good part. Life in Edinburgh was heavily communal, as it was in the Canongate, whose smells and noise were considerably worse. Adorne said, ‘Come to my house for a moment.’ He meant his own house, in the same street.
Kathi was there. It was an extra pleasure, like the coolness and quiet. Perhaps because he was used to the dyeyards, Nicholas functioned at work without reference to his surroundings: the crowded premises of the two Berecrofts houses shook his concentration no more than did the silence of a Greek cell. When he was not working, it was different.
Kathi looked the same. No, that was not true. Between them, Robin and her children had achieved the impossible: had anchored her to normal living; had absorbed the extremes of energy which had made her life so exhausting, and left her—not calm, she would never be that, but less volatile.
Nicholas himself had once been the same; perhaps still was. Together, they had engendered a form of articulate and genderless lunacy which he did not allow himself to dwell upon now, for it could not have continued, if only because it put her under too much strain. She was still very astute. She was saying, ‘How extraordinary, you managed to walk up from the Cowgate without buying anything.’
‘I didn’t,’ said Nicholas, defensively. ‘I bought another goose. It’s being delivered. Would you like one?’
‘I have three,’ Kathi said. ‘No household containing Hob need ever fear thieves. Come and have some food. Are you wondering why you are here?’
‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘I am trying to stay happy for as long as possible.’
Adorne said, ‘Don’t look at me. It’s Katelinje’s idea.’ Already, his face was lighter, as it had looked in the summer evenings this year when, for the first time since Phemie’s death, he had begun to entertain like-minded friends, bringing together singers and verse-makers: Jock Ross and his son-in-law, the goldsmith’s cousin; the clerk Stobo; the young man from Dunfermline who had studied at Paris with Jan. Even, once, Blind Harry, suddenly welcome at Court and on campaign. With, of course, Willie Roger and his songsters. Sometimes, among the like-minded friends, with the King’s approval, were visiting envoys such as Ireland, and Leigh.
Tonight, it was only Kathi, flanked by Nicholas and her uncle, seated before a table of savoury dishes, and attended by polite, silent servants. The wine-flagon was a fine one, of glass, which Nicholas had last seen at the Hôtel Jerusalem in Bruges. It seemed lucky, when so much else had gone, that it had survived.
The servants performed their last office and left. Kathi said, ‘Guess.’ There was a trace of mischief in it; yet her face was not perfectly cloudless. And she was here, and not at home.
Nicholas said, ‘Julius?’
Her grimace made him want to laugh with relief. He went on, ‘Julius and his new zeal to authenticate me as a St Pol? He has been asking questions of Robin?’
Julius had not been with the fleet. Julius, it was plain, had been busy. Kathi said, ‘It’s my fault. I’m sorry. I didn’t think Robin knew anything anybody else didn’t know. But he was talking to Julius about France, and he mentioned