Gemini - Dorothy Dunnett [314]
Wodman watched. At the little inn above the slope to the river, the rider dismounted; someone led off his horse, and the entire group wandered round to the side, where the benches were set out. After a while, Wodman got up and followed them, but to a different part of the yard, where some men he knew were already planted in front of their tankards. They cleared him a seat with a greeting: ‘Aye, Fletcher!’
Making arrows was a skill Wodman had that he could take anywhere, especially close to a garrison. Fletchers were not all that common.
He had wondered what Nicholas would do, but he just looked up and sang out the same nickname, ‘Fletcher!’ Then, waving his mug, he rose and wandered over, as if they knew one another quite well. Nodding to him, he grinned easily round at the company. ‘I said to myself, he won’t remember Cuddie the Hod, but there, he did. Fletcher, how are ye?’ There was no trace of French or Flemish in his voice. He was a hellish good mimic. And what he was doing, of course, authenticated them both. The English were looking for a single, displaced Burgundian whom nobody knew.
Later, alone in his primitive lodging, he got the flaming row he expected; then Nicholas calmed. It was for him that Wodman had gone back, once he had eluded the dogs. Then, finding him gone, he had tried to trace him. After that, it was a story much like that of Nicholas. Horses were not easy to come by. Like Nicholas, he had come most of the way on foot. He had only been there for a few days.
‘I might have gone over already,’ Nicholas said. He still sounded curt.
‘Then you would have carried the message yourself,’ Wodman said. ‘I took the decision to wait. Gloucester’s been sitting opposite Berwick for days. Everyone will know what his strength is by now, and it won’t be hard to work out his plans. Your guess about Norham and Coldstream was just a guess.’
‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘That’s why this squad of builders is here. We are to strengthen the bridge, in case they have to bring cannon from Norham.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ Wodman said. He didn’t ask how Nicholas had passed himself off as a mason’s man. He had worked with Cochrane, and with Fioravanti in Moscow. He probably knew more than his master did.
‘No. And what the Council needs to know about Albany isn’t a guess either,’ Nicholas said. ‘Let me alarm you about that as well. We know Albany has paid Edward homage, and promised part of the Lowlands and Berwick, provided Edward puts Albany on the throne. Revolting. Dastardly. But how much does he mean it?’
‘You think it’s a trick?’ Wodman said. He was sceptical. He was avidly fascinated.
Nicholas said, ‘In anyone else, it might be. Sandy’s mind takes one step at a time. Provided it turns into an easy, popular conquest, he’ll let it happen. He’ll lose face; he’ll lose Berwick; but he may convince himself that the English can never afford to garrison the other lands, and the Borderers will take them back. If Edward dies, the overlordship will die, too, very likely. And meanwhile, Sandy is so well loved compared with James, that he’ll be forgiven.’
‘He believes that?’ Wodman said.
‘He wants to. Edward wants to as well. Edward wants, and has got, something on paper that justifies virtually anything he wishes to do, and redeems his prestige as well. But he’s kept his fleet in the south, and he’s only licensed the army, once they’re mustered, for a total of four weeks in the field. That means he expects to win Berwick, for sure. Then Gloucester has to achieve something conclusive that will give him control in four weeks. A national rising for Sandy would do it, forcing the King