Gemini - Dorothy Dunnett [32]
Albany hoped (he said) that de Fleury observed the changes since his last visit—the well-built houses on either side, some of them tiled, and with chimneys. They were better served, too, with royal merchants: Yare and the Prestons and Scheves brought in (he mentioned) all they could want, so that he trusted de Fleury would not rely too much on his favour. They had the dowry arriving, of course, from the young Prince’s marriage contract with England, although that would be offset when—’
‘… When?’ prompted Nicholas, a little late.
‘… when Meg’s—when the lady Margaret’s future is settled. My brother and I are concerned. There are those who wish to see her married in England.’
Albany had spent some enforced time in London as a boy. Some royal prisoners hated it; some looked back on it in a delirium of nostalgia and envy. Nicholas said, ‘What does she want?’
‘She despises England, as I do,’ said Albany. ‘I want you to speak to James, and to Mary.’
Christ. A nobleman with two servants glanced up and then stopped, looking surprised. Nicholas couldn’t remember who he was. They had come to the open grassland around St Giles, and would soon reach the West Bow, and the domiciles opposite, which had once housed the family St Pol, and sometimes sheltered an elderly lady of whom he was deeply afraid.
Nicholas said, ‘My lord, I shall be glad to help, if you think they will listen to me. The King has changed, I am told.’
‘You know how to entertain him,’ Albany said. ‘Talk to him. Put on a play. Bring him a fine hat, or a horse. Then tell him not to trust England.’
He was dreaming. They were riding in public, with their escort about them, and Sandy’s fractious voice rising and falling. To be fair, it was not audible to anyone else, except perhaps Sir James Liddell, his henchman. It was the lack of commonsense that made Nicholas nervous. It continued until they had climbed the long slope to the Castle and had been saluted within, to hand over their horses and scale the steep flight of steps that took them close to the crown of the vast, uneven plateau that contained the fortress and brooded over the loch and the town far below. The King lodged in David’s Tower, the new keep that had been building when Nicholas had promoted the crazy ball game on the walls that had nearly killed that courageous young acrobat who, swarming up the tower, had risked his life to protect Nicholas. An acrobat whose career was to finish by twenty.
At the top, the buildings were handsome enough. Painted, gilded, with their coats of arms and decorative windows, they outshone anything in the town below, except the Abbey. Only if you knew Rome or Florence, Bruges or Venice would you praise such things carefully, for there were other men here who had travelled, and who were listening out, seething, for patronage. Someone had been sent ahead, and men had gathered, it seemed, in the audience chamber. A page came to seek Sandy and deliver a message, bowing to Nicholas; and Sandy touched Nicholas on the arm. ‘James wants to see you at once. I told you he would.’
Even then, Nicholas thought it was all going according to plan, and he was partly right. To reach the chamber they had to climb a steep stair, and then pass through a couple of antechambers. He had not heard, until he saw the Archers lining the walls, that the King had reconstituted the Royal Guard, portentously established some years ago. It had lapsed, partly because of expense and partly because younger sons preferred to join the King’s Archers in France, where the wages, the living and the opportunities were all very much plumper. Captains such as Stewart of Aubigny—or Jordan de St Pol—might end up with estates, although they might not always keep them. Others, such as Wodman, or David de Salmeton, now reverted