Gemini - Dorothy Dunnett [331]
None of them commented on his appearance, or his absence, or what had happened at Heaton. No one mentioned the public spectacle he had just made of himself. They merely looked up, and then included him in what they had been discussing, which was the much-debated switch from armed response to diplomacy. If the King came back and the army disbanded, Gloucester would try to take Berwick at once; or leave Berwick besieged, and invade. Whichever he did, he would be intercepted and invited to negotiate. The offer would not come in the name of the King, but from the senior officers of the Crown and the burgh of Edinburgh. It had always been planned, from the beginning, that their spokesman would be Nicholas de Fleury.
Now these same senior officers knew, from Adorne, the gist of what had happened in York. Nicholas had to help them decide what value he had as a messenger, and how Gloucester and Sandy would receive him.
He was not, as it happened, feeling suicidal. He had a great deal to live for: until recently, he had barely realised how very much. His personal situation didn’t alter the obvious. Of the very few people qualified for this gambit, he was the only one these people could spare.
The meeting was quick: they had mostly achieved a consensus, and had only been waiting for him to recover from his idiotry and furiosity. To make sure he didn’t repeat the performance, they put him back in the guest-chamber.
Indeed, he had to rest now, for he was at the limits of what strength he had. Yesterday, there had been the river at Heaton. Today, he had launched himself into a fifty-mile ride and a silly, senseless fight at the end of it. Tomorrow, he might have to travel almost as far. Meanwhile, God knew, there was no lack of urgent things to calculate and initiate and worry over, but there were others to deal with them, in a better condition than he was. Or so Whitelaw had kindly said.
Before they all left, the Abbot had climbed the stairs with something to say. Adorne had told Abbot Archie the truth about the St Pols’ presence at Heaton. Nicholas wished that he hadn’t, then altered his mind. He had always thought Archie Crawford a worldly man, but this time he said the right things. Kelso had prayed for Simon and Henry, but Holyrood spoke from the heart. It brought to mind Moscow, and that coarse man Ludovico da Bologna who, it turned out, possessed grace, and respected dignity, and had recognised, on another occasion, what was fitting to do.
He wondered who sat now with Jordan de St Pol of Kilmirren, and then realised, pierced with pain and with thankfulness, that he knew. Andro would have sent someone to tell her.
Everyone knew where Nicholas was, including Gelis and Jordan. They had been asked not to come, so that he might rest. There had been other reasons, with which he agreed. He missed them, but did not want help with this burden. It was his, and he would not impose it on others.
In any case, it was only late afternoon. The day was not ended yet.
Chapter 43
Quhen to the king chek in the feild is maid,
That is to saye in langage: ‘Do me richt.’
Have he na reskew of sum vther knycht
He mon remofe, and gif he may nocht so
The feild is tynt and his victour ago.
FOR TOBIE, MORIZ and John, that same Monday began before dawn in the camp of the royal army at Lauder. Darnley and his host from the west had not come; and the King, retiring to his pavilion the previous night, had let it be known that he would march on without him in the morning. He had flushed when they cheered him. The downpour had stopped.
Those who cheered were defiantly happy in the long twilight that night, roaring patriotic songs round the campfires, and encouraging others, less convinced, to join in. When Tobie expressed reservations about the inspirational qualities of Blind Harry, Wallace and Bruce, the priest and John le Grant sped to reassure.
‘They’ll fight all the better. Look at the Swiss.’
In