Gemini - Dorothy Dunnett [365]
‘And what is your view of the King?’ Nowie asked. ‘We are so fortunate, Nicol, to have someone like yourself in constant company with him. You have not told him, for example, of his brother’s secret undertaking at Fotheringhay, for that would lead to immediate civil war. So long as you avoid telling the King, Gloucester may deduce that we lack the means to overthrow Sandy. It may encourage him to come north in strength.’
‘Or it may not,’ Nicholas said. ‘He cannot be sure. We may have the power to dispatch Sandy, but prefer to win him to stay here, in his own country with his brother. Or we may not have the power to dispatch Sandy now, but news of his treachery would soon change the balance.’
The nephew—Henry—said, ‘So why not take the risk and announce it now, during the winter, when England can’t interfere? Then all those who don’t want Albany as King, or England as overlord, will cross to help you.’
He was young. Also, Albany had divorced his aunt, and bastardised his three cousins. Nicholas drew breath, but Adorne replied. ‘It is possible. On the other hand, men have committed a great deal to this peace. In breaking it, lives would be lost, and the Stewart family split, perhaps needlessly. Events overseas may lift the pressure from Scotland, and give us time to shape a new order. I think, with Nicholas, that we proceed slowly, and change what we can, and tolerate meantime what we cannot.’
‘A Christian sentiment,’ said the Bishop of Caithness.
‘A humane one at least,’ Nowie said. ‘I hope we can afford to maintain it. So. You think, Nicol, that the King can tolerate it as well, so long as his friends keep him calm? But at the same time, the lords you can depend on will keep their men close to Edinburgh and prepared, through the winter? Good. And now to more pleasant things, my lord Bishop. I trust we have not marred your felicitous arrival. These are difficult times.’
‘There are princes,’ said the Bishop, ‘who would weep with joy to have no more to contend with.’ Nicholas avoided Lord Cortachy’s eye. If anyone knew, it would be Camulio.
• • •
RETURNING, NICHOLAS DID not pass the church of St Matthew but, by arrangement with Nowie, was met there and admitted by a servant who then left him alone.
Candles had been lit. St Bartholomew flourished his flaying-knife. St Roche showed the plague-spot on his leg. Amid the reptilian mass of stony grotesqueries, it was obvious that all the pillars were solid; none more so than that by the Lady Chapel, with its merry capital of blowing, plucking and drumming musicians, including the determined man with the bagpipes, abalala durie. It was necessary to view these things with good-natured acceptance.
A door creaked. Adorne’s voice said, ‘May I join you? Or not?’
Phemie’s bier had lain there, below the east window. Nicholas said, ‘More than anyone else.’
Adorne came forward: a spare, graceful man with clear eyes. He said, ‘I have been here many times. This is your first, since Tam and Will died?’
Nicholas said, ‘They were both here, the day I came to see Phemie.’ There were garlands as well as demons round the pillars, and upside-down flowers thick within the towering vaults of the ceiling, forty feet over their heads. He added, ‘We sat and drank and told stories round the fire in the sacristy. It didn’t feel like sacrilege.’
‘A dear man, Tam; and mild as a novice in arms, except when in thrall to his latest enthusiasm. It can happen to anyone. Have you ever wondered,’ Adorne said, ‘what Archie Holyrood does with the Abbey treasure in time of war?’
He had seated himself on the step to the Lady Chapel. Nicholas let himself descend to the floor among dragons. ‘Treasure? No?’
‘Yes. He puts it in the Castle, of course, if he can, or locks it away in the Tolbooth, or with Wattie Bertram, or Swift. If Edinburgh’s barred, he’ll spread it around. Craigmillar, Blackness, Newbattle and, of course,