Gemini - Dorothy Dunnett [369]
The feast for Adorne was thus, in part, an excuse for the Queen’s faction to meet without being identified. In the wrong quarters, such a concourse might seem like a second Court, a duplicate of the King’s. In reality, it was a second Court. The Queen was the legal guardian of the heir to the throne. If the King died, hers was the power, and these might be her ministers.
Nicholas had thought it naïve, Kathi knew, to expect to hide such an event. On the other hand, hearing of this, Albany might well become cautious. If he threatened the King, demanded too much, the realm had another alternative.
Nicholas was speaking. ‘Bel is here?’ He had come with Tobie and Julius and Andro, now healed and back in the Canongate. John and Moriz were among those left behind. And Robin, of course.
Kathi said, ‘The Queen likes her. Bel’s staying in Edinburgh for Christmas with Fat Father Jordan and Bonne. Belle, Bonne et Sage.’ She broke off. It was not the way to talk about a bereaved father. But he deserved it. He deserved it.
‘Bonne? Whom no bridegroom has yet received, veiled and blessed? She isn’t here, is she?’ said Nicholas. He spoke as if he didn’t know. He didn’t perhaps realise that she had seen the list of all those specifically debarred, of whom Bonne was one.
Bel was coming over, and with her was Abbot Henry of Cambuskenneth. Bel stood before Nicholas, her gaze strict, and did not raise her arms. After a moment he bent instead, and kissed her raised hand. There was a ripple of silver: the trumpets were about to announce their procession to the table of honour. Once, Nicholas had stood in this same banqueting hall and invited the mockery of the Court, for his own ends. Now, no one here would mock him, nor he them, except from affection.
Kathi smiled at the thought, and then realised how meaningless it was as a yardstick. Yesterday had been the Feast of St Nicholas. This year, no one had marked it. Another year, she had heard, the King of Cyprus had honoured Nicholas at his table, beside all the lords of that name in the land. He had been a Knight of the Sword before he became a Knight of the Unicorn. He was attending a banquet for her uncle in a modest palace in a small country; but he was capable of making his name anywhere, and always had been.
HENRY ARNOT SAID, ‘It is a new fanfare. Tell me what you think of it; and of the music at the end. All harmony is not finished, you know.’
‘For some it is,’ Nicholas said.
HE STAYED AS long as he should, and added his lifelong accumulation of awe and admiration and gratitude to the praise presently heaped on Adorne. And Adorne, in his answering speech of wit and grace, included the name of Nicholas vander Poele, or de Fleury in the long list of those whom he in turn thanked for their friendship, while his prosaic niece smiled through her tears. Then the tables were cleared, and the music began for the dancing, which was led, with the sweep of her train, by the small, erect Queen on the arm of her husband’s first Knight of the Unicorn. She looked like her picture. Camulio had brought over the rest of the altar-piece, in boxes from Bruges. It had been quite a nuisance.
The other Knight of the Unicorn waited so long, and then made his discreet exit. Pursued, to his surprise, by a page, he let himself be conducted to a guest-room. He expected an emergency meeting: the morning had been devoted to conclaves, but new disasters unfolded by the hour. He entered the room. The door shut. But instead of Avandale or Argyll, he faced the solitary figure of a woman. It was Bel of Cuthilgurdy. He revolved.
‘I told them to lock it,’ said his elderly captor. ‘That is, I hope ye werena on your way to