Gemini - Dorothy Dunnett [37]
That had been the plan. Now he had to make one small alteration. Leaving the King’s apartments with Albany, Nicholas spoke as they walked. ‘Thank you for your support. I found it difficult to know what to do. Does the King fear for his life, that he has a guard now?’ They had begun to walk between the armed men, whose captain lifted his sword in salute. His face was unfamiliar. All the faces were unfamiliar. The Guard had changed since he had arrived.
Albany said, ‘Against you, or John? Hardly. No. It’s only for show during audiences. The men will stand down and eat very soon: they have a place by the wall. Then they’ll gamble and drink till the next call.’ He smiled at the captain, who returned a grin: they were comfortable with Albany.
Nicholas said, ‘It sounds quite enticing.’
The King’s brother looked at him. ‘Where were you going to eat? We could join them. I don’t stand on ceremony.’ He paused and said, ‘You deserve some ale after that buffet. I’m sorry.’
Nicholas supposed the bruise must be obvious, even among the rest of his contusions. It felt swollen: the face of a thug above the splendour of the unicorn collar. Well, the King hadn’t demoted him, yet. He said, ‘Rather that than a hanging. Ale sounds good.’
The rough stone lodge for the King’s élite Guard was not large, but the rushes were clean, and the big brazier warmed the room where they spent their off-duty hours. Because the windows were small and half shuttered, the light inside came from the blue and red peat-flames and the torches stuck on the wall. A trestle far from the door was littered with pewter and food, and some men were sitting there, eating. One of the Castle dogs rooted for scraps. Four Archers who had finished were using a cleared space for a dice game, while others nursed their ale-cups by the brazier, stripped to their shirts, lolling on benches or stools. The timber roof shot back the talk and the laughter, and the air was thick with masculinity and ale.
Sandy went in, and the seated men got hastily to their feet, and then relapsed slowly when he told them to. You could see they actually thought it an honour. Someone ran out for food, and several got up and started clearing the table while Albany turned to introduce Nicholas.
Nicholas stood in the doorway. Across the room, a slender, an exquisite Archer also stood where he had slowly risen; the candle-flame gilding his hair and the ends of his lashes; his eyes wide and lovely and blue.
‘You know each other,’ said Albany, looking from one to the other. ‘Of course. I’d forgotten. Aren’t you even related by marriage? So may I reintroduce to you Henry de St Pol of Kilmirren, our newest member?’
‘My dear Uncle,’ said Henry. ‘You didn’t recognise me. You passed me just now without recognising me. Won’t you forget your looks, and take out your eyeglass?’
He was sixteen, perhaps. His voice, husky and soft, was full of sweet mischief. Men laughed.
• • •
THE MOST PATIENT of men, Nicholas awaited the end of the meal. Seated by Albany, he could do nothing else. Despite Henry’s golden attractions, or perhaps because of them, Albany did not offer to the newest and youngest recruit an elevated seat at his board. Henry, court-trained to sense the unspoken, sat and ate in the shadows, submissive and sad, his dulcet voice seldom raised, even when his companions attempted to tease him. Nicholas met the situation by restraining his own performance to match. It was not the moment, in any case, to break into a breathless display of buffoonery, whatever Sandy might have been hoping for. They talked mainly about war. By the end, he knew them all reasonably well, and took his leave of them and of Albany, who was walking back to the tower. Albany directed him to present himself the following day, and Nicholas thanked him. Then he turned to where Henry de St Pol stood awaiting him, derision in the wondrous blue eyes. Henry said, ‘After that, how dare I hope to claim your attention,