Gemini - Dorothy Dunnett [380]
The day the reply came, Nicholas went and sat with Robin, away from the others. Recently, they had not spoken much to each other. Now Nicholas said, ‘About North Berwick.’
Robin flushed. He said, ‘I knew you would have a plan. You are bringing her out?’
Kathi was still at the Priory, with Margaret and Rankin. It should be safe. It was on the coast, and at least five miles from Whitekirk. If Robin required further reassurance, he might recall that Jordan de Fleury was there.
Nicholas said, ‘I meant to have her brought back before, but the weather’s too rough for a boat, and I won’t risk it by land. But I did make a contingency plan.’
The spark had returned to Robin’s gaze. ‘Naturally.’
‘Yes. Mick Crackbene has been there from the beginning, with a squad of ten men. I’ll take a few more. There are also relays of couriers. Adorne and I go to North Berwick on Wednesday, and will be with her until we set off for Whitekirk next morning. We shan’t take the soldiers to Whitekirk, but if we don’t manage to return, the Priory could withstand an assault almost indefinitely. I don’t think it will get one. It would be ridiculous for Sandy to attack a Cistercian foundation and have all the rest—Melrose, for God’s sake, Newbattle, Coupar Angus, Haddington, Culross—turn on him. He’d lose all the noble families who support them, and it’d destroy him at Rome.’
Robin said, ‘I am not sure if I believe you, but I forgive you, for Jordan is there. Did Kathi know there might be some danger?’
‘She may have suspected.’
Robin’s eyes were still clear. ‘Yes. She took Margaret and Rankin, but she left Hob for me.’ He waited. ‘You must know that we think something is wrong. With you, not with the others.’
‘Yes. I know,’ Nicholas said. ‘If I don’t come back, you will know what it is.’
‘But not before?’
‘No. Everyone should have a last chance,’ Nicholas said. ‘And this, I can tell you, is Albany’s.’
He was not sure, then, whether or not he would see Robin again before he set out with Adorne. They had parted so often, all of them, that the grand farewell (as he had tried to say to his son) would have been trite. Nicholas knew what Robin felt: the extent of his love and gratitude had never been hidden. Nor had the truth. ‘Go,’ Robin had said, on one such occasion. ‘Come back, if God wills it. And if God offers a choice between my fate and death, then choose as I should have done.’
Nicholas had shaken his head, but said nothing. He felt the pain still, as if the earth had shown him its gold, and then, cracking further, the price of it. The price and the value of the high ground. The value of valour and the cost of pride, of the kind that had lost him eight years. The value of loyalty, honesty, patriotism. And how to divine when the price was too much.
Nicholas left, with Anselm Adorne, and Bishop Prospero, and the retinue which they would abandon at North Berwick. The day before they departed, Adorne rode to Linlithgow, where he spent some time privately in the church, before going to his own house to speak to his nephew Sersanders and to see his daughter Efemie. Bel of Cuthilgurdy had come to visit her for a few days, as she sometimes did when the old man was unusually difficult. It was good for the child; Sersanders did not mind, and Adorne himself had grown fond of the small, grey-haired lady, who was only four years older than himself. She came down to see him ride off, hoisting the child for his kiss, and setting her down to feed oats to his horse, her small palm spread dutifully flat. The child had no fear of horses, or of people, and had known only love. He could not regret having decided to see her.
Nicholas cancelled everything, that last night, to spend time in his chamber, talking, and then ceasing to talk with the angry