Gemini - Dorothy Dunnett [407]
That was when he remembered Tasse, who had served Esota de Fleury and Thibault his grandfather, and who had nursed Marian his wife when she died. And he thought that perhaps he was wrong; and there was a difference.
BECAUSE THE NUNS worked carefully, it was some time before the chapel was fit for its mourners, and the Mass was ready to start. They had placed Anselm Adorne nearest the altar, and his great-niece not far away. Eight and fifty-eight years old, the faces bore no particular family resemblance, except that lent by death, and the chill of the snow. Margaret’s features, with the loss of colour and life, appeared still and flat. Of Adorne’s, nothing was visible but the firm chin and sensitive lips, the straight nose and the tips of his lashes. The rest was swathed, to conceal what had spilled on the ground.
Halfway through the Mass, the slow, brooding voice of the choir found a new luminosity. Kathi, her face in her hands, filled her palms with tears, in thanks for something she did not deserve. She passed Nicholas, as she left at the end, and looked to see if he was hurt, but he did not seem to be. He was wearing a cloak. Outside, he caught up with her, and she stood still. Around her, others hesitated, and then left them alone. The snow had started again. She felt like part of the snow, looking up at his face in the darkness. She saw then that his face was marked, and his eyes veined with blood, as if recently recovered from injury. He said nothing. Then she saw that she must make him speak. She said, ‘Is Julius dead?’
And he found some sort of voice and said, ‘Yes. I killed him.’
She tilted her head. When she spoke, it was as a juror, delivering a verdict. She said, ‘We both made mistakes. I should have left the children secure, or not left them at all. You should have stopped playing God with Julius and Adelina long ago; but, Heaven knows, you were thinking of them, and not yourself. And what led to my uncle’s death was pure, selfless courage on his part and yours. It has probably saved the kingdom.’
‘It has been a triumph,’ he said.
Then she said, ‘We agreed. Everything has a price. Sometimes you cannot be sure if you have paid enough, or too much. But I think this could be a triumph, if you allow it to be.’
He said, ‘With these two dead?’
And she said, ‘Nicholas. You gave me Robin, and he gave me Hob. Put that in your ledger.’
‘I can’t,’ he said, and walked away. He had not said anything else about Julius. That, too, should be put in the ledger. But tonight, for God and profit, the blood and the ink were too fresh.
Chapter 53
Conzeour, wislar, resaver to the king,
And all thir folk suld kepe thaim our all thing
Fro awaris, danger, and of det,
And thar promys kepe withoutin let.
IN THE CANONGATE, evening passed into night. At midnight, several hours after Tobie and the others had left, Mistress Clémence excused herself and went off to bed. Bel and Gelis remained in the hall chamber, sometimes silent, sometimes talking to Robin, who rested in his wheeled chair at the side of the fire, which blazed and spat with the snow. At two hours after midnight, the rider came with the first of the news. The Priory had been attacked. The great force from Edinburgh had been too late to save my lord of Cortachy, and—forgive him—Master Robin’s young daughter. Today’s meeting at Whitekirk had been quashed, and all but my lord’s family would be returning, soon after first light. And he was to say that Master Julius had died. Of that, he didn’t know more, and left quickly.
There was no comfort in the bare facts. Even to think of the survivors was painful, when you could not thank God aloud, before Robin. The news of Julius had brought a gasp of dismay, and then uneasy silence. Perhaps he had ended his life as nobly as Anselm Adorne. Perhaps not. No one speculated. In time, Clémence, who had been summoned to hear, sent Bel and Gelis to bed, and stayed with Robin herself. Finally, as he fell into weary slumber, she allowed herself to nod in her chair until the household awoke, and she