Gemini - Dorothy Dunnett [411]
‘He hadn’t told you?’
‘No,’ Nicholas said. ‘He probably hoped I was going to die first.’ It wasn’t even black humour; it was just a necessary denial of feeling.
The stone was a sapphire. In size and colour and brilliance, it surpassed anything Gelis had ever seen. It was meant, as he said, for a Bishop’s ring. It came as a bequest from a man of deep convictions to another who, on the surface, had few. But Adorne had been a wise man.
She said, ‘You had best make a start.’
He said, ‘All right,’ and stood up. He hadn’t touched her. He knew, better than Jordan, what was too sweet.
Later, he went to Robin, and knelt, and talked. Then he went to the King.
HE THOUGHT AT first it was going to be like six years ago, when he came back in wild February weather from Flanders, and was so circumspectly reintroduced to the monarch by the three men who had since become part of his life. This time, there had been no wild escapade on the way. Oysters had come to mean something else. Henry was dead. Andro Wodman was in self-exile, serving a sick and evil old man in Kilmirren House, which Nicholas had no intention of visiting.
It was closer to six years ago than he expected, for men had reappeared: men like the former Archbishop Will Scheves, whom he had not seen at Court through the autumn. Andrew, the King’s half-uncle and prospective Archbishop, was missing, but Davie Lindsay was there, and Leitch, and Master Secretary Whitelaw, whose spectacles Nicholas had cleaned, with difficulty, just that morning. But, of course, no Johndie Mar, and no Albany, now in Dunbar. No Princess Meg at Court now, since Crichton her lover had joined Albany. And no Lady Mary today, with her newly regranted Boyd lands, and her Boyd son equally caught on the side that was suddenly wrong: caught in Dunbar Castle with Albany.
The King said, ‘We are displeased.’
‘My lord, I am sorry,’ said Nicholas.
The King said, ‘We are reprimanding you. We should be reprimanding our Baron Cortachy, but for the tragic events of last night. They would not have occurred, had you followed our orders. We gave you no leave to mediate with our brother. You heard his threats. You saw his conduct. You heard of his traitorous dealings with England. Does it do us honour, after insults such as these, to be thought to be sending to treat with the villain?’
One followed the moves of the game. Nicholas said, ‘My lord King, we were concerned for your highness’s safety. We believed the Prince spoke in anger, and would repent. But until we were sure, we wished to give him no cause to harm you.’
‘And you think he cannot harm us now?’ said the King.
‘My lord, he has put himself so far in the wrong that he dare not. I think that my lord of Cortachy’s death has strengthened your grace’s throne.’
‘That is what they tell me,’ said the King. ‘I wait to be reassured. It is also true, I am told, that you shared his danger?’
‘I came to no harm,’ Nicholas said. ‘But I fear I have lost the Duke of Albany’s trust. I cannot expect to serve the King’s grace as usefully as I have in the past.’
The King said, ‘What are you saying? You are leaving? Before the funeral Mass of your countryman? That we cannot permit.’
‘No, my lord. Nor would I wish it. I shall be there,’ Nicholas said.
The King was staring down the long nose. ‘You have some plea, some complaint? The murderers will be brought to court. The criminals will be justified. My lords assure me of that.’
‘I am glad,’ Nicholas said. ‘No, I have no complaint, sire. Events have moved rather quickly, that is all. I should like a little time to consider my future.’
He was aware that it sounded like a well-worn stratagem for advancement. He was too tired to care. The Lords Three knew, at least, that he had simply spoken the truth.
The King said, ‘We are told that the robbers purloined the chains of our Order. Is that so?’
Nicholas said, ‘Yes, my lord.’ He wondered if he were about to be asked to replace his. He wished he could