Gemini - Dorothy Dunnett [415]
She was crying. ‘A monk would land here,’ Nicholas echoed gently. The dazed air had gone, and he was smiling a little. He said, ‘The monk would come here, because this is where, all the time, you were really sure we would be? Am I right?’ They were still at arm’s length, but he had laid one hand on her arm, and was studying her.
She said, ‘I told you before. I will be wherever you are.’
‘Then will you be with me in Scotland?’ he said.
SHE LOOKED AT him. She had spoken out for Nicholas to John and the rest, because she thought sometimes that no one knew his stature as she did, who had fought so hard to be his equal, and had learned to accept that she was not.
She knew now what strengths she possessed, and how they complemented his own. The joy of their physical life was very real, but it was also the curtain that protected the other life which continued behind: the deep partnership that showed itself in all the work they did together, in their aims and their ideals and how they fulfilled them.
There were other parts of his being that she did not enter, or could not enter because, as with music, she did not have the key. But others did, and he was a man who could find harmony in more than one love, and still maintain loyalty, as his sweet, sardonic honour from Zacco had proclaimed. Yet again, there were privacies which he protected against every intrusion. Umar represented one. He had not confided to her what he felt about Simon and Henry, or about his own mother. He had kept the secrets of Adelina, and of Julius, and of his feelings about them both until the end.
Tonight, he hadn’t refused to speak about Julius, but had reduced the silent struggle of twenty-five years to an obedient résumé. He had expected Julius to change. He had felt responsible for him, as a relative. He had tried to ensure that no one else would suffer, until it became apparent that this was no longer possible. The end had been difficult, and he didn’t find it easy to speak of, although he blamed himself for allowing Julius to act as he had. He apologised to Gelis for that; but not for his own reticence.
It still hurt, that absence of the ultimate trust, but not as much as it had; and it made it easier to know that he confided in no one. To deal alone with such things was the source of a great deal of his strength. She believed Ludovico da Bologna was responsible for some of that; and could not regret it.
Now: ‘You want it?’ she said. ‘You want to live your life in Scotland? Are you not weary? Are you really prepared to spend your days like these tired, patient men, supporting such a King?’
He said, ‘MacChalein Mor isn’t tired, nor Whitelaw nor Huntly nor Lindsay nor Darnley nor Scheves. Neither am I. Neither will Jordan be, although he must choose for himself. And there is the Queen, and the Princes growing up.’ He drew her to him, in a manner of gentle persuasion.
‘Those countries are part of our past. That is what you were thinking? But we haven’t left them: we have brought them with us, as every merchant and student will go on bringing them here, Jordan included. And if we fail, if all the patient men fail, it’s because no one can plan for quite everything as, God knows, you and I learned. There are always happenings beyond our control. There are always people beyond our control: personalities so wonderfully compelling that, right or wrong, whole countries will follow them. History is made by individuals, not by masses. The art of directing the future is the art of choosing and grooming the leader.’
She was in the crook of his arm, thinking. She said, ‘Did Dr Andreas tell you that?’ and felt him laugh.
He said, ‘There are some things I don’t need an