Gemini - Dorothy Dunnett [45]
There wasn’t much privacy. Alone with Cochrane for a moment, Nicholas said, ‘I hear Davie Simpson is at Newbattle. David de Salmeton.’
‘Aye. He is. He doesna like you verra much,’ Cochrane said. ‘Nor me. I wouldna play up to his fancy notions. Plenty of money, though.’
‘That’s surprising,’ Nicholas said. He waited, then said, ‘But he didn’t buy the rest for a barony?’
‘The land wasna for sale,’ Cochrane said. ‘My lord Semple got some, and the King has the rest. There’s no title or barony now.’ He paused and said, ‘It was a pity you went.’
‘I needed to go,’ Nicholas said. ‘And I needed to come back. Tom Yare told me something.’
‘Oh?’ said Cochrane. It was hard to hear, with the voices and the instruments and the drums. He said, ‘Come out a minute.’
Outside, the cold struck at once: there was a moon behind trees, and the grass they stood on was sparkling and slippery. Nicholas said, ‘I have told no one. I will tell no one, unless I have permission. That is why I am going to the castle.’
‘That is why they didna let you in,’ Cochrane said.
‘I thought you would know,’ Nicholas said. ‘Are you working for them a lot?’
‘A bit. They’re strong on Speyside; you’ll know, with the fishing and timber and that. And there’s a lot that needs protecting and redding, but young Mar won’t listen to sense. And then there’s the polite war betwixt Newbattle and the Knights of St John—have you come across that? Oh, that’s a beauty,’ Cochrane said. ‘If you want to get to grips with what’s wrong here the now, just ask me some time when you feel you can stand it.’
‘I shall,’ Nicholas said. Then he said, ‘We’d better go in.’
Later, when they were all rather drunk, Willie Roger crossed to drop beside Nicholas. He said, ‘You knew I’d be at the church. You sang as you arrived.’
‘I thought you might want to escape. I wouldn’t have blamed you.’ He had sung all night; sung until the hoarseness had vanished like fog and his voice had come into itself. Not for anything complicated or grand: verses that fitted the whistle and tabor, or an impertinent flute.
‘I might have done, if you hadn’t sung. Has someone been teaching you?’
Nicholas showed the surprise that he felt. ‘I haven’t been singing. I haven’t wanted to sing until now.’ He paused and said, ‘I am hoping to bring Gelis and Jodi back, when it is safe.’
‘It is not very safe at the Castle,’ Roger said. ‘I play to them, sometimes Spondaic rhythm in the hypophrygian mode. Soothing music.’
Pythagoras. ‘And you think I should sing to them? Soothing music?’ Nicholas said, unwisely captivated by remembered delight.
‘It doesn’t matter. I’m glad you’re back. Be careful,’ Will Roger said.
NEXT MORNING, PRESENTING himself with a sore head at the castle bridge, Nicholas de Fleury was admitted, and escorted over the courtyard, and up to the apartments of Sir Oliver Sinclair, whom Thomas Cochrane (who had left early that morning) called Nowie.
Former Vikings, former Normans, the Sinclairs all ran to fairness and bulk, and Nowie was a large man like his elderly father, who had resigned Roslin and much else to this, his third son. Sir Oliver exclaimed, his gentle face marred with anxiety, ‘Your face! What has happened? Is this my fault as well?’
‘Hardly, my lord,’ Nicholas said. ‘An attack on the highway to Edinburgh, already forgotten.’ It was true. He kept forgetting how he must look. Reminded, he discovered that his face ached as well as his head.
Oliver Sinclair said, ‘Then I am doubly sorry. Please sit, Nicol. I may still call you Nicol? Can you forgive me? When I gave orders not to be disturbed, I had no idea you were coming. Did you have an abominable night?’
‘Noisy. I’ve had worse,’ said Nicholas, sitting. He could smell the aroma of the wine that was being handed him: it was of the same quality as the Turkey wall-hangings and the tiles under his feet. He seemed to recall assisting the Sinclairs quite a bit in their extravagances of four years ago: books and salt-pans and similar knick-knacks.