Gemini - Dorothy Dunnett [81]
That day, it was not wise to walk about Bruges, where drinking was fierce and tempers ran hot and high. When the caller arrived at the Hof Charetty-Niccolò, he had passed through the streets with some difficulty, and before that, through France itself with even more trouble, so that his return had taken many weeks. The bright-eyed, middle-aged figure whom Diniz introduced to the parlour where Gelis and his family were gathered was the astrologer Andreas of Vesalia, physician, guild-brother and friend to Anselm Adorne, and—in his time—Court physician in Scotland.
His first words were, ‘I have been to the Hôtel Jerusalem! What has happened?’ And at the end, ‘It has begun then. I was afraid.’
Diniz, a sceptic, was silent. But Gelis knew from Nicholas, who had the power to divine minerals, the narrow boundary that lay between the occult and the rational, and was prepared at least to listen to astrologers; especially of the worldly sort with a much-cherished mistress in Blois.
On the other hand, listening to astrologers was not always productive. Dr Andreas had been touched by no premonitions, it transpired, about Anselm Adorne. Speaking of him, he expressed the same angry anxiety that they all felt. This trial was iniquitous. Its effects would be felt by the unborn as well as the living.
Gelis, distrusting the phrase, changed the subject. Tilde returned to it. What did he mean, It had begun? Pressed, Dr Andreas made a nonspecific reference to Scotland.
‘So what about Scotland?’ said Diniz sharply. ‘Is there something we should know? Or Nicholas ought to be told?’
‘He will find out before we could tell him,’ the astrologer said. ‘He has experience of the King and his kindred. So has Dr Tobias.’
Gelis stared at him. The King and his kindred? But before she could speak, the door opened on John le Grant, and the chance was lost in an exchange of fresh greetings.
When she questioned him later, Dr Andreas was willing but not much more informative. He had formed an attachment for the ruling circles in Scotland, and had sensed a certain increasing tension in recent years. So far as he knew, M. de Fleury was not endangered. He did not know why he had connected the ills of Scotland with Lord Cortachy’s present predicament.
He said nothing of Phemie. He probably knew nothing of Phemie, but his sixth sense had told him that something was wrong. She did not blame Dr Andreas. She knew, through Nicholas, how perverse that gift was.
That perverse gift. That perverse tutor, Delay. That dire master, redoubled longing.
She wished she were where Kathi was, sailing to Scotland.
Be patient. I am not.
I cannot wait much longer, Nicholas.
UNFORTUNATE THE DOCTOR who, sick at heart, is also sick at sea. For nearly three months by this date, Tobias Beventini had been physician and shepherd to others, protecting Robin of Berecrofts and John while Julius argued for their release; caring for them when Julius had gone. Now Tobie was moving away from home, away from Bruges, away from the Italian states where he had grown up and trained, and towards Scotland, and Nicholas. And Robin was still in his care.
Fortunate the doctor who, sick at sea, has a highly trained, much younger wife as formidable as Clémence, and a dear young former patient such as Kathi, to tend the sick man, and the sick doctor, and the sick children.
They put in often to shore, and allotted themselves time to recover between the ceaseless storms and the buffeting. Only a journey by land would have been worse. England was at peace with both Scotland and Burgundy, and they had safe conducts from the little Duchess herself. But always Robin, appealing in whispers, was anxious to hurry and Tobie, deeply disturbed, had to weigh the effect of a refusal against the damage already inflicted by an elderly, badly packed vessel in tumultuous seas.
Which was when