Gemini - Dorothy Dunnett [87]
‘He fell over a sheep?’ St Pol said. His voice, for once, held ordinary amusement.
Nicholas thumped down and grinned. ‘No. But you’d wonder if all they say about Preston witchcraft is true. Mags Preston, remember? She never had to settle her debts because no one could take her to court while she was under process and sentence of cursing. Leithie’s almost as bad.’ He was being frivolous. But there was no doubt that the accident gave Leithie a chance at the prize. Tor was out, and Henry, spurring forward, was not a very likely conqueror. Which would leave Preston just the exhausted Cochrane to fight.
Then he remembered there was one more contestant, and got up to look.
Jordan de St Pol’s long-sighted eyes had identified him already. He said, ‘What a surprise. You have royalty, Roger, at your display. My lord John, Earl of Mar, has favoured us by entering the contest.’
‘Mary, Mother of God,’ said Will Roger piously, and, vaulting over the bench, kicked Nicholas until he made room for him.
Simpson removed himself slightly, but smiled. He shifted the smile to the fat man; his voice was consoling. ‘I am sure, my lord, that you need not be anxious. Although Cochrane is tired, he will perform very stoutly: it will be simple for Henry to lose. Certainly, I should not like to be the man, or the boy, who stood between Johndie Mar and the lady. I believe he has been commanding her in vain for some time.’
Roger swore. ‘I didn’t know that.’
‘You didn’t know that Mar was coming,’ Nicholas reminded him. ‘Anyway, even if Henry wins against Cochrane, he’ll lose against Leithie. And Leithie is a cool little bugger, who’ll make up his own mind whether to give in to Johndie or not.’
The fat man on his other side stirred. ‘What prompts you to think that Henry will lose against Cochrane?’
Nicholas swung round. Until you looked at it closely, the smooth, contemptuous face with its chins seemed unchanged. Their gaze met. ‘Look at his horse,’ Nicholas said. Then returning to Roger: ‘So. Drunk?’
Fright and anger left the musician’s face. He leaned towards Nicholas. Placing a thumb in each dimple, Willie Roger carefully kissed the other man on his pursed mouth. ‘Very drunk,’ said Will Roger fervently.
HENRY DE ST POL won his fight against Cochrane, simply because he was determined not to lose. He did not need to be told of the consequences. He would have to fight Tom (Leithie) Preston next. And if he won that (and Leithie would make sure that he did), he would have to fight the King’s crazy young brother for Lang Bessie, whom Johndie Mar wanted and Henry didn’t.
The alternative was to give up. And Henry de St Pol would never do that. Not with his fat Chamberpot grandfather sitting there gloating. The shock of seeing the old man, and de Fleury, and Davie Simpson all sitting together had scared Henry silly. Johndie Mar was nothing after that.
Which of course, was not so. John Stewart, Earl of Mar, was a fair, well-grown youth of eighteen, nearly three years older than Henry, wearing no armour at all, and riding a fresh, sturdy horse bred for tournaments. In place of a helm, he wore a felt cap with the royal badge pinned to its side. You couldn’t touch him without killing him. You couldn’t kill him, because he was the King’s brother. The crowd, which had cheered Henry’s two brave successes with increasing warmth, now observed a cool silence. The trumpeter swung his instrument to his lips. Henry looked across at his grandfather. De Fleury had gone. But Jordan de St Pol was still there; and as Henry looked, his grandfather gave him a nod.
Henry flushed. When the signal rang out and he set his neat little horse to its duty, his blue eyes were bright as the sky.
The Earl of Mar knew who Henry was. Since