Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [11]
Then the news came that he had been brought into prison. Naturally, he was lodged in the famous Dark Chamber. Julius (also philosophical) paid for warm water and cloths and wrote a promissory note for the bailiff, stolidly counter-signed by the town notary, to buy Claes the right to the upper floor, where his masters had bedding and sustenance.
The idiot was dragging irons when he arrived, and Julius had to pay to have these taken off also. He added this to the careful running note of his expenses, which in due course would reappear, neatly itemised, as student equipment for Felix.
Naturally. Methodically honest himself, Meester Julius had learned which of her son Felix’s experiences Marian de Charetty was prepared to pay for, and which she wasn’t. In the past two years, she had taken the occasion once or twice to refresh her notary’s memory on the subject of his contractual duties, which did not include boisterous exploits with Felix. In point of fact, before the notary came, Felix’s exploits had been more than boisterous. Felix got excited. Felix never knew where to stop. Even Claes, who got into worse trouble than any of them, never went into passions like Felix.
Up to now, horses and dogs had claimed all Felix’s deepest emotions. But at any moment, there would be girls. So far, girls either tantalised Felix or neglected him, for he treated them roughly, the way he treated his own little sisters. But that would change. Julius hoped that it would be Claes, and not himself, who had to handle that bit of coaching. And that it would take place back in Louvain, where people understood students. But that said, there was no harm in Felix, kneeling there like any good horse-owner helping to doctor Claes’ muscular back, and doing more harm than good, especially as he kept stopping to argue with everything Claes was saying.
Claes, the colour returning a little to his good-natured face, was engaged in describing in five different accents what it was like on the lowest floor of the Steen, where there was no food and no light, and you had to beg as best you could with a bag on a pole through the window-bars. Someone had given him a turn of the begging-pole because he was bleeding, and when he drew it back in, it had a poke of butter inside.
Felix stopped. “Butter?”
“From the wool vats. For my back. Someone took it before I could use it. I wish I had it now. Have you got your jousting-gloves on? You’ve got hands on you like thorn bushes. It came, the butter, from Mabelie.”
“Mabelie.” It stopped Felix again.
“Standing outside the prison window. Didn’t you see her at Damme? The girl with the big plait of hair and a bucket. I didn’t know her name either. It’s Mabelie, and she works at Jehan Metteneye’s.”
“And she brought you butter.” Julius found he had stopped attending to Claes’ back as well.
“Well, she was sorry for us. Everyone’s sorry for us. There was quite a crowd out there in the Burgh. The hatters’ men, I meant to tell you, Meester Julius. I told them where to go for their rabbits, but they weren’t too pleased. I reckon if Meester Cambier is raising the cannon, he would lift the rabbit-bag too for a favour, and maybe even my lord Simon’s money. Two of your clients were there, Meester Julius, wanting to know if the contracts were still legal if they hanged you. And Henninc from the shop, saying he was sending to Louvain, and anything you had promised to pay would come out of your wages. And all the boys from the yard, with beer. You should have left me in the Dark Chamber,” said Claes nostalgically. “I would have had the butter and beer and all before they hang us.”
“They won’t hang us,” said Felix confidently. “We did