Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [159]
But although Katelina heard of him, no encounter with Claes had taken place. Since the night of the Carnival, she had glimpsed him only once, and that on the following morning, when the household had been drawn to its windows by an unaccustomed shaking of bells. Called by their merriment she had gone too, and so had seen Claes skipping by, his creased blue clothes weirdly decked out with goat bells, and a flock of goats trotting behind him. He had looked round in elastic response to the catcalls, returning happily insult for insult, his eyes searching the casements. From her window she had tried to convey in her smile the freedom and gentleness she felt that morning, and made for him a movement of her hands which said, All is well.
And now they were meeting again. He looked older. In six or seven weeks, that was impossible. Different work made people’s faces settle in different lines. A life indoors in cellars and dyesheds amid heat and harsh vapours had formed in him an appearance she remembered as rounder and softer. His unusually open eyes, looking at her now, conveyed an expression that was friendly; muted; apologetic; a little daunted. Apologetic because, she assumed, he had not anticipated the encounter. But, clearly, there was no harm done. She was on her way forthwith to Brittany, and he must leave soon, she supposed, for Milan.
The raw, jagged scar no longer leaped to the eye, but was just a heavy pink mark, as if a stick of dye had been drawn down his cheek. He was wearing the same doublet and jacket she had dried for him in front of the fire. The rip had been mended and the cloth well pressed and looked after.
The boy Felix, on the other hand, looked as if some accident had befallen him. Half the flounces on his violet overjacket were torn, and he wore a hat quite at odds with the rest of him. Her father, she saw, was putting questions to him. Behind, Claes was responding, with a small bow, to the smile of her mother. Then his gaze switched to Katelina herself, his smile deepening as he studied her steeple headdress.
Her mother approved of Claes, who had been such an exemplary escort for Gelis on the night of the Carnival. The manservant, heavily bribed, had taken Gelis home that night as if nothing had happened. The porters at her father’s house were even simpler to deal with. No one seemed to have suborned them. They had seen a masked escort leave with her, and arrive back. They hadn’t seen him emerge because, as Katelina explained to her mother, he had left almost at once by the postern. Her mother, listening, had been inclined to be severe over her rejection of Guildolf de Gruuthuse. Katelina had not made it perfectly clear that the rejection had taken place at the beginning, not the end of the evening. She didn’t suppose that Guildolf would boast of it. She hadn’t spoken to either parent, after all, about Jordan de Ribérac.
The vicomte de Ribérac had left Bruges the following day. She had found that out herself with some trouble. Claes, she learned, had been enquiring as well. She had felt relief, and a sense of being protected. This was nonsense. If anything in this world was certain, it was the death of Claes, if de Riéerac ever found out what had happened. Claes knew how necessary it was to take precautions.
Anyway, she had her parents to shield her. Except that her parents, again, were discussing suitors. This time there was no escape from it. She was not likely, now, to choose a nunnery. She chose Brittany. If life wouldn’t open its gates for her, she would force them.
No. She had already done that.
Her partner in that experience was, at the moment, busy shutting them again. Yes, jonkheere Felix was passing the night also in Ghent. No, Claes regretted that he had not bespoken beds for jonkheere Felix and himself at this inn, but another. Had he not told jonkheere Felix? He must have forgotten.
Her father, goodnatured man,