Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [182]
He saw Jan Adorne signalling in the doorway and thought that he would do just as well. As fifteen he was very likely too young to joust, but he must have been to the Poorterslogie often with his father. Felix waved his cup, summoning him. His sleeve, waving too, just missed tipping a flask over. He had dressed really well for today, with ribbons all down his arms, and his doublet fully padded under his cloak, which the tailor said, rightly, did justice to his chest. Thinking of the crowd, he had put on a very tall hat, rather than one of his wide ones. He wished only that his collar was not buttoned quite so firmly under his chin. It made it hard to look down, and keep his sleeves from interfering with people sitting on the banquettes.
Jan, signalling again, had still not yet entered. Annoyed, Felix pushed his way nearer and saw the reason. There was a crowd of them. Bonkle was with him, and Sersanders and Lorenzo Strozzi, among others. It was wonderful how Lorenzo Strozzi always managed to get away from his father’s cousin’s business. Or maybe the bell had gone for the midday meal. No. He had had his midday meal. It must be later. He got to the door and said, “Well, I’m not coming out, I’m busy. What do you want?”
“Felix,” said Jan.
That was all he said. The others, round about him, said nothing either. Their faces were peculiar. Well, none of his friends were noted for their good looks. But their expressions were funny. As if they had something to tell, and weren’t sure whether it was a great joke or a great disaster. For a moment he was worried, and then one of the younger hangers-on at the back gave a great fizzing snort like a boiling fish-kettle, and doubled up with his hands on his crotch. Some mucus landed on Felix’s buttons, and he picked it off distastefully.
Nothing wrong anywhere, obviously, if it was as funny as all that. It looked to Felix like the start of a practical joke. Against him. He said, “If you’ve nothing to say, I’m going indoors. More fool you, Jan, bringing a rabble like this to your father’s club. Goodbye.”
He had meant to stride in, but one of the town 6chevins, patiently rounding the group, arrived at the door just before him and he had to hang back. As the door opened, he realised, to his fury, that Jan Adorne was shouting again. It was intolerable. Stiff with anger, Felix turned for the last time and spat at his friends. “Go away! Away! Go away! I don’t want to see you!”
“Felix!” shrieked Jan Adorne. “Claes the apprentice has married your mother!”
The door closed without Felix noticing. “What?” he said.
Another boy immediately said it again, articulating helpfully, like a teacher. “Your mother’s got married to Claes.”
“Claes the apprentice,” said a voice from the back.
The helpful boy said, “In Jan’s house. This morning.”
This, then, was the practical joke. Felix felt his face swell. Beyond his group of so-called friends a carter had slowed his horse, grinning; and two cloth-merchants striding arguing out of the Tonlieu turned and looked. Behind, the club door had opened yet again and this time stayed open, while inside, heads turned.
Transported with fury, Felix began to walk forward, pushing the shuffling group of his tormentors before him. He said, his face scarlet, his voice low, “I’ll give you Claes and my mother. I’ll teach you to come to my club and make a disturbance in front of my friends. When I’ve finished with you all, you’ll wish you’d never been born. My mother will see your father, Jan Adorne!”
Before his advance, they had fallen back as far as they could. They stood in a huddle on the other side of the narrow street, looking at him. Behind him one of the really rich seigneurs climbed the club steps with a companion and, laughing a little,