Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [203]
Then Nicholas came quickly up the stairs and tapped on her door and opened it. “Reward?” he said. She wrinkled her nose. “I know,” he said. “It’s the smell of relief, this time. I thought my deep-laid plot had gone wrong.”
“But you had contingency plans,” she said.
“Oh, yes. Three dog handlers and Gregorio’s mistress. That is, I hadn’t asked Gregorio yet.” He smiled lavishly at her. “Do I deserve some special, strong wine? Felix has gone, then?”
Her chin trembled while she was smiling at him. She stiffened it. She said, “Will they treat him well?”
He said, “Of course they will. It’s the Dauphin he’ll see, really. Probably for the last time. But they’re well bred. They won’t stint.” He paused. “The drawback is that you’ll be gone when he gets back. Did you tell him?”
“About the tour of triumph? Yes.” Her back to him, she poured wine in generous measure.
“When he thinks about it, he’ll be pleased. He’ll be master until you come back. And he won’t have to see me leave, either.”
She gave him his wine and stood for a moment, holding her own. “I don’t know. He’s not very complicated. I think he feels a little like Tilde. They both like to see you here slaving for them.”
He was relieved. The ridiculous dimples, missing for a day or two, had returned. He said, “If I don’t know when to keep my place, then I might as well pay for it here, rather than tread primrose paths in the distance? He ought to see the primrose paths. Especially this time. He should have lent me his armour for Geneva. I’ve had an idea.”
She went and sat down. “Now I can bear it. Yes?”
He said, “Why don’t we leave on Sunday, during the joust? The roads would be clear. Unless you still want to be present?”
She shuddered. “No.”
“Well?”
She said, “There would be no one to help. Everyone will be watching. You won’t even get a bodyguard to come away, I shouldn’t wonder.”
Even as he began persuasively to answer her, she knew that he had it planned already. Another contingency. He had cancelled the bodyguard. He had found another, and an escort for herself from the former master-at-arms who ran the metal foundry. Her personal servants were willing to come, and the cook from Spangnaerts Street: Gregorio would find a replacement. The packing could all be done tomorrow.
She watched him, and at the end said, “And when does Simon arrive?”
He grinned. He said, “Tomorrow. But I can’t get us away quite so early. And the roads would be packed.”
She said, “He’ll still be here when I come back. And perhaps de Ribérac.”
The benign smile was still there. “They may have threatened you, but I’m the object of their real esteem, remember. Anyway, they won’t come together. They dislike each other. And even if they do, I’ve told Gregorio what to do about it. While I’m away, he’ll move back to Julius’ office. In the evenings, you let no one in.”
“Really?” she said.
“Except by invitation, of course. There are primrose paths everywhere, or should be.”
His large smile defied her to take him seriously. She wondered, with humour, who was supposed to travel the aforesaid paths with her. Gregorio had his mistress. Metteneye was suited. All her clients had wives already. That left Oudenin, she supposed. Or possibly even Henninc. She reproved herself. He had taken thought for her safety, returning. Concern for what she did, once returned, was too much to expect.
Side by side with an extremely handsome young woman and followed by a double line of attendants, Simon of Kilmirren rode through the clamorous highways of Bruges on Saturday. Behind him, page, squire, grooms carried his shield and his weapons and led his fine horses. Liveried riders conducted the sumpter mules and bore the gold-tasselled pennants which had surged and flapped all the way from Calais.
Simon himself wore his jousting-armour and carried his helm, the green plumes trailing over his arm. His face, with its fair skin and pure, finicking