Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [246]
“For posterity. You haven’t, but I have,” said Nicholas, his eyes finally shut. He thought he was in control of the matter and would open them after Felix had gone, but his central authority proved to be of a different opinion.
It was, however, his last involuntary withdrawal. The next time he wakened, it was for several hours: long enough to manage some solid food and to hear at last the tale of Sarno. Sarno, which should have been a long, bloodless siege but because of desertions turned into an ill-advised attack on one tower. And the ill-advised attack having succeeded, further spread into a major assault, unplanned, disconnected and leader less. The attacking troops, as Lionetto had said, had been shot down from the walls by their own handguns.
Astorre had got out with almost all his force, alone of all the army. The handgunners who deserted were not his. King Ferrante had escaped with twenty horsemen to Naples. The Milanese ambassador had lost all his papers but got away safely to Nocera. So had the Strozzi (said Julius), who had already exported everything of value from Naples, including his savings. And now Duke John of Calabria was left victorious in the field. He had only to regroup his army, obtain some reinforcements, and march on Naples and take it. This army, stuck in the Abruzzi playing at jousting, was not going to stop him. Julius was scornful, but Astorre the veteran made them listen to common sense. The puckered eye had regained its gleam and the bow legs their spring.
“What can we do? Can’t dodge Piccinino. Can’t beat him. But if he’s blocking us, we’re stopping him rushing off to Duke John. The longer we keep him here, the more chance of reinforcements from Milan. Keep him jousting, I say. Sing to him. Do anything except fight, till we’re ready.”
Watching Astorre from the depths of his pillows, Nicholas was aware that none of this was being addressed to him directly. Since he came back, Astorre had been avoiding him. He was the demoiselle’s new husband, liable to jump up and give Astorre orders, whereas yesterday he’d been Astorre’s much-beaten pupil. Astorre hadn’t yet decided how to handle it. Nicholas could see the difficulty. He hoped Astorre would have the sense to take the problem to Julius, who had been remarkably incurious about his marriage so far, perhaps because of the regime imposed by his snarling doctor. A talk with Julius was indicated, as soon as might be.
The chance came on the day of the tournament, which was no barnyard contest. It was the Count’s contenders against the cavaliers of the Duke, and the honour of both sides demanded nothing less than magnificence.
The Brotherhood of the White Bear at Bruges couldn’t have bettered it. Spurred by rivalry, the carpenters of both armies had set up the stands and the banners, the workmen erected the painted pavilions hung with shields. Sun gleamed on trumpets and tabards and blazed and glittered on the rippling shells of plate armour. Horses paced, their embroidered cloths sweeping the grass in brilliant primary colours, and their manes plumed and tasselled. Birds and animals, grotesquely decked, sprang from the helms of the competitors and, taking the pace of their wearers, trotted the length of the lists like some bestiary distressingly animated. Behind the tents on both sides of the lists the opposing armies sprawled at ease. Nicholas was there, helped by the one good arm of Julius.
The captain himself was arming Felix. They could see the Charetty blue in the distance, from the seats Julius had found them. Julius said, “He’ll be all right. He’s quick. Even Astorre was surprised.”
Nicholas said, “I spoiled the White Bear joust for him. He doesn’t know.”
Julius looked at him down the bone of his nose. “You sent Felix to Naples. Don’t tell me you couldn’t have stopped him. If he swallowed your marriage, he’d swallow anything.”
“Has Astorre swallowed my marriage?” said Nicholas.
Julius grinned. “Shall I tell you what he said when he heard about