Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [279]
Adorne said, “You know Prosper de Camulio is coming to Genappe?”
A hot night in Milan, and Tomà Adorno. And, of course, Felix.
Nicholas said, “On Genoese business? Or for Duke Francesco?”
“As envoy of the Duke of Milan,” Adorne said. “An alliance between the Dauphin and Milan is under negotiation. I can’t imagine that’s news.”
“No,” said Nicholas. “Is he staying long?”
“Long enough,” said Adorne, “to give you the introductions you may be waiting for. As with Milan and the Dauphin, circumstance seems to be making bedfellows of Venice and Genoa. I only hope, if you lie on that particular bed, that you will live to get up from it.” He waited. Nicholas, who had learned when to say nothing, made no comment. Anselm Adorne smiled and, taking ribbon, began to tie up his papers. He said, “The requiem Mass tomorrow for the late James, King of Scotland. Are you and your wife brave enough to attend?”
He went on tying the ribbon. Nicholas said, “Why?”
Adorne pushed the packet aside and looked up, folding his hands. He said, “I thought you mightn’t have heard. Don’t you know how the King died?”
Nicholas sat very still. He said, “I knew he was young. I assumed he was killed in battle. He was fighting the English, surely?”
Adorne nodded. “At a place called Roxburgh. He was besieging the castle with all his artillery, including the two cannon from Mons. One of them burst as he stood beside it, and killed him.”
Nicholas said, “Not Meg, I’m sure. But Martha?”
Adorne said, “The one that sank at Damme. Of course, that had nothing to do with it. It left Sluys for Scotland in perfect order – if it burst, it burst for quite different reasons. But you should be prepared for certain remarks if you go to the service. When you go. I think you should attend.”
He waited. Nicholas said, “How many others were killed?”
“Only the King and one other man,” Adorne said. “Not a massacre. A piece of bad luck, that was all. They were both fascinated by guns. The King and Kilmirren. The other who died was Alan of Kilmirren, the uncle of your old acquaintance Simon. I’m told Simon is delighted. He now gets everything his own way in Scotland.”
Nicholas heard the words, but they were a long way behind the place his thoughts had arrived at. He realised that Adorne was speaking again in a different way.
Adorne said, “But, in fact, you did plan to sink that cannon, didn’t you? Monsignore de’ Acciajuoli saw you position the barge before it entered the lock. And found the pattern of jet-holes in the wall afterwards.”
Nicholas said, “I thought of a way to do it. That was all.”
“And did it,” said Adorne. “Why?”
“To see what would happen,” said Nicholas flatly.
He got back so late that he thought Marian would have retired, but there was light still to be seen, rimming the bedchamber door. At night, instead of wearing mourning, she waited for him in a fine robe the colour of her loosened hair. The gown had no fastenings, and there was nothing below it. There were ceremonies he had invented to do with that. There was no ceremony in the world he wanted to take part in tonight. But he couldn’t pass her door either. He paused, and then tapped and went in, fully dressed as he was.
Since coming back, he had grown to know this room well. The narrow windows with their studded shutters and the squares of latticed glass. The stone fireplace, with the settle piled with cushions standing with its back to the empty hearth. The painted chests which held her possessions. The sturdy table, with a bowl of figs or pomegranates on its lower shelf, and a spouted wine-jug in silver standing on top, with two goblets ready. A shelf with her silver plate, and a porcelain jug with some late roses. A round mirror, and another table with a basin of water on it, and a towel hanging beside it, on a bracket.
Two stools, and a carpet, and some cushions on the floor, which became pressed flat with their weight, and had to be lifted and shaken before morning. And of course