Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [285]
He smiled and Simon, arriving with Vasquez, halted and looked at him with disbelief, with amazement, with a growing fury that, for a moment, deprived him of speech.
At the same moment, the other man glanced across and his face changed also, radically. João Vasquez, arrested, stopped on the verge of introducing him. Gruuthuse looked round with an air of enquiry. Simon stared straight at his host. He said, “M. de Gruuthuse, I cannot think you know what you are doing. We are here to mourn the death of our king. You insult us by inviting the man who caused him to die.”
Like Anselm Adorne, Louis de Gruuthuse was a master of awkward situations. He smiled at the commander and made a little move, so that Zorzi was no longer quite in the circle, and Marian de Charetty, moving with him, was able to distract him. Vasquez stayed.
Gruuthuse said, “Well now, you might as well blame the good men who made that cannon in Mons as pounce upon Nicholas here. And the name of Gruuthuse is guarantee enough, I should have thought, of good faith. I should never shame any guest. Come. There are others who want to meet you.”
Simon made no move, nor did he look at anyone but the youth he had last seen in tatters outside the burning wreck of his dyeshop. Simon said, “How dare you appear in this company? How dare you dress as a burgess, as if your stinking clothes and your clogs were forgotten? I’d like to teach you a lesson.”
“You already have,” said the boy Claes. He had changed colour. He began to back away, with the encouragement of that meddler Gruuthuse.
Simon followed him, lounging. “You think I would fight you again? Hardly. But when you tempt Providence as you do, you should look out for acts of God. They do happen. Another fire. The sad expiry of a business deal. A lack of confidence, shall we say, in the house of Charetty? It might be awkward, you know. How would you live, after all, if there was no business? You would have to go back to the dyevats, wouldn’t you? And take your elderly lady along with you?”
Louis de Gruuthuse said, “Kilmirren. That’s enough. Senor João, I’d be obliged if you would see to your friend.”
Simon paid no attention. Simon said, “What are you going to do, Nicholas, when you’re tired of her and she can’t support you any more? You got rid of her son quickly enough, they tell me. You may be sorry. A young man can support his elders if he works hard enough, and is well beaten.”
He was getting home to the boy. The boy looked stupid. He said, “Ser Louis, forgive me,” and tried to turn on his heel, but Simon caught him hard by the elbow, willing the fellow to try and hit him. The youth wrenched, and then stood still. Simon’s hands were used to a sword. He could grip to draw blood, when he wanted to. People were looking round. Simon saw Katelina turn as well. He hoped she would come over.
The boy said, “Let me go.”
“You didn’t hear me,” Simon said.
“Yes, I heard you,” he said. Bleated, perhaps. Their host, giving up, had moved away, his face rather grim. After a moment, Vasquez left too, leaving them isolated.
Simon said, “And you have nothing to say?”
The boy said, “I have nothing to say here. If you use your imagination, you must know what I think.”
“I don’t know why I think it worth the trouble,” said Simon. He released his grip. He said, “Ah. There you are. Come and look at this turd who has married his employer and can do nothing in front of gentlemen except stand and quake.”
“You mean Claes?” said Katelina van Borselen. “But no one expects Claes to be brave, unless someone pays him.”
The boy and she stared at one another. Simon, pleased, thought he had never seen her look more handsome than she did now, in her scorn. The emeralds he had given her jumped and flashed round her throat, and gold shone around the edge of her hennin, whose veils framed her face.
After what seemed a long time the boy said, “You’re back from Brittany.”
She said,