Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [65]
Things done on impulse are not always easy to carry through. Her head in its elaborate veiling held high, Katelina said, “I have just heard in a little more detail what befell your apprentice Claes at Sluys. I feel some responsibility … The disagreement which led to his injury began with another incident in which I was involved. I wished to ask how he was.”
The round high-coloured face opposite her broke into an open smile. “Don’t blame yourself,” said the widow Charetty. “There are few people as exasperating as Claes in the midst of some prank. He brings most of it on himself. And he is much better. Well enough indeed to have gone to Sluys, but the physician thought it best to harbour his strength for the journey. Wait. I shall call him. You will see for yourself.”
“Journey?” said Katelina. But the Widow had gone, and when she came back, it was to usher the large figure of Claes himself to stand before Katelina.
Because, she supposed, he was not working in the yard, he was better-smelling than usual, in worn doublet and hose which were clean, and showed no change that she could see in the physique beneath them, which was broadly powerful. Lifting her eyes to his face she thought at first, on her little acquaintance with it, that nothing had altered. Then, as a log shifted, she saw by the flame that his eyes were set deeper than she remembered. Then the dimples appeared, like two thumb-prints, and he said, “But how kind of the lady to trouble! Or was it by wish of my lord Simon? I heard Controller Bladelin had invited him.”
Beside Katelina, Marian de Charetty’s lips tightened. It was enough to set the thing in proportion. Amused, Katelina said, “That’s the second time this evening I have been put in my place. The first time it was my lord Simon, as you call him.”
“One must call him something,” said the apprentice.
Marian de Charetty, sitting, said, “We hoped the matter was over. It created more gossip than it was worth.”
“It will die when Simon has gone,” Katelina said. “And Claes is leaving also?”
“Very shortly,” said the widow de Charetty. “He is forsaking the dye vats for Italy.” She glanced, smiling at her apprentice. “He is joining my captain, Astorre, on a journey to Milan. If it falls out as we hope, he may make his career in the field for a season. He is, you will agree, built for it?”
That, at least, was true. Gazing at the pleasant, firelit face of the apprentice, Katelina wondered what therefore seemed odd about the arrangement. Claes had never fought, rumour said. He had hardly known what to do against Simon. An apprentice such as this had no training. She said, “You will have a lot to learn. Do you ride?”
The dimples deepened. He shook his head. He said, “They’re planning to put the horse on my back.”
Katelina removed her eyes. She said to the Widow, “You think it better for him to leave Bruges. I think you are probably right. He has an enemy, I’m afraid, in my lord Simon, and another in the vicomte his father.”
Chafed by her own recent ignorance she was soothed to note that here, too, there had fallen the silence of bafflement. The widow of Charetty said, “My lord Simon’s father?”
“Jordan de Ribérac. He was at the banquet tonight. I’m told he lives in France.”
“And he shares his son’s … attitude towards Claes?” said the Widow.
“Yes. As I have cause to know,” said Katelina abruptly. She turned to the apprentice, who appeared to have left the discussion. “There is something I have to apologise for. I quoted an expression of yours – an uncomplimentary expression – to my lord Simon. I did not tell him its source, but he seems to have discovered. Part of his anger against you is because of that. I am sorry.”
He stirred, and then smiled fleetingly at her. “But there