Scales of Gold - Dorothy Dunnett [184]
When he invited her to return, she found the sheets and mattress renewed, and Nicholas, sponged and freshened and folded into a dry cotton bedgown, laid back flat as a doll on his pillows. The doctor said, ‘It is the end, you understand, the end of the fever? There will be much sleep, and to drink, and eat sparingly. Now it is safe: you can leave him.’ He patted her shoulder. ‘You are tired.’
He looked tired himself. The lamp flickered, competing with the light of dawn around the edge of the window. She said, ‘Soon,’ and smiled, and, thanking him, ushered him out. Then, crossing the room, she stood by the shutters and opened them.
A cock crew, the sort of sound you heard anywhere, and a child cried. A camel swayed down the lane, a boy on its back flicking his stick, first on one side, then on the other. On the roof of the house opposite, a vulture was sitting. Nicholas said in a doubtful voice, ‘I am sorry. Who is it?’
She turned, and came back to the lamplight. Against the light, with her hair unbound, she must have seemed strange. She sat on the bed-edge and looked at him. Through the night, as never before, she had had leisure to study him. Wringing out the cloths for his neck and his brow, freeing the hair from his eyes, supporting his head to offer him water, she had measured his shape, his size and his weight; formed an opinion of the capable hands; considered the traits which had produced the broad, straight lines on his brow, the sunny lines by the eyes and the others, dimples at present, which one day would deepen and alter his face.
It was altered already, by the deprivation of the last weeks, as well as by illness. He was not old enough to reflect strain as Godscalc did, whose large frame appeared hollow, and whose joints became knobs. Nicholas emerged from adversity concentrated in essence, like a nestling firmed into maturity. It was misleading. Listening to him, as she had listened all night, she did not think he had ever been immature, or a nestling. She did not want to talk to him now.
He had recognised her. He said, ‘Have you been here all night?’
‘And Father Godscalc. It was Bel’s idea,’ she said.
‘Was it interesting?’ he said.
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. ‘Yes,’ she said.
He said nothing, but kept his eyes open. ‘Go to sleep,’ she said shortly.
He said, ‘I thought you wanted to tell me what secrets I gave away.’
‘Nothing I didn’t guess,’ Gelis said. She blew out the lamp and rose from his bedside.
‘Nothing? My good God,’ he said. His eyes were still open.
‘Or very little. I knew you had a child by Katelina,’ she said. ‘The son that Simon thinks is his. Godscalc knows.’
‘Godscalc and Tobie,’ he said. ‘Tobie, my doctor. My other doctor. One of my other doctors. If you tell Simon it’s mine, he will kill it.’
‘It? I thought it was a son. You don’t want Katelina’s son?’ she said.
His eyes were pale grey, with hairline pleats of darker grey round the iris. He said, but not immediately, ‘I prefer a quiet life.’
Elsewhere in the house, people were rousing. She heard voices, and footsteps. The night was over, and there had been no attack. She observed, ‘You nearly had a very unquiet life yesterday morning. The governor and the garrison commander were fighting over you.’
He said, ‘I remember being sick over someone. Who won?’
‘Umar,’ she said.
‘Umar,’ he repeated. She saw that, for the moment, he was too deadened by weakness to think. He said, ‘I don’t even know where I am.’
‘Timbuktu,’ she said.
‘And who is Umar?’ he asked. His voice was fractured; he had been hoarse for some hours, but hardly seemed to be aware of it. She hesitated.
The door had opened so quietly that she hadn’t heard it. Lopez was standing just inside. Lopez. Umar. He remained standing until Nicholas noticed him. Neither spoke. Gelis held her breath.
Unable this time to dissemble,