Scales of Gold - Dorothy Dunnett [272]
He himself had not realised, until the faces of Diniz and the other two warned him, that his own colleagues had come to the Gand gate apprehensive of what they would see. They had heard he was safe: he had sent them messages; he was obviously capable still of journeying over the Alps. If they were so relieved to see him properly gowned and largely unchanged, then presumably others had shared their misgivings. It was not until he saw Godscalc that he understood the whole cause.
By then, he had replied to the speeches and received the scroll with the burgomaster’s name on it, and led his small cavalcade through all the familiar streets to the tall, elaborate house he now shared with the Charetty. The citizens of Bruges did not line the way, although the most curious had come as far as the bridge and plenty of others glanced over their shoulders as the banners and trumpets trooped past. He saw a few rascals he knew, and a few old friends, and one or two very old enemies. He didn’t embarrass any of them by stopping to speak.
Diniz was, he thought, disappointed; but Gregorio, flushed with emotion, explained over the noise of the hooves. ‘I’m amazed they managed the trumpets – they’re punch-drunk with ceremonies. The old Duke’s funeral, the new Duke’s entry, the Chapter of the Golden Fleece, the Easter processions, and now this bloody Wedding, twice postponed. Are you really well?’
His eyes kept travelling beyond Nicholas. Nicholas said, ‘If you stopped yelling in my ear, you could drop back and ride beside her. Margot, tell him we’re all really well, and you’ve agreed to marry me.’
Both now scarlet, Gregorio and his splendid Margot changed their order of riding. Tilde said, ‘They should marry.’
She looked well, too; twenty-one years old, with her brown hair long and burnished under her cap and her lightly furred cloak falling from straight shoulders. She was smiling into space.
Diniz said, ‘Everyone should.’ He was smiling into space, too. Then they both turned and spoke to Nicholas at once.
At Spangnaerts Street, their town escort departed and Diniz, by magic, disposed of the servants and soldiers they had brought with them. In the yard were all the dyeyard workers from Henninc downwards, and the office workers led by Cristoffels. And Catherine, Tilde’s young sister, crying a little. And a tall, bent man in a priest’s robe with a crutch under one arm who held out the claw of a bird and said, ‘Now I am content.’
‘And I, also,’ said Nicholas. ‘But there is still room for improvement.’
That day he spent among them all, as was right. The barrels of wine were broken open and the platters of food came steaming through from the kitchen, accompanied by the cooks themselves, and the whispering kitchen boys in relays. And as the hours wore on, others came – not of the greater sort, but small clients and craftsmen who would not figure at the town’s board, but who had known the Charetty family long enough. Among them was Colard Mansion, scribe and painter.
‘My dear! The Baptist, angelic and meagre! And sober, on your day of rejoicing?’
‘It’s a lie. I’m as drunk as you are. Did you get my letters?’ said Nicholas.
‘What letters?’ said Colard. ‘Yes, I got them. Never mind farting business. You should see what vander Goes and I have done for the Wedding. You heard about the Wedding? We had to get it all ready for May, and now it’s not till nearly July. The twelve bloody labours of Hercules – I am serious. Ships, and trees. A lion. A leopard. A unicorn. A whale. A camel – you ought to know all about camels. Anything that can take a tube up its arse and pee wine. Come and see it all. I’ll get Governor William to come.’
‘Will you?’ said Nicholas. Godscalc was out of hearing.
‘Yes. How much money have you got?’ said Colard Mansion.
‘Enough for half of what you’re thinking