Scales of Gold - Dorothy Dunnett [286]
As once at St Omer, Gregorio saw parade before him the thirteen Knights in their collars and robes, Henry van Borselen and Louis de Gruuthuse among them. And Diniz, soldier of Ceuta, met again the Duke’s half-brother Antony, and spoke to Simon de Lalaing, remnant of the flower of chivalry. The Duke himself received Nicholas at the Princenhof, and questioned him about his adventures. His interest seemed to be part commercial, part religious and part romantic: Nicholas did his best to conform.
Charles, by the grace of God Duke of Burgundy, Lothier, Brabant and Limbourg and Count of Flanders, Holland and Zeeland, was less comely, Nicholas thought, than the late Timbuktu-Koy and, he suspected, not as shrewd. The Chapter of the Fleece, with boyish hilarity, had reprimanded the Duke for his reckless yearning for battle, and, with Arthurian gallantry, he had admitted it.
As to the possession of mistresses and wives, Duke Charles couldn’t even rank with King Gnumi. The Duke’s first two wives were dead, and the one he was about to marry was a well-used maiden, they said, who had given birth to at least one live child, stupid girl. But an English alliance was necessary, and the King’s sister was the only royal bride then on offer.
After the audience had dragged to its end, it was made known to Nicholas that the Duke expected him to attend the bridal celebrations. ‘As the ape,’ Nicholas said, describing the complete scene to Gelis. ‘I come on between the dwarves and the unicorn. I’ve become the Guinea Minstrel of Burgundy. Why won’t you take your clothes off?’
‘Because I can’t,’ Gelis said. ‘As at Easter. Nicholas, I’m sorry. I’m as sorry as you are.’
‘Christ!’ said Nicholas, and gave a half-laugh. ‘No, you can’t be as sorry as I am.’
It was the last night he and Gelis had together before her ship sailed for Scotland, and they spent it in the Charetty-Niccolò mansion, where Tilde had kept her a chamber. The reason was genuine enough: the houses of Gruuthuse and Borselen were full of knights and their retinues. The excuse by that time hardly mattered. Before the household was fully abed, Gelis came to his room.
He had known he would pass the night awake, but not seated in stillness at a window, with Gelis in her chemise, white as his, at his knee, her head and arms laid in his lap. She said, ‘You would make a very good ape.’
‘I have been practising,’ Nicholas said.
Her head moved under his hand. In the moonlight, he could see the curve of her cheek, and her lashes, and the profile of her nose. It was red. ‘You’re not a plaything. Don’t pretend you could be,’ she said. ‘Anyway, you’ve reached perfection. You don’t need to practise.’
‘I enjoy it,’ he said. His throat ached. He said, ‘I wanted more. Tonight. Or even always.’
‘I know,’ Gelis said.
He waited, as he had learned to wait, and gazed out of the window. The stars were different. It was hard even to discover the stars, because of the glow of the city. Hung on the sky, he could see the ghosts of coquettish gables, and the round glass eyes of casements, and a branch of lilac blossom, swaying in lamplight. He thought of space, and slowly everything quietened, even his cheated senses.
Gelis said, ‘Sometimes, I am afraid of your patience. If I said – I still don’t know; wait for me twenty-five years? What would you do?’
‘Express astonishment,’ Nicholas said. ‘Anyone who can act as you do doesn’t need twenty-five years to decide whom to marry. I’ve seen you shoot to kill with a crossbow. This should be easier.’
He felt her cheek move as she smiled, but she didn’t change her position. She said, ‘We are discussing marriage?’
He said, ‘I thought we had managed to come round to it at last. You said, I think, that if you didn’t want me, you’d tell me. You also said …’ He didn