Scales of Gold - Dorothy Dunnett [58]
‘Thank you,’ said Gelis van Borselen. ‘I have my own confessor.’
‘He is with you?’ Godscalc said. She had seated herself, and waved to them all to take seats. A manservant carried in wine.
‘No,’ she said. She might have been made out of driftwood. Behind, her attendant sat on her stool, her sewing clutched in both hands, her black eyes glaring.
Nicholas said, ‘But I remember your maid. That is Matten, surely?’
A Lenten carnival, when he was an apprentice and Gelis a spoilt child in Bruges, evading Matten’s busy care. Waves of hatred reached him from the corner. He could feel them.
‘I am surprised,’ Gelis said. ‘I thought it was only Katelina you knew. Please take some wine. It is harmless.’
He said, the wine in his hand, ‘It is alone in that property. I came to speak to you about Katelina. Later, perhaps, if the others will forgive us.’
‘Ah,’ said Gelis. Unfolding her hands, she raised a kerchief to the corner of each dry, still unwinking blue eye. She said, ‘One day, it would – it will – give me unspeakable comfort. But not just yet. The agitation is more than I can bear. The chamberlain will understand.’
‘Of course, of course,’ said that aristocrat, who meant well, and was enjoying his wine. ‘The effect on Senhora Lucia has been tragic. That I know.’
‘In what way?’ said Father Godscalc. His knuckles showed white, Nicholas noticed, the way they did when he was apprehensive in battle.
‘Oh, anger,’ said Katelina’s sister. ‘It is usual, I think. Anger against anyone and everyone; even against the husband who died.’
‘As perhaps you feel anger against Katelina?’ said the priest.
She placed her chin on one hand and looked at him. ‘For being dead, yes. As a competitor, no. That was what you meant?’
‘Forgive me,’ Godscalc said. ‘Each pair of sisters is different. I am glad you are here, at least, with the demoiselle Lucia. And I hope her son is bringing her solace. To know what actually happened, from one who was there, is of great moment.’
To himself, Nicholas groaned. The girl merely opened her eyes and said, ‘You were there? On Rhodes? In Famagusta?’
‘Surely,’ said the priest, ‘you believe Diniz?’ For the sake of the official, he smiled. ‘A boy of transparent honesty, I am told. Unless, impaired in health, he made a bad journey? We have heard nothing of him.’
‘Neither have we,’ said the girl. ‘But let us speak of –’
‘The young senhor?’ said the chamberlain. ‘There is no news, of course, but we know where he is. So gallant! So determined, despite the terrible siege, to forgo the comfort of home, and strike another blow against Satan! The young man is with the armies in Ceuta.’
Nicholas found, too late, that he was on his feet. The girl’s brows had lifted. He turned, and walked to look from the window. Crackbene had probably known it, but hadn’t told him. Hadn’t, rather, been given a chance. Godscalc said, ‘Why?’ His voice was rough.
The chamberlain said, ‘It is not for me to say. One knows, of course, that it was not the wish of my lord his grandfather, but who would deflect a Christian soul so impelled?’
Not the wish of my lord his grandfather. Behind him, Nicholas heard Godscalc draw breath, and turned. Godscalc said, ‘By what means – That is, when did the boy go?’
‘When the Burgundians came,’ said the chamberlain. ‘Was it not? When the fleet came from Bruges with the Bastard of Burgundy? That was when.’
‘Naturally, his kinsmen are proud,’ the girl said. ‘What are material considerations when a young warrior leaves on crusade? You, too, have answered the summons, and, whatever the cost, your names will be written in letters of gold. And now, being so recently bereaved, I fear I must ask you to forgive me.’
Nicholas turned. The chamberlain was already rising. Nicholas said, ‘We have hardly eased your mourning. Perhaps I could, before going. Or at least, speak to the senhora.’
It was, by now, only a matter of form; a matter of letting her know that he did not propose to give up. As he expected, she refused, sadly and employing the kerchief. The woman Matten had already jerked open the door. The chamberlain,