Scales of Gold - Dorothy Dunnett [60]
He was in the room he had been entertained in hours earlier, except that he was lying stretched on the floor with a circle of women sitting around him. One of them still held a hackbut, but at an unusual angle. She was asleep.
Next to her was a flushed woman with deep yellow hair and eyes the dense blue of cornflowers. Lucia, widow of Tristão and sister to Simon; the lady who had screamed in the bed.
Next to her was Gelis van Borselen. She said, ‘Basil the Bulgar-slayer. We assumed you would have noticed the window next door, with a balcony. It was a much easier climb.’
Nicholas sat up. The room swung. Nothing had been done either to him or for him; he was not bound, and was still fully dressed, if dishevelled. His clothes felt abused, as if penetrated by many ill-wishing eyes through to his skeleton. There was blood in his hair, which was uncovered. He said, ‘Why didn’t you ask me to stay? It would have been simpler.’ He used Flemish, as she had.
‘Then we couldn’t have hit you with a brick.’
‘You could have killed me,’ Nicholas said. It was a suggestion, not a complaint. ‘As an intruder.’
‘Not as of the moment,’ said Gelis van Borselen. ‘We are confined to a small-injury tariff. Push the carpet away. You will stain it.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Nicholas said. He pushed the carpet away and found a handkerchief to apply to his head, which was throbbing. He then made to get up. The yellow-haired woman screamed, and the person with the gun abruptly opened her eyes and levelled it.
Gelis van Borselen said, ‘I think you should stay where you are. Bel has been up all night watching for you. Lucia, if you scream again, the servants will hear you. Say what you have to say.’
‘Me?’ Nicholas said. He remembered having a lot to drink in a tavern.
‘Yes. That is Lucia Vasquez. You have to tell her you didn’t kill Tristão her husband, or enslave her son in a dyeyard and then attempt to seduce him.’
‘Gelis!’ said the yellow-haired woman. She was perfectly beautiful. She was only ten years older than he was. She started to sob.
Nicholas said, ‘Look, slow down, will you? I’ll tell her, but that’s no way to do it.’
‘You don’t even need to tell her,’ said the young woman. ‘We have Katelina’s own letter. Tristão died by mistake, and you employed Diniz for his own good, and he disliked you so much he took an axe to you. She even says you had nothing to do with the way she was dying. Lucia thinks you dictated the letter, but I’m prepared to believe anything.’
Lucia, widow of Tristão Vasquez, raised her face. Even weeping, she still looked remarkable. ‘But for Claes vander Poele, Katelina would never have gone to Cyprus.’
The broad woman with the hackbut laid it down and, crossing, sat down and took Lucia’s hand. She said, ‘My God, she would have had to go somewhere; ask anyone. This last two year and more, Simon never bounced on the same buttocks twice.’
Nicholas choked. Katelina’s sister said, ‘You understand Scots? Bel of Cuthilgurdy, Lucia’s companion. There’s a lot of truth in what she says. What else did you want to tell us?’
Nicholas rested on the rather cold tiles and stared at her. He said, ‘I haven’t told you anything yet.’
‘That’s true,’ she said. ‘I rather thought you’d be quicker. So the Bank isn’t doing too well, and you’d like to talk of a merger?’
He sat cross-kneed like a gnome, and covered his face with his hands. He spread his fingers and looked at her. ‘You think Simon would agree?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘We don’t even know where he is. Anyway, he’s had other offers.’
‘The fool!’ Lucia said. ‘We’re going to be homeless!’ She dragged her hand away and hugged herself, rocking. The woman Bel patted her back.
‘What offers?’ Nicholas said. His head was hot, and his bottom was cold. Someone scratched on the door and the woman Bel got up and answered. The steward came in, glancing at Nicholas, and then at his mistress, who was currently speechless.
Gelis van Borselen, who was not, spoke to him kindly. ‘Senhor vander Poele was attacked and came back to ask help. You want the senhora?’
‘Yes?’ said Lucia, making a feeble