The Spring of the Ram - Dorothy Dunnett [241]
Godscalc turned his head. Irritated, Tobie said, “After what Doria did to him and Julius at Vavuk? In any case, Nicholas doesn’t need to kill him; just put him out of public life for a day or two or a dozen.” He refused to look at Godscalc. He was irritated because he knew Astorre was right. A blind man could see that Nicholas, despite everything, was in his element. And that part of the reason was the game Doria was giving him.
It was even clearer by the time the course resumed, because they had fresh horses, and were rested, and were able to play with all the knowledge they had acquired in the first half. And again, you could see, as had happened in the very first moments, how similarly the two minds were working: both quick, both witty; both devious. Suddenly, on the point of careering elsewhere, Nicholas would cut the ball to the side where, mysteriously, Doria would be already waiting. Or Doria, under attack, would back-hand the ball under his horse’s tail to where Nicholas, anticipating, had already pivoted ready to punt it off in the opposite direction.
Of the others, neither Alexios nor Basil Amiroutzes possessed the same instinct, although on the other side Maria could counter at times from experience and Violante, from something a little nearer to their own skills. Catherine, the best natural horsewoman there, found them bewildering and became angry. It was then, from sheer intoxication, that Nicholas and Doria combined in a wordless, elaborate double-feint that left her bemused in a pivoting circle while the ball, already half over the field, was being driven between them to score yet another point for their side. Beside him, Tobie heard Godscalc say something under his breath, obscured by the noise of the drums and the trumpets. On his other side, Astorre was yelling with pleasure, but Loppe, he saw, was silent like himself.
Now, gathered again in the centre, the riders cast longer shadows and the time left, you could see, must be short. Their mounts lathered and blown, both Nicholas and Doria had dismounted and changed to fresh horses. On both, the green and white silk was brown-stained and torn, and Nicholas had lost his hat: its brim had indented his hair above his darkened beard and dirt-splattered face. His eyes, ringed by wet lashes, were brilliant. Godscalc said, “Look at Doria.”
Tobie turned, expecting a reflection of the same heedless enjoyment. What he saw was Doria’s stark profile as the man stood, watching Nicholas take the saddle, gay as a clock spring, and catch the reins from a jubilant groom. Godscalc said, “One of them has remembered.”
The men had won six points. The women, hard as they fought, had only two. Violante, it was clear, wished another score as a matter of pride. This time, they crowded the men, each marking their opponent; and Maria and Violante herself set to pin down the two clowns, the two comedians. Then the girl Anna took the ball and, wrenching round her high-stepping, stout little horse, set out for the far end of the field without looking round, and without passing. They all stampeded after her.
Catherine, streaking up to her side, prepared to protect her from the young Amiroutzes whose horse was coming in hard on the other side. Violante shouted to the girl just as she failed, twisting round, to hit the back-stroke that would save them. Instead, the youth’s stick caught hers and broke it. For a moment, the two horses jostled together; then Amiroutzes broke free and, pulling round, went to make for the ball at the same moment as Violante and Catherine. For a while, the three horses galloped side by side, with Alexios and Maria approaching on one side and