The Spring of the Ram - Dorothy Dunnett [68]
Physical punishment, Julius said, never overwhelmed Nicholas. With one singular exception, all Tobie had seen agreed with that. Even-tempered, strong as a bullock, he took what life chose to give, and was either resigned or contented. Now, he was weary but not truly exhausted, and any distress was contained, as the fires had been. He said, “I thought you would come.”
The big stern cabin was littered with sleeping men. Tobie collected his gear and accompanied Nicholas to the prow, where the little chamber for ropes and sails was untouched and, for the time being, empty of sleepers. Tobie entered. A nest of sailcloth invited, and a moment later Nicholas, lingering to ask some question outside, came in and dropped down beside him. Someone had left a small makeshift brazier: the floor had dried, and the air was gratefully warm. Nicholas sat hugging his knees, and apparently waiting.
Tobie bestirred himself and sat fully up. He said, “Catherine de Charetty.”
“Yes?” said Nicholas.
“Yes what?” said Tobie. “You haven’t mentioned her. The crew needn’t know, but the rest very positively must. What are you playing at?”
Nicholas said, “You didn’t tell Julius, or Godscalc. No. Or they would have spoken.”
“Maybe you’ve gone off your head,” Tobie said. “Maybe you’ve mistaken the girl. Or maybe you’re indisputably right, and she’s Doria’s wife, and you are risking your ship and your men for a twelve-year-old. I’m not saying you shouldn’t. But the rest of us, wouldn’t you say, have at least the right to know, and to choose?”
“You think—I hadn’t thought of that,” Nicholas said. He sounded surprised. After a moment he said, “You saw that man’s skull. But you think I invented Doria’s part in the fire?”
“Didn’t you?” Tobie said. Normally, he enjoyed a chance to test Nicholas. Normally, he found it amusing.
Nicholas said, “No. If we catch him, I’ll prove it.”
Tobie said, “Look. I know you think you saw Catherine. I know what it means. Whatever the risk, Julius and Godscalc and Astorre and I would take it, to find the child and discover what’s happened. Half Astorre’s men know her too. So if you’re sure, why didn’t you tell them back there?”
There was a long silence. Then Nicholas said, “Back there, I thought the Doria was still in harbour. There was a chance of seeing the girl, of keeping everything quiet, of handling the whole thing in private.”
“And later?” said Tobie. “You’d rather the crew didn’t know. I see that.”
“There hasn’t been much of a ‘later’,” Nicholas said. “But the other reason is much as you say. He’s a great man for sport, Pagano Doria. I saw her in page’s dress, in the dark, for a moment. He must have meant me to see her. What if he meant to deceive me? A little girl with the same eyes…hair…I’d virtually ruin the real girl by proxy, chasing him all over the East with accusations. He would like that very much.”
“Then you’re not sure?” said Tobie. “All of this is…just in case?”
“He caused the fire,” Nicholas said. “And when you saw me, I was sure. And whether you all come or not, I shan’t leave him alone until I make sure, if I have to walk or swim or crawl to catch up with the Doria.”
Tobie watched him. “Tell me about her,” he said. “The little girl. They sent her to Brussels?”
“They think she’s still there,” Nicholas said. “She kept writing to say she was staying. Over Christmas, even. Marian…The demoiselle was concerned. She said in the last…Gregorio was going to Brussels to see her. If he did, they’ll know by now.” His eyes were on his hands. The backs were raw, with no fluff left anywhere on them. Tobie knew what the palms were like: his own were the same.
Tobie said, “What sort of child was she? Pretty, I thought. A bit silly. But I hardly saw her.”
Nicholas looked up. “I was pretty silly at twelve. Weren’t you?” He made to clasp his hands, and then left them open, dropping his gaze again. He said, “The girls were born years after Felix. He was nine when I first went to work for them, and was being cruel to Tilde, out of jealousy.