The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [119]
Nicholas de Fleury was big, for an artisan. He said, ‘No gift could compensate. I brought an explanation instead.’
‘I do not think,’ said her husband, ‘that your former friend Margriet wants to hear it. She thinks I should have you arrested.’
Margriet flushed, then lifted her chin.
The young man said, ‘I should not resist you. When did I ever?’
‘When did you have the means?’ said Anselm dryly. ‘I may still commit you. If you had injured my nephew or niece, I would show you no mercy. As it is, I promise to hear your excuse, that is all.’
‘It is an explanation, not an excuse,’ the man said. ‘I have no excuse.’
He stood with a sober face and did not look awkward, although no one had asked him to sit.
‘Well?’ said Anselm. She had heard him help young people who had made a mistake. He did not do so this time. She was glad.
The young man lifted his head. She, too, heard the voices. Antoon and Arnoud, the little ones. The shrill sounds faded away. The young man before Anselm said, ‘My quarrel was with Simon de St Pol. I had made a pact, at some sacrifice, and he broke it. I meant to teach him a physical lesson. He is my superior in most forms of fighting: I didn’t think it unfair. But I lost my temper.’
‘How strange!’ remarked Anselm. ‘Your greatest weapon? That is how you win against Simon. You could have killed him with ease.’
‘I didn’t mean to kill him,’ said the other.
‘Or me?’
‘You were lucky,’ said the young man. He paused. ‘I mean –’
‘You mean you didn’t really care at the time where you struck. Why did you want to follow Simon? To finish what you had started?’
‘In a sense,’ the man said. He spoke slowly. ‘Not to kill him. But not to leave it like that.’
‘To apologise? To get him to apologise? He was, I think, unlikely to do that.’
‘Nothing so civilised,’ the man Nicholas said. ‘I wanted to keep fighting until he knew that I’d beaten him. And then remind him that he couldn’t do anything about it.’
‘He couldn’t?’
‘Or I shouldn’t be so magnanimous about Henry.’
‘Henry?’ Margriet repeated, frowning.
‘Henry de St Pol, Simon’s son,’ said her husband without turning his head. ‘I don’t think I told you. He lost his temper during a tourney. When Nicholas tried to help, the boy stabbed him.’
‘And he couldn’t be seven!’ said Margriet, touched with horror.
The two men looked at one another. She became aware of a silence. Then Anselm said, ‘I observe the parallel. You think I shall not prefer charges against you, in return for the advantage it gives me?’
‘You have witnesses,’ the young man said.
‘Yes.’ She knew Anselm. When he leaned back like that, he had achieved what he wanted. He said, ‘And what primacy should I have? What degree of control? What, in fact, do you offer?’
‘As much as I have over Simon, for what it is worth. I shall try not to displease you. On the other hand, if you push me too far, you will have to revive the case and take me to law. But I shall do my best to elude you, and you will never possess such an advantage again.’
They were still looking at one another. Then Anselm turned his head towards her. ‘Well, my dear? What do you think? You have heard his suggestion. Do we accept this solatium or not?’
She said, ‘Ser Anselm, are you out of your senses? He wounds you nearly to death. He asks you not to take him to law. And in return, he will try not to displease you, as if it were some sort of concession, and not the Christian duty of every soul on this earth!’
Her husband smiled. He had turned his eyes from her again. He said, ‘You have missed the point, which indeed has been made with some delicacy. Unlike most Christian souls, this one is capable of causing you. me and our children quite