The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [135]
The old man said, ‘Is it no’ plain eneugh? It’s a process for the settling o’ feuds, with due regard to an action of blood that’s been committed. That is to say, the baith o’ ye wad mutually remit and forgive all unkindnesses and injuries done tae the other in times bypast. Master de Fleury, wad ye set your name tae that?’
‘I should. But you would have to ask Anselm here for his part.’
‘Master Anselm! But ye’ve nae quarrel wi’ him, or so ye were telling me. It’s Simon de St Pol of Kilmirren your tuilzie was with, and may be with again. So I ask ye again. Wad ye subscribe?’
‘Simon de St Pol is abroad,’ Nicholas said. ‘It would be unfair, I think, to expect me to sign unless he did. But I shall agree without stint to any pact or redress you require in the other case. Perhaps Master Sersanders himself has a view.’
They faced one another, Nicholas and the boy four years younger. Sersanders looked strained; Nicholas sober. Sersanders said, ‘My uncle’s wellbeing is worth more than money, but it is not, perhaps, worth another life. I accept that the attack was not personal. If my uncle has not demanded public satisfaction, then neither will I. But I want M. de Fleury to confess and to apologise for that act now, before witnesses. And I wish him to meet me, with blunted weapons, at a joust of my choosing before the end of his stay. Does my lord deem this sufficient?’
Lord Fleming looked at his son, who gave a slight nod.
‘Aweel,’ said his lordship, scratching his head under his turban. ‘Another man, Maister Sersanders, wad say ye’ve missed your chance of a muckle great sack of the usual money of Scotland, but I respect ye for’t. Right enough, he’ll apologise, and ye’ve leave tae broadcast it as ye wish. And as for the joust, it is ilka man’s right to challenge another, and Master de Fleury will promise to afford ye the fullest contemption and satisfaction, with blunted points. Are we agreed? Sir Hugh there, where are you?’
The chaplain came forward. Lord Fleming waited, erect in his chair, while the apology was made and accepted. There was a brief, unfriendly handshake. Lord Fleming looked at the banker his guest and flung himself back, poking under his bonnet again.
‘Then sit down!’ he said. His turban drooped by one ear. ‘Whatna foolish damned way for a visitor to chap on a man’s door! Sit down, the lot o’ ye, while Hugh here goes and sends for some liquor: my mou’s like the well o’ a glue-pig. And Malcolm! Malcolm! There’s my pate-claith fell on the rushes again …’
After the first cup of wine, Anselm Sersanders excused himself and retired, grimly polite. Nicholas waited a while and then, obeying some suggestion of Malcolm’s, drifted off with Lord Fleming’s heir.
He was absent for an hour. Gregorio stayed and kept the old man company which, being a lawyer, he did not find uninteresting. Later, in the bedchamber that they shared, he addressed his fellow guest. ‘I suppose you knew Sersanders would be here. Semple told you?’
Nicholas had stripped. The burn marks on his skin had almost gone, and his shadow on the low ceiling was as big as a tree. He looked more preoccupied than triumphant. He said, ‘He hinted. I didn’t want you to worry. God be pleased with him, Semple looks like being quite helpful.’ Sometimes he fell into Arabic unawares, Gregorio noted.
Gregorio climbed into bed. It had been a very long day. They had, in the end, been given supper. He said, ‘And what made you so sure that Lord Fleming wouldn’t report you?’
‘He’s afraid of the King,’ the other man said. With his bedgown around him, he had begun to set out writing materials by the candle, the brazier at his side. He added, ‘Get some sleep. It’s another thirty miles to Dean Castle and the other Sersanders.’
‘Holy Mary.’ Recovering manfully: ‘But you’re not the King,’ Gregorio objected. ‘Or not yet. Look, if you’re sending a message, I’ll write it.’
‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘Thank you. Not being the King, I can write my own letters.’
‘If,’ said Gregorio, his eyes already closed, ‘if Simon had really been here, would you have signed