The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [148]
The only conversations Gregorio ever succeeded in having with Nicholas were in their sleeping-chamber at night, when the other man was effortlessly caustic and he was exhausted. That night, although starved for sleep, Gregorio was driven to accost him again. ‘What the hell was all that about winter herding, and stable dung for the barley, and compulsory fencing, and pastures for ewes with their followers? You know less than I do about farming.’
‘I got it from Katelijne,’ said Nicholas de Fleury. ‘Who got it, in turn, from the factor at Dean. She thinks a landowner should know about land. I’ve told Oliver to keep the Semple boundaries healthy, and leave the rough land between me and Kilmirren to look after itself. What he does in between is his business. What do you think of our champion Oliver? Better than Roland?’
‘Jannekin?’ Gregorio said. Young Bonkle knew trade inside out, but perhaps he had too many kinsmen. On the other hand, this man was a Semple.
Gregorio said, ‘They both have connections. Semple has the experience, I agree. But if you’re expecting to farm, why have we been making all these digressions? Perhaps the land can produce coal, or lead, or silver, or gold, to hear some; but none of it is on the ground that you’ve bought.’
‘That’s why Katelijne thought I should concentrate upon farming,’ the other man said. ‘And of course I shall, after the wedding. Six shillings and eightpence a sheep – isn’t that staggering? And pease at thirteen shillings and fourpence a boll, and peat available for nothing at all. Don’t you think I should settle down here, if I survive the duel with Sersanders?’
‘Sersanders?’ Gregorio said.
‘You’d forgotten. The joust. Part of the wedding festivities. I’ve offered Paisley Abbey a window to intercede for me.’
Gregorio had actually seen the cartoon-scroll below, with a figure on it not unlike Bishop Graham. Gregorio said, ‘If you stay, you will have the most beautiful small palace in Christendom. Those are tiles from the Maghgreb, commissioned surely to fit in that corner.’
‘My dear,’ Nicholas said. When feeding the parrot, he always seemed to drop into Spanish. ‘Like God, right angles transcend creed and frontier. Tiles fit anywhere.’
‘So the drums still beat,’ Gregorio said. ‘We had no ship there this year. But perhaps Tommaso had. Where does the news come from, with the tiles? The ibn Said? Benedetto Dei? Nicholas, tell me.’
‘You ask the wrong questions,’ the other man said. ‘Not where does it come from, but what does it say?’ The parrot poked through the bars, its eyes dilated, and tried to grip the piece of apple he was holding just out of its reach.
Gregorio watched. He had never known Nicholas to speak of this, not since those first moments in Bruges. Then he understood. Gregorio said, ‘The report was true. Umar is dead.’
‘So they say,’ said Nicholas de Fleury. ‘Even the child they thought had escaped. They will break the tiles out tomorrow. Native work has little value these days, and if Sersanders forgets his own strength, I should like to be remembered for good taste, at least.’
The parrot screamed. ‘Don’t torment it,’ said Gregorio.
‘It is only a parrot,’ said Nicholas.
*
Semple’s messenger reached the keep at first light, with the news just brought over from Edinburgh. The royal bride’s fleet had been signalled, and M. de Fleury was required to return.
Separate word had been sent to Dean Castle. ‘I hope they’ve mastered the laud,’ said Gregorio. ‘Not to mention the world’s first polyphonic beer stains.’
He felt a conscience-stricken relief. Whatever awaited in Edinburgh, including Anselm Sersanders, it was in a context with which he was familiar, and involved business for which he was trained. Here, he felt like an amateur crossing a tightrope on the shoulders of an expert who wanted to fall.
Chapter 21
WITH KINGS REGULARLY dying so young, the arrangements