The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [163]
The explosion was glorious. The great golden ball hung in the air jetting sparks and then, as every eye watched, it began to spin, throwing off garlands of light. A great sigh arose and the King’s face, turned upwards was golden. He said, ‘You have arranged fires of joy for our wedding. Indeed, indeed, we love you tonight.’
All the way back to his tent the skies over his head flamed and crashed and exploded in drifts of crackling colour, and men crowded round as he walked, shaking his hand and clapping the shining metal on his shoulder. His armour was a carnival of light in itself.
The third stage – the third stage was coming to its full promise at last.
In his tent were his household, their eyes shining: the pages rushing to unfasten his buckles, the serving-women clasping their hands. Friends crowded the doorway. Shedding the last of the weight, he stood in his sodden jerkin and was helped into his robe, with the silver sword embroidered at cuffs and at hem. His old Order. The insignia of the new one had been laid again on his shoulders.
‘Well?’ said Gregorio.
‘Come,’ said Nicholas. He cleared a way to the back and, sending for wine, made for them both a moment of privacy. It was a time for wine. He hadn’t thought it would be, but it was. When it came, he poured it, and spoke. ‘Set your conscience at rest. It was going to happen. If Arran had stayed, it would only have added to the carnage. And if his father had had his way, still more would have died. As it is …’
‘As it is, you have a knighthood. And come this autumn, Boyd land. Boyd land next to Kilmirren.’
‘And more,’ Nicholas said. ‘The wedding has to be paid for out of something.’ The heavens rang, and colour flooded into the tent. ‘That is why I am staying. I can do anything now.’ The wine, after so long, was unbelievable. He said, ‘Did you see the man who came in just now? The man with the gardens at B roughton?’
‘He sells me herbs,’ Gregorio said. ‘What of him?’
‘He sells me corn-marigolds,’ Nicholas said. The chain blazed. The unicorn flashed blue and gold and red in the light.
‘Gule?’ Gregorio said. ‘The weed? The weed that destroys healthy cornland? Why? Where …’ He broke off.
‘Here and there. The rough land between Kilmirren and Beltrees, for example. Every mile of it. He tells me it’s a matted blanket of fierce orange flowers, all ready to burst into seed. Why so glum? Why fight with swords,’ Nicholas explained, ‘when you can do it with flowers?’
Gregorio sat looking dazed. Nicholas refilled his cup and strode out to his friends. They closed around him. Soon Sersanders would come, and offer his congratulations, and perhaps mean it. Katelijne would arrive and Betha Sinclair, who had brought up the little Countess and helped prepare the castle for her lord’s coming home. But Mary Stewart and her husband were together. It was what she had wanted.
Then the banquet. Then the dancing, the speeches, the prizes, and Will Roger playing the simpleton and making music fit for Pythagoras. Then the weeks to the wedding, with all their concocted, mechanical marvels. Then the autumn, and the King’s coming to power. And his.
Someone said, ‘There you are.’
Crackbene’s voice. Crackbene, who should be in Leith. He stood, the light flashing on his bulk and his fair, impassive face. Nicholas said, ‘Come into the tent.’
Gregorio was still there. He looked up, and then stood. The unicorn sparkled but Crackbene ignored it. He said, ‘I have a message for you from Bruges. They’ve sent others that seem to have failed. This one came on a ship. Life or death. You have to go back at once. There’s Todrik’s Margaret at Leith, ready to set sail at once for Newcastle. You can find another ship there.’ He stood, his face composed and full of quiet sympathy.
He hadn’t said what was wrong. It meant he had noticed the chain and was not averse to disrupting someone else’s reward for his work.
Nicholas said, ‘If it is my wife or the child, you will be sorry.’
‘No,’ Crackbene said. His pale gaze steady, he pulled