The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [182]
He did not. He said, ‘You must forgive me. This poor leg … Allow me the space of five minutes to gather my strength, and I shall relieve you of my presence forthwith. Meanwhile, I must reassure you. Debate was not what I had in mind. Merely some thoughts – some random thoughts on the subject of lovers and wives. You knew his first wife? Marian de Charetty? Please sit down. I am really not feeling well.’
If she had him ejected, heaven knew what he would say. She sat. She said, ‘I remember the widow Charetty.’
‘But of course you were young. A worthy lady, but with little to offer, save her business. But his next wife! The most dazzling courtesan in the Levant! And between – before – after the services of the princesses of Naxos! What finer grooming could a young man aspire to? A partner – two – in whom the exoticism of Byzantium, the refinements of Italy mingle in each flawless, finely judged movement!’
She moved abruptly. He said, ‘No! I should not dream of embarrassing you. But I wonder what Nicholas feels when he sees the daughter of Fiorenza about to take his place, as did his wife, in that desirable clasp. Except that the son of Violante would have been worse.’
The large, heavy eyes sustained their sweet smile, challenging her to dismiss him. The thought struck her that he was drugged. Yet there was nothing vague in his speech: she felt compelled to hear all he said. He had judged her better than had Monna Alessandra. Belatedly she realised that it was Monna Alessandra who had sent him. She said, ‘You seem to know my husband better than I do.’
‘Forgive me, that would not be difficult,’ said the man. ‘Ah, your expression is meant to remind me of Africa. But carnal knowledge is half an alphabet only.’
‘And you have the other half?’ Gelis said. She waited, with calm, his words bleeding into her mind. Primaflora, whose arts, subtly transmitted, had become part of the vocabulary he spoke of. And also, it seemed, the princesses of Naxos. Which? And what did Nicholas – did she – owe to them in their lexicon?
Her mysterious visitor had not mentioned her sister. Since he had found out so much about Nicholas, he might even know that. Not all of it, but as much as she had known, at first.
‘I have certain advantages,’ the man said, ‘when it comes to understanding what men are afraid of. You might find my insight can be useful.’
‘How would you like me to use it?’ she said.
‘I knew,’ he said, ‘I should find your conversation agreeable. You should read more. You should read that old work by Alfonso the Wise of Castile which speaks of the shoulder of Sagittarius the Archer, the Hunter …
‘But that is by the way. What should you do? I should like you to see that your husband does not marry again. Not, I am afraid, for his sake or yours. I am a person who takes a long view.’
‘For the sake,’ said Gelis warmly, ‘of the next generation? Or your view extends even further?’
‘Many find the idea amusing,’ he said. ‘It is a responsibility, to be sure, to have a child and to choose its marital partner. I may not speak of myself. But take the ladies of Trebizond. Fiorenza of Naxos has a daughter who will alter the course of your life. Violante of Naxos has a son whose line will make sure that yours will survive. Her husband does not mind, I should say; he has his own consolation. You should know that. But you need not tell Nicholas. It will only encourage him.’
She sat, her chin in her hand, without answering. He said, ‘You don’t believe me.’
She stirred. ‘Did you expect me to? I do wonder, however, why the length of my marriage concerns you. Why should Nicholas de Fleury and I stay together?’
‘Did I say that?’ the man said. ‘I merely suggested that it would be better for everyone if Nicholas did not marry again. Posterity is already served.’
Gelis cast herself back in her chair. She said, ‘Well, I understand now. Posterity is the problem. But why should that limit his pleasures? Men should be able to marry, if so inclined, and if the