The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [188]
Nicholas said, ‘An hour. If it’s over that, I’ll double the prize money.’ No one asked how he was going to measure the hour.
The wounded man was not badly hurt, but had bled a lot. Dionigi was lame. Those who were fit crawled about helping to bind up the cuts of the rest. The roof was so low that one bracket-candle lit the whole chamber. There was no food and no water, but the straw on the floor was at least fresh.
He was quite good, himself, at measuring time. John, he knew, was even better. Just short of the hour, by his reckoning, they heard footsteps approaching, and the door opened upon several men. One of them held something out. The man said in German, ‘Whose is this?’
Nicholas did not reply, but waited for Father Moriz to glance at him. Father Moriz then spoke. ‘It belongs to this knight. To the lord Nicholas de Fleury of Burgundy, guest of Duke Sigismond.’
The speaker in the doorway looked from Nicholas to the priest. He said, ‘Diese ist der Orden van der Schottische Einhorn.’
‘That is true,’ said Father Moriz.
‘But you are German,’ said the man in the doorway. It could be seen now that he was young, and wearing a sword under a stiff leather jacket.
‘From Augsburg. That is so,’ said the priest. ‘Master John here also speaks excellent German, although he is Scottish. And Sir Nicholas has some of the language. We should like to meet your lord and remedy this mistake.’
Nicholas continued to look as if he had some of the language. He was pleased as well as surprised. He had expected to have to do some of that himself. He was also pleased and surprised for other reasons, in spite of the cold.
The man said, ‘I have orders to take the Collar’s owner upstairs. The two German-speakers will, please, accompany him.’
‘And the others?’ said Father Moriz. ‘They require food, drink, medical help …’
‘It will be seen to,’ said the man. He set the door open, and Nicholas walked out with Father Moriz and John.
It was like another occasion. That time, they had all been in prison together – Tobie, Diniz, Astorre, as well as John. That time, he went to meet death and found something else. Death was never the worst that could happen.
The dripping stairs of this castle were nothing like those of Zacco in Cyprus. Fortified though it was, it had been built and was used as a hunting-lodge: he could hear dogs yapping and growling and had seen the good range of stables. The man in the leather jacket walked ahead, but two armed servants followed. It was a steep climb and a long walk through tortuous chambers thereafter. Feeling had come throbbing back to his shoulder and beat in his head. The side of the priest’s face was bruised, and John le Grant limped.
It seemed to Nicholas that he was exaggerating the limp. He felt alive in spite of the pain, and expectant, and wished in a sudden blind flash that he were free, as once he had been, to savour all that was happening. Then their conductor stopped and knocked on a door, and spoke to the person who opened it. It closed, then opened again. This time, the man in the jacket led the way forward and bowed. ‘Your grace, the knight of the Unicorn Collar. Sir Nicholas de Fleury; his priest; and a Scotsman named John.’ He bowed.
The room they had entered was of moderate size but warmed by a brazier, and the plaster walls were draped with patterned hangings and lit by wax candles in good polished sconces. The furniture, though solid, was equally good: a pair of stout coffers topped by tapestry cushions, a set of shelves on one wall bearing dishes of pewter and silver, a number of cups and a vessel of wine. There was a prie-dieu in a corner, and a basin and ewer in another, with a rack of plain towels. The master chair stood by the brazier, and the board beside it bore two heavy books and some sewing on a table-carpet of green cloth. The occupant stood by the window surveying them.
‘Your grace,’ Nicholas said. He heard John draw in his breath. He spoke to a woman.
She was nearer John’s age than his: past her middle thirties, and already too stout for