The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [200]
Nicholas had said nothing, leaving Bruges, about going to the Tyrol. He had encouraged Gregorio to look for Gelis and Margot while already aware, it would seem, that Gelis planned to waylay him at Florence, and that Margot would not be there. Margot had written to him twice, but had not come to see him, nor told him where to come. Presumably she was with the child. If there was a child.
And, of course, Nicholas had not gone to Florence. He was not going to Alexandria this year. And if he had changed his mind about that, did he intend, on leaving the Tyrol, to meet his wife and child in Venice as planned? And if so, what next? Put them both on a galley and take them through Turk-infested seas to hunt for his gold?
No. Margot was not going to be free in eight months. Nicholas had allowed Godscalc to debar him from Scotland, but in the wake of that one decent promise had, as usual, cheated them all.
So Gregorio was not moved to sympathise when Gelis van Borselen returned from her wasted journey to Florence, nor when she paid her one visit to Spangnaerts Street. She did not bring Margot, and professed not to know where she was.
He knew (and had told Margot) that the child born to Gelis had been fathered by Simon. He hadn’t told anyone else. Gelis never attempted to speak of it, knowing his views as she must. Perhaps she recognised, from what Margot told her, that he would preserve the child’s name so long as Nicholas did.
But that was all. He himself would never forgive Gelis for what she had done. For what she had made Nicholas do. For what had happened to Nicholas.
Chapter 28
IN THE WAR Gelis was waging, the contempt of Gregorio played a part, but only a small one. She called at Spangnaerts Street, certainly, to check on her credentials: meeting the searching blue eye of Tobie; the warm regard, born of Africa, of Lucia’s son Diniz and hence of young Tilde his wife. She did not stay there – she had taken up residence in her former house outside Bruges – but it was November, and couriers always passed between Nicholas and his officers, wherever he was. Gregorio would not tell her the news, but the clerks would.
In fact, there was little. He was still in the mountains, and had received some messages, but those he sent had more to do with Bruges and Venice and Scotland than with any plans of his own. She had got more information out of Tommaso.
Then Tilde’s sister Catherine had joined them with her handsome friend Nerio who, it appeared, was familiar with Florence. Gelis thought him inquisitive, but did not seek to avoid his questions about the Medici and Monna Alessandra and the Acciajuoli family. He knew – as did some of the others – the one-legged acquaintance of Nicholas, but had never met Donatello. She did not mention the drawing. All in all, she supposed she had proved that she had not passed her time in libidinous living.
She left her husband’s house soon, and found no reason to make frequent visits thereafter. She was not likely to be lonely. Bruges would always find time for a wealthy van Borselen. Chaperoned by her maid and her manservant, she accepted the invitations that came her way from the upper merchants and nobility of the town, and her cousin Wolfaert van Borselen’s new wife was happy to entertain on her behalf.
It was there that she first detected a certain unease which evidenced itself in the burgh as an undercurrent of dubious excitement. Eventually, Wolfaert told her the reason. Mary of Scotland was coming to Bruges. His niece, the Countess of Arran, whom Gelis had served. After months of exile in Denmark, in Germany, the Princess was coming, together with her refugee husband, the Earl, Thomas Boyd.
‘Here?’ Gelis said. ‘They want shelter? Isn’t that dangerous?’
Wolfaert had shifted his bulk. ‘Extremely awkward, at least. The Earl has been condemned to death for attempting to harm the Scots