The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [208]
He gathered her into his arms, and she wept.
She would not tell him why she had returned; only that she was free at last, and could stay. She could not tell him anything of the child, because she had sworn.
He stroked her hair, and felt only distress.
Chapter 29
WHEREAS IN BRUGES and Venice and Scotland the last weeks of the decade were blustery and busy and wet, the Tyrol advanced towards the new year in the deep isolation of snow.
Chamois-hunting, by tradition, ended in the last days of December, before too many people were killed. Sigismond, as ruler of the Tyrol, had no qualms about breaking tradition if he felt restless, or particularly successful, or if he wanted to place people at odds, or achieve ascendancy over them. Chamois-hunting in the peaks of the Tyrol was for men.
The Duchess Eleanor, who was an excellent shot, always stayed at home, when they happened to be living together. The cart with the girls then left discreetly. After the zest of a kill, a man would throw to the ground anyone he could find, and after, the wine and the collops were glorious. There were enough girls for them all. Naturally, the Duke took his own satisfaction first. He liked his companions to watch. He spun it out sometimes, to tease them. He had stopped once, and had a man caned.
The man whom Eleanor had brought had been with Duke Sigismond three days when the big hunt was planned. He spoke German and shot well and did what was expected of him, after the kill and before it. His prowess at everything was a degree below that of the Duke, as you would expect of someone touting for business. Unlike the red-haired fellow Martin last week, who had wanted to show what he could do. He had gone away with a bolt through the arm. Nothing too painful: his business propositions had been good. Sigismond had accepted them.
Alum and silver. This man de Fleury was after the same: he knew that from Eleanor. The fellow was percipient. He had let Gertude get him to bed. He had held, assiduously, to other matters of proper conduct. He might forget himself quite spectacularly when he learned that the deal was already done, and he had lost to the red-haired (wounded) Martin, agent of the Vatachino. It was a pity to ruin good sport by telling him all that too soon. It was winter. There was plenty of time to deal with the chevalier Nicholas de Fleury.
John le Grant said, ‘He’s playing with you.’
‘I know,’ said Nicholas.
‘The fact that he punctured Martin in mistake for something with antlers doesn’t mean that the Duke didn’t conclude a deal with him. You may be gambling your life over nothing.’
‘Prayer will save me,’ said Nicholas. He had never yet managed to make Father Moriz utter an oath.
In any case, the matter was academic. They were already dressed and ready to go: Nicholas and Father Moriz and John indistinguishable from the other men in the party in their hooded hats and thick quilted tunics dragged down with their knives and spearheads and crampons, their horns and axes and satchels and the wooden rings which would ease a long walk on snow. Moriz, who had hunted chamois before, was armed with a throw-spear, as were the Duke and black-haired Cavalli, his current favourite adviser, who had been absent until now. None of the Duchess’s men had come with the Duke: not even Jack Lindsay. None of the Duchess’s men had spoken to them since the two households joined.
John le Grant, an expert in matters of trajectory, had brought his crossbow, and persuaded Nicholas to do the same. Among the dozen other hunters, the spear was by far the most popular. Its chief attribute was silence: necessary whatever the sport. But of course a crossbow, well fitted and covered, could also be silent. Even on flat ground, chamois-hunting would have been dangerous. In the mountains, and the way Nicholas was, it was unwise for other reasons as well.
If final proof of that had been needed, his companions would have received it the previous day, in the course