The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [318]
‘And, perhaps, the little argument you yourself had over the Sultan,’ Tobie said sharply. ‘I suspect we all came for mixed reasons, but some of them weren’t bad. Are you sending Kathi to Crete?’
‘If Brother Lorenzo can arrange it,’ Adorne said. ‘We hope to leave her in good hands in Gaza, and the brethren themselves will take her from there to the island. I think he is right: she needs quiet. I know you were worried about her and I was wrong to be angry. I am sorry.’
‘And you want to know where I am going,’ said Tobie.
Adorne said, ‘I am not interested in the gold.’
‘Neither are we,’ said Tobie gravely. ‘It appears that we, too, are going to Gaza, the three of us. We could set out on our own, or along with you all, depending on how you feel about the contaminating presence of Nicholas. The friar might have views.’
Adorne was silent. Then he said, ‘And after that?’
‘I don’t know,’ Tobie said. ‘By ship somewhere. We haven’t decided.’
Perhaps the man was concerned for his niece; perhaps not. He wondered if Adorne ever thought of the strain imposed on a very young girl, set to travel with men, and pretending to be one of their kind. It could be done: you saw that, too, on campaign. Buckets, cloths, unremitting struggle and vigilance on top of the genderless joys of rough travel: plucking Pharaoh’s lice, big as almonds, from her clothes; vermin out of her hair. Gelis, too. He despised Gelis, but never doubted her courage.
Then he looked at Adorne, and thought that yes, he knew what he had asked of Katelijne, or she had begged him to allow. Below the civilised charm was the magistrate, the champion jouster of many hard fights. The man of conscience, but also the man of long sight and great ambition, despite all his protestations to Nicholas. Anselm Adorne, Baron Cortachy, was an antagonist whose steel was still only half felt.
Adorne said, ‘I cannot be pleased, after what I know of Nicholas, and the impressionability of my niece. But I have to say that, if you will be there, I should be grateful if you would help us escort Kathi as far as Gaza.’
Gold, thought Tobie, had a lot to answer for.
He found himself thinking again of camp life, and his time as an army physician. Between battles, you could discuss what you were doing – even with someone like Captain Astorre who might not understand, but who knew the cases, and recognised the importance of handling them properly.
The present situation felt much the same, but Tobie was alone. That is, he had John’s impersonal, professional help, but John wasn’t entangled in the miseries of his patron’s idyllic third marriage, or the problem of the ephemeral child. And without revealing the truth about Henry, it was hard to explain.
He carried to John, as a substitute, a business proposition. A caravan was gathering which could convey Adorne’s party and themselves as far as Gaza. From there, they could as well take ship west to Alexandria as suffer the tedious journey by land. They would be in time for the spice market, and the galleys sailing for home.
They were sitting, for privacy, in the empty Refectory. John said, ‘You’re getting better. It sounded quite plausible. As I see it, he’s been divining again for the gold, and he thinks it’s in Gaza?’
Driven to it, Tobie invented. ‘He didn’t intend to do anything. But he got a response somehow from Gaza, and once he gets there, there might be another sign. If the gold is there to pick up, he’ll do it.’
John said, ‘We agreed to go back.’
‘We are going back,’ Tobie said. ‘Do you want to carve your name?’
John looked up. The four arches, the end wall, every available space was covered with signatures. Anselmus Adournes and Jo. Adournes, 1470 had been engraved for posterity on the second archway nearest the door, Lambert Vander Walle had found a space on the third, and Pieter Reyphin van Vlaendren had spread himself along the outside frame of the window.