The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [365]
No Nicholas. Behind the grand boats of ceremony, the flotilla of gondolas had lengthened, jostling seven, eight, nine abreast under the shadows of the Rialto and far beyond the curve of the Canal. Not all were occupied. Turning his back on Marco Corner and his neighbour, Tobie was met by the dazzle of lamps as the splendid boat on their other side roused to life and welcomed its owners. A moment later, the flag of the Knights of St John broke out aloft.
Tobie drew back to the shadows, and watched. The Knights’ guests were all there, as he hoped. Anselm Adorne, emerging smiling from the splendid deck-cabin to stand at talk with his hosts, surveying the gaiety on the banks and the bridge. And – he sighed – a glimpse of Katelijne, unmasked, in a red gown with a garland and veil to conceal her cropped hair. He perceived, lurking beside her, a bundle of cock’s feathers which he guessed, without difficulty, to be Jan Adorne. The youth seemed, from his movements, to be tipsy. Tobie was sorry, for a moment, for his father the Baron Cortachy, but the moment soon passed.
He scanned the fleet all around him, but saw nothing of Nicholas or of Gelis. He didn’t expect, by now, to see Margot, although he wouldn’t have said so to Gregorio. He noticed that the boat to his right was now lit, but didn’t observe, of the smaller vessels behind him, that one was quite dark, although there were several people on board. Nor could he know that Gelis van Borselen was one of them, or that the master of the Banco di Niccolò, silenced and under duress, was another.
A roar came from the north, as the Serenissima’s trumpets began to mount to the crest of the bridge for their fanfare. The noise, from thousands of throats, rose like a blizzard and levelled. Julius appeared, wine in hand. ‘Where has the stupid man got to? We’ll have to set off without him.’
Gregorio said, ‘I’m going ashore.’ It was perfectly possible, stepping from boat to boat.
John le Grant, also appearing, said, ‘Why not wait until we get to the Basin? He can catch us then, during the fireworks.’ Gregorio turned back abruptly.
The trumpets blared. It was a long and elaborate fanfare, and those hearers acquainted with Scotland found coming to mind certain strictures of an earthy, a whistling character. They were reminded, immediately, that in Venice all commonplace standards are useless. The fanfare ended. As if struck by the finger of heaven, a hedge of four thousand torches sprang alight on each side of the water. Hidden drums beat, and music blossomed like shrubs on each bank. The packed boats trembled and stirred and, moving, set off in consort on the last, glorious voyage back to the Piazza.
By now, such was the beat of the signal that the noise didn’t matter. Pressed down in the little hired boat, concealed by its hood, Nicholas was not much aware even of Gelis, close to him, watching. His three captors leaned at his shoulders, their eyes, too, on the silver thing spinning. He could not have disguised it. He could not even have controlled the stick, very likely. All he knew, and they didn’t, was that the force was coming from two people, close to one another. One of them he now knew was Margot. The other must be the child. And they were going towards it.
Once, he remembered the cruel hoax of Cyprus and the dumm, the deep summons he had seemed to experience then. But this time, he had not been thinking of gold; and Gelis was with him, her hands clenched white one on the other.
Once, he thought of something that he had been told about Margot, and that he thought sometimes that Tobie also knew.
It did not matter.
The flotilla moved down the crowd-lined Canal, passing the