The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [38]
Before James, King of Scotland, and his brothers were born, Jacques de Lalaing, together with Simon his uncle and another, had challenged three Scottish knights to a contest à outrance in Stirling, and had prevailed, although the fight had been stopped. All Scotland knew that, and tomorrow would look to see what Burgundy had sent them this time.
The answer was himself, who was the age that Simon de Lalaing had been on that day. Himself and his kinsman Jehan Metteneye, whose family for generations had also carried off the prize in the White Bear Society, jousting in Bruges. And Sersanders his nephew, who was young and had no wife and no children.
But, of course, this was not a tournament to the death. It was a blunt-weaponed exercise, put together in haste and economy, to enable the young King and his younger brothers to shine.
They would not have to face Anselm Adorne. All that would concern him and his countryman Metteneye would be the contests of honour where they would be pitched, there was no doubt, against the best Scotland could offer. The very best being Simon de St Pol the Younger of Kilmirren, who had been born just a year after himself.
Then young de Fleury came into the tent and said, ‘There’s wine: look, help yourself,’ and, sitting with a thud, poured for himself from a great vessel of water. For work, he had left aside the lynx, the wildcat, the sable that had opened the King’s youthful eyes, and wore leather over plain serge. Black serge, cut finely like velvet, with a cap thrust to the back of his head.
Now that the African sun had been bleached from his skin, the sharpened bones were dramatically visible. The childhood softness had gone. With what had taken its place, he would have no difficulty in obtaining any woman he wished, Adorne guessed. You would not expect such a man to take his relief, as others did, from the common pool of commercial service. It was a pity. He had thought, once, of mentioning it; but not now.
Instead he said, ‘A change from the Feast of St Nicholas as held by James, King of Cyprus, according to what you told us last night. Another James. Our young host was enchanted.’ He paused. ‘You must have known James of Cyprus quite well. What would you say of him?’
‘Apart from the fact that he purloined one of my wives? Resourceful,’ said the other. ‘Except in matters of marriage and progeny. I should not encourage an unmarried monarch to make his acquaintance. I, of course, am immune. You know I have entered the fatherhood stakes?’
It was, indeed, why he had come, but not to be treated like this. Adorne said, ‘You did me the honour to marry the lady your first wife in my chapel.’
‘And, as you see, matrimony developed into a habit. Vehement medicine. Was there something you wanted to ask me?’
It was hard to form a reply. Young men changed. This was not the new-married boy who long ago had aroused his compassion. Adorne said, ‘I wondered when you planned to go home. We could travel together. Unless you mean to join your wife before Christmas.’
‘Do you recommend it?’ said de Fleury. ‘The doctors demur, but I am open to argument. I thought of waiting until after Twelfth Night.’
Adorne said, ‘Dr Andreas would advise you. He has to stay, but he is experienced in matters of childbirth. You know he studied with Seheves in Louvain?’
‘The same subjects?’ said Nicholas de Fleury. It sounded casual. But he also had studied at Louvain, and it was not.
Adorne said, ‘Yes. He has skills: I am not sure whether I believe in them. He had something to say, recently, about Jordan de Ribérac.’
‘Most people have,’ de Fleury said. He leaned over and refilled Adorne’s cup.
‘No. He spoke of descendants. He said he could see only one son of Simon’s. And he said the name of the child was not Henry.’
De Fleury looked up. Then he put the cup carefully down and surveyed it. ‘Poor Henry,’ he said. ‘Do you think someone ill-disposed is going