The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [45]
Nicholas ran up the steps of the stand and found a place beside his rich landlord Berecrofts just as the parade of contestants began. Will of Berecrofts, who had sharp enough sight for his years, noticed that de Fleury’s bonny young friend had moved off, in her turn, to the women’s enclosure. He knew who she was. So did most people there. He said, ‘As I was saying, I’m holding the price, but I’m no daft enough to wait on ye for aye. What did Hamilton think?’
The parade of contestants had begun, led by the King, with his two brothers riding behind under the banner of Scotland. Against a prodigious blaring and a loyal roar which seemed to contain some genuine affection, Nicholas shouted a reply. ‘I have to see him again. I’ll tell you by noon tomorrow.’
Berecrofts said, ‘I’ll sell if you don’t come. Dod, it’s purgatory on earth, all thon hooting and crying. I’d melt down the lot and mak’ jugs o’ them. Davie Lindsay’s no lookin’ sae weel.’ The first ranks of knights were riding in, two by two. Among them, white cross on black robes, were the Knights Hospitaller of St John, led by their Preceptor. ‘And Will Knollys is showing a belly. He’ll be fair put to it to harry a Turk if they call him to Rhodes. Seton’s got his auld harness out: he’ll hae tae get the rest back from pawn for the wedding. And are those your men-at-arms?’
‘There’s to be a mock fight,’ de Fleury said.
‘I ken, I ken. And Master Julius, weel set up as usual. And the banner of Burgundy. Now that’s what I call a feast for the een. Well horsed, well set up, well armed, the hale retinue. A fine-looking man, Master Anselm Adorne, and naebody’s fool in the council-chamber. He’s got a niece as mad as a peerie.’
‘She’s sitting down there, with the choir.’
‘Oh glory be, so she is, and them about to break into yowls any minute. And here’s the childer.’
There were twelve ponies in all, groomed and glistening with their riders straight-backed and white-faced within their miniature armour. They wore their fathers’ colours, and a page behind each carried a pennant. Nicholas de Fleury’s eyes had followed them in. He said, ‘Robin rides well.’
‘Aye, aye,’ said Berecrofts. He viewed his grandson, but didn’t put his thoughts into words. A good lad. A kind-hearted, well-mannered wee fellow. Unlike some. He said, ‘Will ye look at yon arrogant little bastard? He’ll drive his horse mad.’
‘He can ride,’ Nicholas said.
‘And wants us to know it. Silver armour on a child of that age! I suppose his father’ll be wearing the same. Two cockerels needing their necks wrung.’
De Fleury, watching the procession, didn’t trouble to answer, thereby confirming an opinion William of Berecrofts had already formed. Nothing that happened in Bruges went unnoticed in Edinburgh, and the ill-will between vander Poele – now de Fleury – and the heir to Kilmirren was notorious.
And now they said the quarrel was over. Berecrofts supposed it might be. Wealth could heal many sores, including the canker of ignoble parentage. And for sure, since coming to Scotland, de Fleury had shown no hint of spite against Simon de St Pol or his father, even if he’d hardly bestirred himself to seek them. Instead he’d turned his hand to his own diverse concerns with unchancy efficiency and an edge of downright impatience which sometimes roused Berecrofts’s own temper. Nicholas de Fleury. Not a bairn you would trust at your back.
He pulled his thoughts away. The children had passed, and the landed gentry were advancing again. And foremost among them rode the child Henry’s father.
A sigh passed through the crowd.
Berecrofts gazed. Berecrofts stared. Berecrofts said, ‘Christ God, St Pol of Kilmirren … What farmyard could afford a cockerel such as that!’
Julius turned, hearing the same long hiss of surprise, and so did Archie Berecrofts the Younger, riding down the lists at his side. Comfortable about his own appearance and future performance, Julius was always willing to study the efforts of other people who were less travelled, and had no shares in the Banco di Niccol