The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [46]
At first his view was obscured by the file of plumes tossing behind him. Then he saw, entering the lists behind them all, the mounted figure which had drawn the audible tribute. Archie, who like his father had nothing wrong with his sight, said, ‘Christ God. Simon de St Pol of Kilmirren. Would you credit it?’
‘No,’ said Julius absently. They turned a corner and began to ride back up the long side of the lists, and he got a really good look.
The surcoat was Simon’s own, that was obvious. But it couldn’t hide what was beneath it. Unlike the King or his brother the Duke; unlike the handsomely clad and gallantly accoutred high nobles of Scotland, the heir to the lord of Kilmirren rode into the lists of Edinburgh that December day attired like an emperor. Attired in a carapace of a soft, flowing, powerful metal, engraved, damascened, embossed in silver and gold, with inserts of turquoise, of enamel, of mother of pearl such as had never been seen in the West; with cloth of gold edging and overlaying it and exquisite pinions of the rarest of birds falling from the jewelled spire of its helmet.
The glorious face within the helmet was both haughty and flushed, and the blue long-lashed gaze was directed ahead. Whatever fortune he had brought back from Africa, Simon de St Pol could not have found or paid for these arms. His purse stretched to silver, of the kind the brat Henry was wearing. Archie knew it, and all those folk in the stands. And behind them (Julius turned) the boy Henry’s hectic cheeks and bright, wary eyes told that he, also, was torn between doubts and bright pride. Young Berecrofts said, ‘What’s the man thinking of? Look at King Jamie.’
There was no need to look, but Julius did. He said, ‘I heard St Pol’d got two new suits.’
‘Silver. He did. Showy enough, but they’d thole it. Not this.’
‘What happened?’ said Julius. Simon passed on the opposite side, his arms and shoulders encrusted with light. Beyond him was the stand, with Nicholas seated beside Archie’s father. Archie’s father was talking and so was everyone else. Nicholas was watching the field and saying nothing at all so far as Julius could see.
‘What happened? Wha kens? The new armour got lost, and I expect he either had to borrow some or withdraw from the tournament. He asked me, but I didna have spares. He should have withdrawn.’
Julius supposed that he should. On the other hand, Simon was vain. He had tried to find something plainer, but perhaps had not tried very hard. Archie said, ‘But where in the name of the wee man did that armour come from?’
Julius had nothing against Archie or even his cantankerous father but, after all, they were provincials. He said, ‘Trebizond. It’s one of the ceremonial suits of the last Emperor, David.’ He didn’t mention that, pawned, it had helped save the Bank a few years before. He did add casually, ‘It belongs to Nicholas.’
‘De Fleury lent it to him?’
‘He must have done. I don’t suppose,’ said Julius virtuously, ‘that he wants much made of it. At least it lets Simon take part.’ He couldn’t imagine why Nicholas had done such a thing, any more than he could work out why Nicholas wasn’t fighting.
Except that, of course, Simon was one of the best jousters of his day. Simon was the man whom Scotland sent as her representative to all the elaborate tourneys in France and in Flanders. And although he had no great business head, it was true, he was always first in the field with a troop when the King’s peace was threatened, which compensated for a lot of poor management. He was a King’s champion, and decorative, and no coward, for tournaments were not designed as a rule to be harmless. The tilting-field was a training for war.
And so, if you considered the matter, it seemed that the long contention between Simon and Nicholas had actually ceased. By avoiding combat, Nicholas had already ceded superiority in the field. Now, in the loan of this armour, he had made a public gesture of friendship. It was not, of course, true tilting-armour: no one was ever expected to raise a lance or a sword against the late David Comnenos