The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [62]
The stables at least were prepared, and the hounds were led off. Adorne greeted the Keeper, and took his place of honour in the cold procession shedding mud and snow up the flight of stone steps to the hall. Andreas was behind him, and Scheves. He caught sight of Kilmirren, clad in a sober wool cloak and black cap, taking the steps two at a time.
Kilmirren was in favour today, having driven the game the King’s way, and refrained from taking the best. Kilmirren, working hard since his son’s joust, had devoted his time to pleasing the King, and no less to warmly befriending Adorne who, as it happened, felt no pressing need of his company. He usually passed him to his nephew, who talked to him about jousting.
Now Simon, having sprung to his side, produced an apology for their surroundings. ‘Linlithgow is not the Princenhof, I’m afraid. But even the Duke of Burgundy’s palaces are stripped in winter, and cold.’
‘It is so everywhere,’ Adorne said. ‘When his grace the King and his mother lived here, I make no doubt it was handsome, and will be more magnificent still. We understand: we are dining alfresco.’
The Keeper had reached the top of the stairs with the King, followed by the King’s two half-uncles with Alexander of Albany behind. Mantled in quilted pourpoints and jackets and furs, they looked from below like a press of cattle, jammed fast at the neck of a gate. Adorne heard upraised voices.
‘The wagons holding the wine have overturned,’ said Metteneye, who had exceptional hearing. ‘And the water has frozen. They suggest boiling the snow.’
The voices above became louder, and the press slackened. The King had walked into the Great Hall, with the Keeper following. The hunting-party, including Adorne, ascended and entered behind him.
The Great Hall was as stark as before – worse, for the shutters, chimney-cope and embrasures were thick with debris and dust. Only the rushes were fresh and, this time, there were whole tree-trunks on the distant great hearth, burning bright with blue flames. There were trestles and benches, and a cross-table on the dais by the fire for the King, but no cloths and no cushions. The boards were half empty and half set with pewter. More than one wagon, you would say, had overturned.
The King was addressing the Keeper of the Palace in a part-broken, furious voice. ‘And the food? I suppose the wolves have taken the food? What is your office worth?’
The man, his face pallid, said, ‘The food is here, your grace, and being cooked. You came – We did not expect your grace so soon.’
‘I think you did not expect me at all,’ said the King. ‘Perhaps I, too, was to be overturned on my way? It is not unknown. It has happened before. So mark you, if I ride back to Edinburgh as I intend to, without wine, without food, there will be a reckoning. And you, sir, will be the first to pay it. There is not even ale?’
‘Unless …’ said the Keeper.
‘There are other houses nearby,’ said the King’s half-uncle James. ‘Where is Hayning? Where is Hamilton? There will be wine at Kinneil.’
‘There is wine here,’ said the Keeper. ‘But it belongs to –’
Katelijne Sersanders, in her uncle’s hearing, said, ‘No!’ Her voice expressed tremulous ecstasy.
‘– but it is part of the cargo of the Ghost. The ship of M. de Fleury. I gave leave, since the warehouse at Blackness is insecure. The merchandise is below, in the vaults.’
‘Here?’ said the King. ‘We don’t have to go to Blackness?’
‘No. Here. But locked. M. de Fleury is due to bring the keys when your grace should have finished his repast.’
The King looked at his brother, and at his two sturdy uncles, who were smiling. The younger lord (Hearty James, he was nicknamed) said, ‘He can be sent for, your grace. Meanwhile, we can no doubt find a locksmith.’
‘Or a hammer,’ said Albany. Colour blended once more with his freckles, and his sister Margaret tugged his arm, her eyes shining. ‘What are we waiting for?’
Anselm Adorne stayed above, while the rest swept down the stairs to the courtyard and across to the steps of