The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [88]
‘He is dead,’ said de Fleury.
Her heart sickened. She said, ‘Maybe he isn’t. I don’t weigh much. I’m going to try.’
Then, whatever paralysis de Fleury was in, he emerged from it. Before she could run forward, he was at the edge of the flats and had dragged off his horse-cloth. He said, ‘There is no point in your drowning for nothing.’ She was so short, the snow half soaked her gown.
You couldn’t tell where the river began. And the edges of course would have frozen. She found a stick and hurried forward, probing the snow. The stick thrust down and skidded on ice. She said, ‘I’m on water now.’
‘Then get off it,’ de Fleury said. And when she didn’t obey, he thrust past her, far too fast, reaching out towards the place, nearer now, where the bulk of the animal loomed. It was motionless. It must have broken its neck and then stuck, the water freezing about it. Or perhaps it was not very deep. It wouldn’t have to be. Given time, the cold would kill quite efficiently.
But Simon de St Pol was not wholly in the water, and so might not yet be dead. What had made de Fleury think otherwise?
Under her feet, the ice creaked. She moved sideways and followed his footsteps, where he seemed to have found more solid footing. He was some way ahead. Then he said distinctly, ‘Stay where you are, and lie down.’ He moved quickly back as he spoke, but for him it was too late. The foothold he sought gave way with a splash and she saw he was half in the water and trying to pull himself up. The cracks ran back nearly to where she was lying, but not quite. She dragged the cloth from her shoulder and flung one end of it.
He caught it the second time and pulled himself out, only to have the ice give way again. The surfaces before her were shaking, the water creeping up grey over the snow and the snow tilting. She sidled, gripping the cloth and easing herself over the snow to a firmer place. Next she began, hand over hand, to pull herself closer to him. Then he said, ‘No, go back. I’m in. I might as well stay.’
There was nothing to say. She stopped, but didn’t go back. The cloth fell back as he released it. As she watched, her teeth in her lip, he slipped fully into the water and began breaking his way through to the clutter of ice round the horse. As he reached it, the pool widened and the horse started to sink, dragging the ice shards round and over the swimmer. The rider’s body, too, started to slide until de Fleury, thrusting forward, somehow caught and held it, as once he had saved the King’s little sister from harm.
For a moment they all stayed immobile: animal, rider and rescuer. Something swirled in the water. The horse rose as if resurrected; then crashed over and sank in a great luminous wave that washed over both heads, yellow and brown. For a moment, both vanished. Then the surface was broken again and de Fleury, gasping, flung an arm on the ice. Against his shoulder the fair head lay exposed, silent. But to climb out now, it was obvious, was impossible.
Then Katelijne saw the lights, flickering on the snow and ice all about her, and heard the baying of hounds, and voices shouting behind.
The lawyer Julius got to her first. Julius who, cantering wearily from the east into Kinneil, had raced on white-faced to find and join the King’s party. He held her trembling in his arms and handed her back to Will Roger behind him, drawing her safely back to the shore, while they plied her with questions.
She must have told them, because they asked her over and over, that her uncle was safe – had been hurt in an accident – was in the care of her brother at Carriden. But while she was still on the ice, they moved past her, taking torches and ropes, accompanied by barking, pattering dogs. And from the far shore, at the same time, the cluster of lights she had not noticed separated and spread out and then coalesced into a party approaching from the other bank carrying more rope, and ladders. Katelijne stood watching and shivering.
When they threw the rope, de Fleury could not hold it. Then he wrapped it somehow around himself