To Lie with Lions - Dorothy Dunnett [190]
‘The Bishop’s out of the country,’ said Kathi with involuntary fondness. Her eyes watered.
‘And very likely the Svipa’s out of the country,’ said her brother. ‘If the Unicorn thought it wise to get out, I don’t suppose the Svipa is going to linger. Nicholas will complete all his fishing and go. He’ll be gone before we could get back.’
‘No, he won’t,’ Kathi said. ‘M. de Fleury said that he’d come for us. What’s so shameful about letting him do it? He kept us safe, whatever he did to the Unicorn. It’s just normal good manners to him.’
‘Then he’ll land, find we’ve gone, and go away.’
‘Do you think so?’ said Kathi. ‘All right. Let’s go back to the delta with Tryggvi, and if the Svipa has gone, we’ll ask if the Maiden can take us.’
‘Kathi,’ said her brother with unnatural gentleness. ‘If Nicholas captured the Maiden, the Maiden will either be towed home by Nicholas, or he’ll steal her cargo and sink her on leaving. I rather hope that he does; the Hanse will hang him.’
‘Oh,’ said Kathi. She frowned. ‘Is that why you don’t want to join him? You’d rather like him to outrage the Lübeckers?’
‘No! Don’t be silly. Of course not. If he’s decided to do something mad, he won’t stop just because I arrive. I just don’t want you involved in the fighting.’
‘You don’t,’ Kathi said.
‘I don’t. So we’re going home by the Buss. Settle down. We’ll have horses, they say, by tomorrow. You,’ said Anselm, ‘can do what you like. But I thought that I’d get up early and try for some falcons.’
‘Oh,’ said Kathi. She had stopped swinging her legs. ‘I shouldn’t mind that. Where do you find them?’
He opened his mouth. ‘You’re not coming.’
‘Yes, I am,’ Kathi said.
‘No!’ said Anselm Sersanders for the third time.
Nicholas, considering later that magnificent morning scamper to Skálholt, also considered the pure impatience Glímu-Sveinn must have felt, burdened with two irresponsible men, mad as berserkers, and one of them maimed in one arm. The exhilaration of the light and the snow was their only excuse, added perhaps to some childish denial of the awe that had smitten them. Also it had to be admitted that Glímu-Sveinn himself was preternaturally dour, so that the competitions between Nicholas and his fellow privateer became progressively wilder. It was as well, in fact, that they arrived at the smoking enclave of Skálholt when they did.
And even then their buoyancy was not impaired, for although the news at first appeared bad – the young man and the junfrú had arrived the previous day and had left early that morning – a further explanation by the steward who ran out to meet them had caused Nicholas to break into laughter, and Paúel Benecke to parade a picturesque glower. The Unicorn had arrived at her harbour, purchased her fill of Krísuvík sulphur and left.
Wearing his elegant doublet and pourpoint as a banker, Nicholas ought to have regretted the news, which represented a prestigious success for the Vatachino. It had been a piece of fine opportunism, which had taken some application and guts to achieve. He didn’t wish Martin well, but he could respect him.
Wearing quilted cotton and leather and sealskin, with a yellow beard and a round sheepskin hat on his head, Nicholas didn’t give a horsehair button for Martin, but experienced a juvenile pleasure in finding that he had sailed off without Sersanders and Kathi. That was when he learned that they had gone, but only out to hunt birds for amusement. They were both staying at Skálholt, with the bailiff.
The bailiff, a hearty, flushed man with a paunch, appeared a little confused by Benecke’s presence and, once he had recovered, extraordinarily anxious to explain. He spoke a form of tongue Benecke recognised, and at length, the Danzig captain broke in. ‘Herra Oddur, I know the Governor has many cares, and the Bishop’s door must be open to wayfarers. Had my ship been in Hafnarfjördur yesterday, perhaps the Unicorn would not have departed