To Lie with Lions - Dorothy Dunnett [21]
He was shrewd. The remark should not have been unexpected. René knew Jordan de Ribérac; had entertained his son and his wife and his wife’s offspring. The Loire was awash with retired Scottish Archers.
Nicholas answered elliptically. ‘Scotland has always been a friend to the lady Margaret your daughter and France. But if York retakes the throne, Scotland will have to court York, just as Burgundy must.’
‘You think Edward of York will prevail.’
‘I am married to Gelis van Borselen of Veere,’ Nicholas said. ‘And the opponents of York have been unwise enough to promise Zeeland and Veere to their supporters. It is why the fleets of Veere and the Hanse support York.’
René did not speak. His Queen smiled. She said, ‘We should like to meet your lady wife. You said she was elsewhere?’
Nicholas said, ‘She is in Cologne with some friends, but I expect her to join me this summer.’
‘Then we shall receive her,’ said René. He rose, his palm on the arm of his chair. ‘Unless affairs forbid. The play for Corpus Christi has suffered already. Perhaps you have noticed the suspended tortures of St Vincent? But of course you would. You are an expert in the engines of illusion. Go and look at ours before supper. Madame will conduct you through the gardens.’
Outside, he was offered more wine, and did not refuse, although he drank slowly. Then the Queen led the way through alleys and arches while her ladies scurried behind and Le Prieur and Ardent Désir brought up the rear. She said, ‘It needs irrigation. We have difficulty with leading in water. You are an expert in water?’
‘I employ those who are,’ Nicholas said. ‘They are in the Tyrol at present. Perhaps they could help you.’ Afterwards, he realised that he had been thinking more slowly than he should.
‘We have heard of them,’ said the Queen. ‘But you yourself are curiously gifted, are you not? I am told that you can divine the presence of anything: water, silver. They say you divined the whereabouts of your own son.’
They had walked so quickly that there was no one within earshot. By now he was fully on his guard. He said, ‘The Church does not approve. What I achieved was by accident. I have stopped now.’
‘Can you predict the future?’ she said. They passed a pavilion. Her veils swirled in reflection across the glass of the windows; her cloak rustled over the grass. He said, ‘No, madame. In any case, you have your own astrologers.’
‘But they cannot tell us,’ she said. It was a cry. When he didn’t answer, she continued. ‘You named your child Jordan, they say, after the seigneur Jordan de Ribérac?’
‘My wife named him,’ he said. The wind was cold on his skin.
‘A fine name,’ said the Queen. ‘Breton, surely? Simon, Jordan, Gaultier de St Pol. Your wife preferred it to the van Borselen names? What of Wolfaert, or Francis, or Henry?’
‘She has a nephew called Henry already,’ Nicholas said. ‘As you know, madame. By your kindness, he attends your school of children here sometimes, I am told.’
‘You might have found him here, had you been a week or two earlier,’ said the Queen. ‘His grandfather took him away to reunite him with his father, who was going to his Portuguese property. A beautiful boy. Father Perrott will miss him. And now here are the lions. Or perhaps you are tired?’
To visit the gardens was to visit the menagerie. He had known he would be thrust again among animals; the ubiquitous animals; the intrusive, inescapable bestiary which sometimes seemed more real than his life. He could see ostriches in the distance. He disclaimed being tired, was introduced to Master Guillaume, and heard of the gross consumption and ferocious temper of lions – six hundred sheep, the butcher kept handy to feed them! – and of poor Martin who died, despite the ministrations of the barber, the surgeon and the King’s physician Pierre Robin himself.
Of course, René’s ring bore a lion as one of its supporters. The Queen, smiling, made a joke about St Pol de Léon and his son’s Breton name. The Lion of St Mark was the symbol of Venice; the lion flew on the flags of Cyprus, of Scotland, of England, of Burgundy;