To Lie with Lions - Dorothy Dunnett [226]
There had been only one exception she knew of, and that had been Simon’s wife, her own sister. But Kathi was not Katelina. Kathi was bright. She liked to parade her independence, but she would never – could never arouse him. Gelis was indifferent to Kathi. Her anger sprang from the knowledge that twelve years ago Nicholas would have abstained, had the young Katelina not possessed the looks and the art to seduce him. Katelina, however, could not have kept him.
She did not sleep. She heard the cavalcade as it swept under her window from Leith Wynd, and even heard the crash of Berecrofts’s door as it was flung open. Then it was upon her own door that someone was hammering.
Archie of Berecrofts stood outside, with Govaerts half dressed beside him. Archie said, ‘There is a ship in the road. They think it may be the Svipa. Dress. I’ll take you.’
She dressed, and had to stop to retch even though there was no food in her stomach. She had thought she did not care. She was wrong.
The ship was still in the road by mid-morning, when she reached Leith along with Archie and Govaerts and all those who could be spared from the Banco di Niccolò. It was raining, with heavy gusts from the west – one of the reasons why the vessel was sheltering in the midst of the estuary. A boat waited to take them all out there to join it, so this time she did not have to play her part for the crowds on the jetty. Even if royalty came, she would see Nicholas first.
The crossing was rough. Govaerts was sallow. Berecrofts said, ‘I’m sorry. Will the motion disturb you?’
He, too, looked sick, but with the pallor of strain, emphasised by his natural fairness. She thought of Simon, and of Simon’s heir Henry, and compared that spoiled brat with the thoughtful boy that Robin had become; and the sickly wooer in Flanders with this kind and courteous young merchant, no older than Nicholas, but free of that furious dedication to excess.
She reassured him, and smiled as best she could while she kept her eyes on the ship. A three-masted caravel, heavily down in the water, with two ships’ boats also sluggish behind her. Men in the rigging. Men lining the poop, the forecastle, the waist, but too far away to be recognised. Then beside her, Archie suddenly moved. He said, ‘It is the Svipa.’
A moment later he said, ‘He is there. Robin is there.’
She was not looking at Robin. Her eyelids fluttered. Her eyes, blurred with rain, peered at each glimpse of the ship, with its beading of blockish forms and pale faces. Her gaze, but not her mind, registered the red hair of le Grant, the short priest, the big Scandinavian Crackbene, the beardless young face, yes, of Robin, the flying hair of a girl. They had pulled off their caps and were waving them. Her mind and eyes together saw Nicholas, standing at the furthest end of the poop. He had not uncovered his hair but she recognised him, as she had recognised him under the archway at Hesdin. And she knew, distant from each other as they were, that his eyes were on her boat, and that his gaze was only for her.
She pressed her hand on Archie’s shoulder, and stood. On the ship Nicholas hauled off and semaphored with his hat to no one in particular. Then he made a single extravagant gesture which seemed to include all his people, the ship, and the cockboats.
The gesture said, Success, riches, victory. His face, and the faces of all they could see, now coming fast into focus said, We are tired to death, and we have seen things we do not yet wish to speak of. But we are here.
She sent Archie first up the ladder. Moving past the boy, entwined with his father, she stood before Nicholas, and, as once before, found herself without words. This time, returning her gaze, he did not taunt her. Instead, placing his hands on her shoulders, he bent his lips to her mouth, then removed them. He had not kissed her on the lips for four years. He had embraced her only once since their marriage. ‘Ey’, he said, with one dimple.