To Lie with Lions - Dorothy Dunnett [227]
Behind him she saw the girl Katelijne, her eyes twinkling. There was no malice in her face, or in that of Nicholas. His lips had been chilled; the contact had been of the slightest. Some sort of token, a gesture, a wry joke. Except for the look in his eyes.
They crowded together for the sail into Leith. The ship ploughed into the waves, and everyone shouted. Listening, Gelis learned something at least of what had happened in the north. The role of the Unicorn was not entirely made clear, nor did the sardonic references to the Maiden’s Paúel Benecke in any way agree with what Martin had told her. It seemed that Benecke had also been rescued, and the two ships had sailed for some time in consort. According to Robin, they had played competitive havoc when storm-stayed in Orkney. She stopped listening after a while, the better to scrutinise Nicholas.
He had not been desperately ill, and he was not seriously damaged, it was clear. But eight days before, she did not need the priest to inform her, he had not been capable of sailing this ship. And the girl Sersanders, despite her animation, was visibly weak.
Her brother, it seemed, was still with the Icelanders. ‘He is safe. They will send him back with some ship. You didn’t bring Jordan?’ Nicholas asked.
They were temporarily alone; the ship was preparing to anchor. She was herself again, too. She said in a low voice, ‘You don’t know what has happened?’
He was watching Crackbene, Eric Mowat. He transferred his attention. ‘Don’t trouble,’ he said. ‘I know Jordan has been ill, but not gravely so.’
Unchastened, she returned to her usual voice. ‘It was the water-pox. He’s better, but house-bound. Will you come to the High Street?’
‘Later. Would you wait for me there? There are some things I must do.’
She understood. His cargo was fish for the Low Countries, and the faster the delivery, the higher the price it would fetch. Victualling and repairs would have to start straight away, so that the Svipa could set off tomorrow. She said, ‘The Svipa. A suitably menacing appellation.’
‘I know. Childish,’ he said. ‘I decided to change it last week to the Merrybuttocks. We held a ceremony of re-dedication off Nólsoy.’
‘Oh,’ Gelis said. ‘It doesn’t seem much of a change. Will it translate, do you suppose, into Venetian?’
‘It won’t have to,’ Nicholas said. ‘It’s staying in Scotland. The King has promised to buy it after this shipment. He’s always wanted a fleet. He’ll probably call it The Lion.’
‘You don’t want it?’ she exclaimed.
‘I don’t need it,’ he said very reasonably. ‘I should have the Danzig ship soon, Merrybuttocks Two or Four, and they’re building me more in the Arsenal.’
His gaze had shifted to the shore, where she saw a flag had appeared. As once before, Alexander Albany had rushed down to meet him. She saw Crackbene was grinning.
Enlightenment dawned. She said, ‘You’re not coming to Edinburgh at all. You’re going to celebrate your arrival all night at the King’s Wark, or Lamb’s.’
He half pulled a face, but his eyes were still elsewhere: on flaming-haired John, on the Russian oddity and his son, on the infamous Dane. ‘We have something to celebrate,’ he said.
‘And spend the rest of the night in a bawdy house?’
Now he was paying more heed. He said, ‘Leith does have the best. And really, I am thinking of you, as you noticed. I hope to return to my patriarchal commitments shaved, clean, freshly attired, and professionally reduced to that state which will least discommode you. Do you mind?’
‘I am glad to hear it,’ she said. ‘Will one night be enough?’
Father Moriz returned with her to Edinburgh, carrying Katelijne Sersanders on the saddle before him. Behind her rode Archie of Berecrofts, his voice lifted, as if in protest, to Robin, his son. He said, ‘I am proud of you!’
‘I couldn’t stop them,’ said Robin.
The Svipa, now the Merrybuttocks (Nicholas having spoken the actual truth), sailed with Crackbene the following day, leaving behind it a number of persons in precarious health. Among them was the musician Will Roger, who had added himself to the festivities at nightfall;