To Lie with Lions - Dorothy Dunnett [241]
The Duke paused. ‘It is not coming.’
‘They cannot afford it,’ said Nicholas.
‘My lord of Cortachy believes otherwise,’ the Duke said. ‘Anselm Adorne brought us sulphur. What do you bring?’
‘The man who will use it,’ Nicholas said. ‘Master John le Grant, who might otherwise be fighting the Turk. We place our souls as well as our hearts at your service.’
Later, alone in the rooms they’d been given, John said, ‘The man’s crazy. Does Scotland really owe you that much? I thought they’d raised the gold for the army.’
‘They have,’ Nicholas said. ‘But James wants to lead it, and they won’t allow that while he’s childless. Dreams of Alexander and Hercules. Rubbish.’
‘Dear, dear,’ said John le Grant. ‘What it is to be young and romantic and have well-travelled friends. The Duke is childless. That is, he’s only got the one girl from his previous marriage. Whoever marries her is going to do well, and make a few changes. Perhaps in the long run we’d be better backing France.’
‘That’s all right,’ Nicholas said. ‘We’re doing that, too.’ The Duke was crazy: rich and impatient, and greedy for honours and land and a name that would match that of his warrior forefathers. A triple invasion of France was one of his dreams for the future. His more immediate desire was to retrieve the two border towns he had lost the previous year to the King of France. He had published two manifestos accusing Louis of France of killing his own younger brother by poison, sorcellerie et machinations diaboliques, and had some new banners made inscribed VENGEANCE!
To Nicholas, the future looked mildly promising. He rode into Arras. The following morning, racing ahead of his cohorts, Captain Astorre burst into his patron’s rooms like a ready-spurred cock from its basket.
‘Claes! My boy!’
‘Nicholas de Fleury, Lord Beltrees, to you,’ said John le Grant acidly. ‘Have you got any decent gunners there yet? One who can strike a spark from a flint?’
Everything flowed off Astorre when there was a battle in prospect. He embarked on a ten-minute lecture on strategy. Louis was currently five hundred miles away with his army. When he came north to attack, he’d choose Brittany. ‘Scare them into surrender, he’ll think, and then turn back to us, before we’ve had time to do all that much damage.’
‘Have we time to do all that much damage?’ Nicholas said. Astorre had let his beard revert to black streaked with white. The girls were either departed or dropping like plums.
Astorre said, ‘Depends what kind of damage you mean. You and I could launch a nice little series of sorties, tip out a few garrisons, and begin to hold a good solid line threatening Paris. That’d change Louis’s mind and bring him scurrying up to the conference table.’
‘But?’
‘But you know mercenaries.’
‘We’re mercenaries,’ Nicholas said. He liked annoying Astorre, who turned puce.
‘Are we?’ said Astorre. ‘Are we? I’ve yet to see any body of men under me behaving like Hagenbach’s bloody Alsatians.’
‘All right,’ Nicholas said. ‘You’re saying that the ducal army won’t consolidate without better discipline, and that’s a point I shall make with the others. Now let’s talk about guns.’ He could see John’s hair growing ruddier. John enjoyed sailing, but his heart was really in proper guns, with masons and platforms and carriages, and barrels and barrels of gunpowder.
Much later, when platters were empty and the wine nearly done, Astorre said, ‘The barber-surgeon went off. I’ll get somebody. Unless you’ve someone permanent in mind.’
Nicholas said, ‘Get someone temporary,’ and met Astorre’s one gleaming eye. He did have someone permanent in mind: the same man as Astorre. Jan had spread the news, as he had spread the news about so much else happening in Rome. Dr Tobias, former physician to the Charetty company, was surprisingly about to return to the field. Having successfully brought to delivery the Count of Urbino’s ninth child and first son, he was leaving to follow the Count into action.
Jan had wondered why, with the Count’s thanks in his pocket, he’d