To Lie with Lions - Dorothy Dunnett [253]
‘It is your fault,’ Nicholas said. He held the casket, and thought of Marian, and opened his hands in spite of it all. It fell, and Gelis cried out.
He said, ‘It is your fault that Henry thinks that your son is Simon’s. That is why he is trying to kill him.’
‘And what about you?’ Gelis said. ‘Why did you come here with Henry, instead of staying with Jordan who needed you? Why have you dashed to abuse me, except to hide from yourself what has really happened? What you can’t bear. What you want to punish me for. But it isn’t my fault, is it, what has happened to Henry? It isn’t my fault that –’
‘Stop,’ said Nicholas. He found he had stepped across and was holding her hard, one hand over her mouth. Glass crunched under his feet. Her eyes, Nordic-blue, stared into his, exploring them, puzzled.
Father Moriz shouldered between them, breathing hard. He said, ‘Gelis, get out.’
She pulled her head free, and Nicholas let his hand drop. ‘We haven’t finished,’ she said.
‘You have,’ said the priest grimly. ‘Stand back.’
Nicholas stood back. The fury, evaporating, left a white haze. The door opened as Father Moriz walked to it, holding Gelis. Mistress Clémence stood there, with another woman. Mistress Clémence curtseyed to Gelis and the priest and looked across to where Nicholas stood. She said, ‘I am free to go whenever you want me, my lady.’ She paused and said, ‘I have to tell you that Master de St Pol is asleep and well guarded, and has been seen by a doctor. Also that …’ She hesitated, glancing behind.
The other woman said, ‘Also that his tale of abuse was untrue. He is untouched and whole, apart from some well-deserved bruises.’ She appeared to smile at the priest. She said, ‘Clémence will see to the lady Gelis.’
Gelis went out, with Mistress Clémence and Moriz. The sun silvered the glass on the floor, making rainbows. Regnbogi Nikudr. The same woman’s voice said, ‘When did you last eat?’
He tried to focus. A youngish woman, with the dark hair and bright complexion of the Irish, such as you found sometimes in Iceland, or Spain, or the Western Isles. Her eyes were like violets. He smelled her scent, and heard the sound of her faint, exact breathing.
She said, ‘I have had a tray put in your room, and a bed made up. Come. I will show you.’
She left him at the door.
When he woke, he had slept the day through, and it was evening. His head was heavy from the long sleep, but he felt better, and competent. When he appeared, no one expressed surprise. They treated him, he thought, as if he had been ill. He said, ‘Where is Mistress Clémence?’
Gelis said, ‘I thought you would want her to go back to Antwerp. She is on her way now. The boy Henry is still asleep.’
‘I see,’ Nicholas said. The priest sat, saying nothing. Diniz gave him some wine, which he didn’t want, and pressed his shoulder lightly in passing. Diniz, he remembered, knew a great deal too much. Someone had cleared up the glass.
Tilde, who had not brought in her baby, was preparing to say something. Nicholas forestalled her. ‘I’m glad Clémence is going, but of course Catherine will have been a great help. I’m sorry, Tilde. I’m sure, but for her, it would have been worse.’
‘And but for Robin,’ the priest remarked. ‘It is your affair, of course. But Robin was ignorant, too, of the dangers. Have you even heard his side of the story? Whatever it was, he has already proved his loyalty and his courage ten times over this year, and you are a fool to forget it.’
Nicholas remembered, with difficulty, having made some arbitrary decisions about the future of Robin and Pasque. He recalled very clearly some of the things Gelis had said. She had regained her tranquillity this evening, and her hair had been dressed with meticulous care. He said, ‘I think I should probably cancel everything I said this morning and start over again. In any case, I have to ask your forbearance, all of you. I can’t give any more time to the business or to my family. I have to go straight back to the Duke.’
‘War?