To Lie with Lions - Dorothy Dunnett [256]
‘Don’t,’ said Nicholas. ‘He won’t thank me.’ Moving off, he didn’t look round, but felt, he thought, the remarkable eyes following Julius, or himself, or both, all the way up the street to the White Bear. At the junction he turned, but the only eyes following him were those of his wife.
Chapter 34
ON THURSDAY THE fourth of June, the day of the fracas at Veere, the Duke of Burgundy launched his army into the field under the black and purple legend VENGEANCE! VENGEANCE! By the time Nicholas de Fleury reached Arras on the ninth day of June, the Duke had advanced thirty miles to the castle he still possessed at Péronne, situated on the river Somme between the French-manned towns of Amiens and St Quentin. From that highly provocative spot he crossed the swampy frontier of the river into enemy land and marched south, burning hamlets and crops as he went. On Thursday the eleventh, when Nicholas reached him, the Duke had taken up quarters on his way to the well-garrisoned French town of Roye, and was awaiting news of a foray by his van.
His main army was still camped around him. Before reporting, Nicholas went and found Captain Astorre, who was playing dice outside his tent. Astorre said, ‘Merde, you took your time. Master Julius!’
‘I wanted to know what you were spending all that money on,’ Julius said. ‘Now I see. Can you put up with me for a week or two?’
‘If you say so. I’m short of a notary. Well, boy! But I have to tell you that you won’t find many banquets or princesses here. Nor much fighting maybe, not in this war. And who’s this? That’s not the son of the merchant?’
‘No,’ Nicholas said. ‘That’s the pig-sticker in the poke. This is a somewhat saddle-sore Henry, come with reluctance to serve under you and me and anyone, really, who wants something tedious done for them. He may be apt to wander off, so I want him looked after by two willing men who, for a consideration, will not let themselves be bribed, stabbed, shot, seduced or led to believe that on any excuse whatever, this boy may leave camp.’
‘Annoyed you, has he? Can he ride? You couldn’t ride,’ Astorre said. ‘You couldn’t shoot, either.’ The faces round the dice-board were grinning. Astorre could get his own back sometimes.
‘I was only pretending,’ said Nicholas agreeably. ‘You’re lucky this time, he can do both. But that’s all he can do. He thinks rough work beneath him.’
‘Oho!’ said Astorre.
‘It is beneath me,’ said Henry.
There was a chorus of good-humoured groans; the boy’s eyes flashed. They were sapphire-blue, and his hair was like corn. The face beneath it was rather less swollen than heretofore. Nicholas said, ‘And that had better be the only thing that’s beneath him, or on top. Do you hear me?’
‘He’s yours?’ said Astorre with perfect understanding.
Nicholas laughed. It took an effort to avoid the boy’s eye, but he caught the edge of Julius’s amusement. He said, ‘Yes, he’s mine.’
Later, coming back from the Duke’s room, he walked round the camp greeting everyone, and then held a company council of war in Astorre’s tent, with John le Grant and Julius and Astorre’s deputy Thomas. He deferred, as always, to Astorre and noted that, in his turn, Astorre deferred to the master gunner. He had already confirmed that his hundred lances were trimly provided for, and in excellent heart. As for the rest, Astorre was the leader, the executive. Nicholas was not here to captain a company, but to join the band of policy-makers, the councillors of the Duke.
Astorre’s view of what was happening was accurate. The Duke had put into the field about five thousand men: enough, if all went well, to frighten Louis into surrendering the Somme towns; enough to fight with if necessary. With the help of Brittany and a vast English army, it might even have been enough to topple Louis from the French throne; but Edward of England was not sufficiently