To Lie with Lions - Dorothy Dunnett [277]
She did not know, making her plans, that by the time she set forth, Nicholas would be riding to Chouzy, and the pendulum upon which she was relying was about to be stilled.
Whenever Nicholas had marsh-fever, the face of Tobie was the first he saw floating above him, with its fluffy bald head and round nostrils and disapproving small mouth. It appeared always after some time: a week perhaps, or occasionally even longer. When, therefore, it materialised on this occasion, Nicholas said, ‘What day is it?’
The acerbic expression did not change. Tobie said, ‘You have been here for two weeks.’
‘Where?’ said Nicholas with vague interest. It could be almost anywhere. Cyprus, for instance. He wouldn’t mind being ill with Tobie in Cyprus. When Tobie didn’t answer he said, mildly insisting, ‘Come on, where?’ His chest, curiously, didn’t like supplying his voice with much volume. Thinking about it, he realised he was quite badly hurt, as well as weak from the fever. Further thinking about it, he remembered what had caused the injuries. He remembered, too, the horses, the men and the girl who had vanished. He mentally cancelled the question and remarked disagreeably, closing his eyes, ‘O God, our crucified Redeemer.’
‘What’s wrong?’ said Tobie with anger.
It was Tobie.
Nicholas opened his eyes, as far as he could manage. Tobie, sitting beside him with his short lips and shining pink scalp and assortment of comical worry lines, said, ‘You’re in the manor of Chouzy. They found out who you were from your lad, and sent a man to the Pays de Caux to Astorre. They volunteered me to come. The Berecrofts boy’s with me. Your lad has been paid off.’
‘Thundering Poison,’ Nicholas remarked. ‘You didn’t consult me.’ He felt like Death chained at the feet of Fame, but perceived that some sign of esprit was required. As the pain penetrated, he remembered more of what had caused it. He was not yet capable of pursuing the problem of why Tobie had been with Astorre, or what Robin was doing here. He found Tobie was supporting him in order to give him something to drink.
Tobie said, ‘Here. They found you by the river. You’d had a bad beating. Your ribs are damaged. One leg is snapped and the other cracked. They’ll mend; they’re only stiff because I’ve bound them. And then you got yourself some marsh-fever, which is why you’re addled, as usual. Now you’ll sleep, and when you wake I’ll bring in the people whose house you’re in. You owe them a lot.’
He heard the words through a somnolent fog. Tobie always did that: sent you to sleep just as you were about to grasp the key of heaven and hell. When he woke, his hostess was sitting at his bedside, or so he assumed her to be: a fair young woman, expensively dressed, with a three-year-old child asleep in her arms. She smiled. ‘Eh bien, your doctor was called away, and I offered to sit until he came back. I am the dame de Chouzy. You feel better, my lord? I am glad.’
Nicholas said, ‘I am told that I owe my rescue to you.’
‘Ah! Others would have helped,’ the girl said. ‘But how could I let suffer the employer of my husband’s own kinswoman? Clémence works for you, does she not?’
‘For me and my wife,’ Nicholas said. ‘Our debt to her is almost as great. She has been …’ His voice died. Although his eyes continued to rest on her, he had forgotten what he was saying. She rose, still carrying the child, and the door opened. His eyes followed her. His mind was elsewhere. She said something.
‘He is not fully awake,’ said Tobie’s voice. ‘It is nothing to worry about. But I shall watch him now. Thank you.’
The door closed, and Tobie sat down. Nicholas said, ‘Why are you here?’ He paused and then said, collecting his breath, ‘I am awake. Why are you here?’
‘Volterra,’ said Tobie. ‘The canonical irregularity of blood-shedding. You have it here as well. Par saint Georges, mes enfants, vous avez fait une belle boucherie! Thus the Duke riding into Nesle, I am told.’
‘Louis is extremely sickening