To Lie with Lions - Dorothy Dunnett [287]
Her thoughts had turned that way so often that it was not surprising when, emerging from the robing rooms dressed in fine lawn like the others, she turned cold in spite of the scented steam that filled the low room. Someone had spoken her name. A courier, outside the door, was talking to Simon who, in turn, had turned back to the King. Then they all looked at her. She stood on the damp tiles and said, ‘What? What, my lord? What has happened?’
The King came and took her two hands. He said, ‘You must be brave.’
The Princess Mary ran up, her face worried, and placed an arm round her waist. ‘What has happened?’
‘A message from France,’ Simon said.
‘From the battlefield? Ah no!’ said the Princess. ‘But they have the best medical help. Tom always said so.’
They led her to a bench and sat her down. She waited. The Countess was sitting beside her and the King stood, his hand on her shoulder. He was well made. His open robe showed his white linen drawers and the haze of curling red hair at his chest. He was sweating. They all were.
Simon said, ‘It was not on the battlefield. Apparently Lord Beltrees was waylaid on his way from the Loire. He had called at Saumur, and was perhaps thought to be carrying gold. At any rate, he was sprung upon when travelling unescorted, and his body lay by the river till morning. It has only lately been recognised. A vessel is bringing it home. I am so sorry.’
‘There is no doubt?’ said the King.
‘None, sire,’ Simon said. Mary was hugging her, and someone else was patting her arm. The others stood around in the steam, looking sympathetic. She fingered her hair, curling damply over her shoulders, and tried to think.
A trick. Surely a trick? But he had not come, even knowing that Jodi was in danger. He had not known. He was not coming, furious, to protect Jodi and regain face after her clever departure. He was not coming again. The game was over.
She looked at Simon and said, ‘Killed by footpads, alone? I don’t believe it.’
‘He is dead,’ Simon said. ‘My man has seen him.’
‘Your man?’ said Gelis. She saw his eyes flicker. She said, ‘Has your father done this?’
‘The vicomte? No, of course not!’ he said. ‘The vicomte is in Ribérac, with my son.’
And then she knew it was true.
She found she was standing. Someone – Mary – was trying to lead her upstairs to her chamber, but the King considered that solitude in first grief could be cruel. He wished the lady Gelis to remain with her friends, and gave her his wine. Presently, he asked her if she thought the warm waters might even be soothing. He led her to the small tented pool, and he and Mary seated her tenderly in the warmth, and set wine before her, and fruit. Mary held her hand and talked, irritating her. She closed her eyes and leaned back, thinking of Jodi. Thinking of Hesdin. Thinking of Sinai. Thinking of the rain through an African night.
After a while Mary withdrew, leaving her maids. A little after that, it became very quiet and Gelis saw, opening her eyes, that the maids had gone, and there was only Little Bell, on a stool in the corner, drawing slow, yearning notes from the lute. Only Bell and his master who, seeing her stir, said, ‘Come. The water has cooled. Here is a seat by the brazier.’
He held a great towel, and leaned a hand to help her step out. She saw his face, and remembered. She said, ‘Sire, this is work for a servant.’
‘It pleases us,’ said the King. He set her before him and, opening the towel, wrapped it about her. He did not release her. ‘It pleases us to make you warm. For we think, despite all your grief, that you have had a cold bed to lie in for some time. Is that so?’
His arms tightened. He was not very tall. She felt his fresh cheek at her neck, altering as his lips moved. His hands smoothed down the folds of the towel and then, parting it, traced the clinging lawn over her belly. His fingers began to pinch up the fine cloth.
She had lain in a cold bed for a long time. The fight was over, and self-denial was no longer a buckler, a weapon. She knew now