To Lie with Lions - Dorothy Dunnett [344]
Nicholas, exchanging signals of self-congratulation with his other exhausted organisers, felt no surprise. It was bound to happen. What was significant was that it had happened just now. A sop. A sop because Charles wasn’t going to get very much else?
He had appropriated for himself a high window in someone’s expensive merchant building from which to overlook the performance. His eye, idly roving, fell on the spectators at another similarly tapestried window. Someone waved.
He waved back, the sun in his eyes, and found that he was looking at Anselm Adorne. Beside him, he thought he saw Jan, and several people from the van Borselen household. Finally, he observed that someone else was waving even more vehemently: someone so small that the grimly ceremonial caul on her hair barely reached her uncle Cortachy’s shoulder.
Kathi. Katelijne Sersanders. Everyone’s friend.
And beside her, his hand raised in greeting, the diffident, smiling face of Archie of Berecrofts.
Nicholas failed to join them. Instead, he observed his usual custom, and mustered his hard-working friends at the beer barrel till bedtime. When he rose, rather late, the following morning, it was to find that he had a choral interlude and a playlet to arrange, and someone wished to consult him on the subject of fireworks. He wondered what the fireworks were for.
He learned, in time, that they were for the Duke’s fortieth birthday, a week hence. He became extremely occupied with the Emperor’s contribution. Just before the due date, a number of rumours began to be heard in every tavern, during the hours they were able to open. The Duke had been refused the crown that he wanted, and had been offered another. Nicholas swore.
A French spy was discovered, and hanged. Astorre provided the drums.
Anselm Adorne sent an invitation, which Nicholas was unable to accept.
Tobie arrived and wanted to know why he wasn’t visiting Jodi. The Duke was still thirty-nine, and Nicholas was feeling queasy as well as unfairly harassed. He said, ‘Because I think I’m going to have to arrange a coronation. Would you like to do that, and I’ll play with Jordan?’
Tobie, who was thoroughly pleased to be released from the nursery, stopped looking about him and sat back expectantly. ‘So it’s true? The Duke’s agreed to lower the price for the marriage? No King of the Romans? No future Lord of the World?’
‘It hasn’t been announced,’ Nicholas said.
‘No, but rumour has it that he’s settled for a Burgundian crown under the Empire. All his estates erected into a kingdom. Plus the duchies of Lorraine, Savoy and Cleves. The Grand King of the West. They say they’ve agreed on a date.’
They had. The coronation would take place in twelve days.
He had forgotten to respond. Tobie said, ‘Which allows you and Gelis to plan. Doesn’t it? You said you would end the war then. You look as if you need to end something. What is it? Last-minute qualms?’
He said something. He wished Tobie would leave, and soon he did.
The next day, he had to go to St Maximin’s for the Duke’s birthday. He called on Jodi. Gelis was there, her hair elaborate, her face tinted. She said, ‘Do we have an appointment?’
He couldn’t take it lightly. He didn’t want to think about it at all. He said, ‘The twenty-fifth of November. I shall prepare to be crowned.’
He was leaving, fast, when Kathi called to him over the courtyard. He slowed and turned. She was alone.
She said, ‘I don’t want you to avoid me.’
‘I’ve been busy,’ he said. ‘The coronation. Your birthday, of course.’
‘St Catherine’s Day. They could hardly avoid it. The Bride of Christ. Do you think Maximilian looks like Christ?’
‘Perhaps. If someone had just told him something that upset him,’ said Nicholas. ‘His birth-chart, for instance. Look, I’m expected. I’m sorry.’
‘I know. Never