To Lie with Lions - Dorothy Dunnett [351]
‘I am not hungry,’ the boy said. He was lying. His cheeks were hollow.
Mistress Clémence said, ‘Then come with me anyway. Master Jodi is there.’
‘Jodi?’ he said. He made it sound like a sneer.
‘Men have little names sometimes,’ she said. ‘The name for Henry is Arigho, is it not? Dr Tobias?’
The boy sprang round like a young mastiff. Dr Tobias, quietly approaching from behind, stood still. He said, ‘I came to fetch you. And do I need to ask who this is? The son of Simon de St Pol?’ He had pulled his cap off, an untoward gesture he made, she had noticed, when disturbed.
‘Who are you?’ the boy said.
‘No one who matters. A doctor,’ said Dr Tobias. ‘I heard you were thrashed. Lord Beltrees was beaten himself, shortly afterwards, although I am not sure he deserved it. But I think you have a family who protect you, and you should thank them.’
She was surprised. She noticed that, speaking, Dr Tobias avoided her eyes. She said, ‘We were about to go and find some cheese and perhaps something a little better. Come with us.’
Only then did she notice how empty this part of the garden had become, and that there were men outside the arbour who were neither monks nor ducal officials. She saw the boy smile, his eyes bright in his narrow, white face. A man appeared, blocking the sunlight. A large, fat man who said, ‘Mistress Clémence, I believe. Dr Tobias. We have heard your kind invitation and indeed, should like to accept it. A little cheese. A little milk. And perhaps even something more satisfying.’
She looked at Dr Tobias, who had pulled on his cap. A group of unknown men stood behind him. Dr Tobias said, ‘Mistress Clémence, allow me to introduce Henry’s grandfather. This is Jordan de St Pol, vicomte de Ribérac.’
‘So you didn’t suspect,’ Gelis said. She had seated Martin beside her and was pouring him wine. She put down the flask and raised another. ‘Water, Nicholas?’ Her skin was flushed, her eyes bright. Give her that happiness now, Kathi had said. And Gelis was happy, even before the long catalogue of her scheming that he must listen to, that would prove that she was not just a sentient or a sensual being but an intelligent one. An organiser, an administrator. A person as competent as Gregorio, Julius, Govaerts. As himself.
‘Let me think. No,’ he said. ‘I believe I might even risk wine.’ And as she smiled and started to pour, he said, ‘Of course. Isn’t Gelis a short form of Egidia? And Egidius was the Vatachino’s third agent.’
She said, ‘I thought you would guess that. David was convinced that you … that you wouldn’t.’
‘Ah yes, David,’ Nicholas said. She had hesitated, remembering Cyprus. He said to Martin, ‘So you and David enjoyed working under my wife?’ Martin missed it: Gelis ventured a glint of acknowledgement. Once, her name and David’s had been linked. Even before Famagusta, Nicholas had been sure there was nothing in it.
‘We worked together.’ Martin was correcting him. ‘I do not work under a woman.’
‘Then for Adorne?’ Nicholas said. ‘Or for whom?’ He refrained, with an effort, from emptying his cup at a gulp. He would have only one chance. And meanwhile, he might as well learn what he could. Martin said, ‘None of us knows. The owner of the Vatachino prefers to remain anonymous.’
‘Then it might be a woman,’ Nicholas pointed out reasonably.
Martin stared at him with dislike. Then he said, ‘Do you want to know what else Gelis has done?’
‘Let me tell him,’ Gelis said.
There were some surprises, and despite everything, he was glad of them. But in general, he was familiar, of course, with the areas where the Vatachino had bested him: in the sequestration of paper supplies, which had put a stop to his printing; in the alliance with the towns which had hindered his strategy in Scotland; in the Iceland expedition, which had been intended to tower over his supposed minor investment in herring.
He heard now again about those, but in terms of Gelis’s personal involvement. All of it was clever. She had connived at Adorne’s vital post as the new Conservator. She had learned