To Lie with Lions - Dorothy Dunnett [44]
Father Moriz said, ‘You can go and congratulate the victor, or come back to the lodging with me. I am hungry. And I prefer wine to ale.’
They walked back to the barracks together.
‘That was deliberate,’ John le Grant said.
‘Of course it was,’ said the priest. ‘We last saw him with a child in his arms. He is telling us that he is not a father, but a soldier. Presently he will show us that he is not a soldier, but a banker. It is interesting to follow his mind. It is not our duty to admire it.’
Later, he was ashamed to have paraded his perspicuity, when it came to be exactly justified by events. It was the banker who had them brought from their rest two hours later; who sat them down, thanked them briefly for coming, and obtained from them, with admirable economy, an accounting for all that had happened in the Tyrol and since. They were then given a matching report of the Bank’s progress elsewhere, and told to prepare to leave shortly for Scotland.
Through it all, Nicholas was wholly impersonal, as was his custom when conducting negotiations in public; as he had been, no doubt, in those vital interviews in Ham and in Hesdin. To remain detached here, alone in a private room with two men as close to him, in their separate ways, as John and Father Moriz himself, was either an aberration or a notification which required thinking about. He sat before them with the childish bruises and cuts showing above the immaculate chemise and doublet, and ignored what they had just seen as easily as he was ignoring their common past. Father Moriz thought, John is perhaps right, and I am perhaps wrong. He did not even know we were about to arrive. He was cultivating Artois and the army as he was cultivating Anjou, Burgundy, France. I suppose we should thank someone that he is not troubling to cultivate us.
They had reached the end of the curious interview and were about, he thought, to be dismissed when someone tapped on the door and Nicholas opened it. When he came back, his manner was the same, but there was a change of some sort in his face, which was already coloured with the open air. He said, ‘I’ve disturbed your rest. Alonse will take you back to your rooms. Send if you want something to eat; you know Astorre’s cooks are always superb. I’ll have someone bring you at first light tomorrow to go over the detail.’
‘And that’s all?’ said John. His annoyance at the dismissal was justified. It was only mid-afternoon. Instead of intervening, Father Moriz trod peacefully to the window. He was aware that the gaze of Nicholas followed him.
Nicholas said, ‘If you’re not tired, there are a hundred men out there, and you know at least half of them. Go and enjoy yourself. I have some things I must do.’
‘The camp has visitors,’ the priest said. The perpetual haphazard traffic between buildings, tents and sheds had coalesced at one point into a huddle of horses and packmules with, here and there, the ruddy glitter of steel. In the middle he thought he glimpsed the high shape of a veil, and the folds of a gown on a side-saddle. As he watched, grooms ran up to the leading horse and began to lead it to another part of the encampment.
‘A lady,’ remarked Father Moriz. ‘But not for you, Nicholas, it would seem.’ He heard footsteps coming to join him and knew it was John, and that Nicholas had stayed where he was.
Nicholas said, ‘I am enthralled. Alonse is waiting.’
Below, the procession had stopped. Father Moriz remained looking down. Captain Astorre, fastening his points, came trotting into view. Taking the reins from the groom, Astorre turned the horse round and began to bring the leading members of the cavalcade towards the door of the house in which they stood. John turned. He said, ‘Is it Gelis, Nicholas? Astorre is bringing her here.’
Moriz turned as well. Nicholas stood by the door, gazing outwards. There was only one staircase. Whoever it was, there was no avoiding meeting her now. Nicholas said, ‘It is not Gelis.’ There were footsteps below, and then the clatter of Astorre’s spurs on the stairs, followed by other, softer feet. With a