To Lie with Lions - Dorothy Dunnett [54]
‘It is not fire,’ Gelis said. Now you could see the dragons above, and the angels. It was the angels who were singing. It was Latin. It was not a blessing. She said, ‘You should, I think, let Mistress Clémence leave. She has caused you no annoyance that I know of.’
‘Presently,’ Nicholas said. The singing reached a climax and broke off. The drum beat. The pit glowed. Unexpectedly, far above, a bird started to sing. Its voice was frightened and loud. Nicholas said, ‘Mistress Clémence? You know why we are here?’
The bird sang. Mistress Clémence’s voice, when it came, was surprisingly steady. ‘My training is with children, not adults, M. de Fleury. They chastise one another with blows.’
‘And you think that better? Perhaps you are right. But I reserve some rights as a husband, or else my son, when he grows, would despise me. When I am abused, I make some complaint. It seems a mild one, to me. As you see, my wife is not easily frightened.’
‘It is not my place to comment,’ said the nurse. ‘I only hope, as he grows, that your son will forgive you the part allotted him in this experience.’
‘You would tell him?’ said Nicholas.
‘Others will, soon enough. It is as well to remember,’ said Mistress Clémence. ‘The bond between mother and child cannot be broken. A son will defend even a mother he hates.’
‘Thank you,’ said Gelis. ‘I am here, do you remember?’
The nurse turned. ‘Your son loves you, madame.’
‘Who can doubt it?’ Nicholas said. ‘But in time, he will learn, as you say, what has happened. So will others, and sooner. You have heard my lady wife express her wish to continue our marriage. I am overwhelmed – for my own sake, for that of the child. But I would begin our new married life in public accord. Being young, she fell into error. I have exacted my own form of punishment. I have forgiven her.’
‘Thank you,’ said Gelis. About her, the air swam with flickering shadows, red with a breathing malevolence. The bird screamed. Her flesh, fighting to preserve itself, tore open her mind to the channels of instinct while she sought, breathing fast, to control it.
The announcement he had just made was a travesty. The promise he had not made was the one she wanted to hear. She said, ‘And Jordan? Jordan?’
The name was the trigger. She was in the lair of a Professor of Secrets, and the levers under his hand were his playthings. As she spoke her son’s name, the bird’s song reached the highest point of its terrified screech and darkness fell. A fissure of light, sizzling high in the air, showed the pit at her feet, showed the bridge, showed Nicholas standing immobile still, looking down at her. The dragons and angels had gone and the walls had turned black. The ground under her shook. A roar swept through the room: a rolling crash that hammered into her eardrums; withdrew and thundered again. The lightning seared through the air and the fingers of Clémence dug into her arm.
‘Toys, my lady,’ said Clémence. ‘The louder the noise, the smaller the harm. There’ll be rain.’ As she spoke, the hiss started.
It fell from above. At first, it drummed into the bed of the floor; then the rush of sound altered as the water fell on itself, surging, rising, filling the pit. The spray coated her face, her hair, all she wore. She pressed back on the wall. ‘I am sorry, my lady,’ said Clémence.
There were jets on the wall. As he had touched off the storm, so the silent controller of Hell brought to life, one by one, all the other devices. Water poured under her skirts, over her shoulders, streamed down her hair and her face, stopping her breath. Thunder crashed as she choked, and lightning flickered and swam through the air, showing