To Lie with Lions - Dorothy Dunnett [64]
Moriz said, ‘In my opinion, your husband has forced you to come, perhaps by threatening to deny you the boy. I am willing to speak to him, if you will tell me what to say.’
She looked at him. Something slid over the floorboards, hesitated, and slid back again. Above, there was a regular bumping. Gelis van Borselen said, ‘I am not, myself, short of words. If it seemed that a third person might help, then I should gladly invite you. But Nicholas and I understand one another very well.’
‘I am sure you do,’ Moriz said. ‘I think you are under pressure to stay.’
Gelis rose, steadying herself with one hand. She said, ‘Please don’t trouble. There is no pressure. I want to stay.’
‘Because you want this wrangling to go on?’
The motion was slackening. He rose as well, keeping his balance, trying to read her calm face. She said, ‘Ask him if he wants to stop.’
She was waiting for him to leave. He stood in thought. Then he said, ‘I have to tell you that I think he is stronger than you are.’
She returned his look, swaying in silence. ‘You think so?’ said Gelis. She watched him shake his head and walk to the door. When he got there she said, ‘Speak to Nicholas. He will tell you the same.’
Isolating Nicholas, as he must, was more difficult. The chance came on a day of light seas, and Moriz’s journey was vertical, since Nicholas was perched high aloft in the mast-basket. He showed no surprise as the priest settled beside him. ‘You’ve come to talk about Gelis,’ he said. His voice, snatched by the wind, sounded mild.
‘You haven’t thought,’ said Father Moriz, ‘that she might take her own life if you go on? She was close to it in Venice.’
‘No, she wasn’t,’ Nicholas said. ‘And she won’t, any more than I should. You don’t know her.’
‘And you do?’ said Father Moriz. ‘So tell me what she holds against you.’
‘That my name is no longer Claes. That I marry too many people. That I have an illegitimate child. Godscalc surely told you,’ he said.
‘But this has gone on for three years between you,’ said Moriz.
‘We like it,’ said Nicholas. ‘That is why we never quite kill one another. But those who interfere might be less lucky.’
‘No one could be less lucky than Gelis,’ said the priest. ‘What will happen next time? Do you reduce her to her bed, or her grave?’
‘You speak,’ said Nicholas, ‘as if I meant to chain her for the rest of her life to the bed-foot. She is free to leave at any time.’
‘But without the child.’
‘Of course, without the child.’
‘So she is chained. What life is that for her, or for the boy? Or for you, for that matter? She is a good mother,’ said Moriz. ‘Don’t be stupid. Let her go, and the child. She won’t prevent you, surely, from seeing him.’ The ties of his cap flew whipping under his chin and the wind tugged at his sleeves. The mast swayed and Nicholas, shifting his grip, pulled a considering face.
‘You think so?’
‘Am I talking in the right language?’ said Moriz. ‘I am telling you: let me say to the woman that she can go, and take the boy with her.’
The light from the sails moved over their faces. ‘Perhaps you are right. So yes. Why not?’ said Nicholas.
Moriz gazed at him, full of suspicion. ‘Then I may? And obtain her promise to let you see the boy when you wish?’
‘Oh no,’ said Nicholas, glancing at him with a smile. ‘That would be too much, don’t you think? If she goes, she goes. I shouldn’t be interested in any child brought up wholly by Gelis.’
Ask him if he wants to stop. Father Moriz prayed under his breath. So that was it. Nicholas meant what he said. Gelis could take the child if she liked and depart. The offer was genuine, but Nicholas had made it in the absolute confidence that it would not be accepted.
Father Moriz said, ‘I want you to listen to me. A child with one parent, or no parent, is better off than one reared in a household of hate. Are you telling me that you and your wife will live in accord from now on?’
‘I am telling you,’ Nicholas said, ‘that we are both