To Lie with Lions - Dorothy Dunnett [68]
She looked better. Instead of braiding her hair, she had left it to toss beneath the wide band at her brow. It had grown, in a year, and the ends were bleached by the sun of the wilderness. She said, ‘Jodi has learned to say, Gel, gel, gel. Are you his camel?’
It was the first time she had used the short name. It was the first time she had spoken familiarly. The decision was made.
Nicholas said, ‘I am the saddle. A perfect seat, as you know, for any horseman. I think John is the camel. How are you?’ His voice, obscured by the wind, sounded as normal as hers.
‘Anxious to arrive,’ Gelis said. ‘Where shall we stay? You have a pretty cassino, you once told me, in Edinburgh.’
He had bought it for her, long ago. Long ago, before the day of their wedding. Now he said, ‘I still have it. It is yours as soon as my tenants have moved. Until then, there are passable living quarters in the house of the Bank in the Canongate. You remember the Canongate? Like Spangnaerts Street sloped like a chute, with Holy rood Abbey in place of the mattresses. Is your arm painful?’
He didn’t know why he said it, except that there was no one within earshot, and he found himself suddenly impatient of pretence.
She read him at once. ‘You would rather I said what I thought? Yes, my arm is extremely painful. I assume that is what you wanted to hear. Nicholas?’
‘Gelis?’ he answered immediately. He saw her flush, and pale with mortification before she went on.
She said, ‘About Hesdin. I wondered what would have happened to Jordan, if Mistress Clémence or I had been killed. Did you consider that?’
‘Naturally,’ he said. ‘As much as you ever did. How was Cologne? Did you enjoy being free for four months?’
‘I had no choice,’ Gelis said. ‘And before that, I had to divide my time between Jordan and his father. And you?’ She paused and spoke as if against her own will. ‘What do you think of him?’
The lapse was surprising. ‘Who?’ he said.
‘Jordan!’ She loosened her hands, a little too quickly.
‘Do you need to ask?’ Nicholas said. ‘If I could kill him I would, but I might lose my freedom for rather more than four months. However. My chance will come.’
She was staring at him.
He said, ‘You are talking about Jordan de Ribérac? No? These identical names are so confusing.’
She always had courage. She didn’t leave. She said hardily, ‘What do you think of him then? Or what would you like me to believe?’ A long way off, a high voice was talking. She must have heard it as well.
He made a gesture. He said, ‘I have found him useful, as you have. It is convenient that he shows his paternity – although not to you. How you must have hated him when he was placed in your arms! And I suppose he will grow up as any foster-child does, paying with embraces for favours. He has pretty ways.’
‘Foster-child!’
‘Clémence stands for his mother. The world is his mother and father,’ Nicholas said. ‘He will grow up trusting no one, loving no one. A very good thing.’
‘Like you?’
‘Like both of us,’ Nicholas said.
Then she left, walking away without help, a little unbalanced by the sling. He watched her go.
She was staying. So was Jodi, his son.
This time he had what he wanted; and no one could stop him.
Down below in her cabin, painfully, shakily, stubbornly, Gelis was writing again.
Chapter 9
AS ARRANGED BY a master of illusion, the return of Nicholas de Fleury to Scotland lacked no ceremonial. Scotland welcomed its adopted knight, its brilliant banker Nicholas de Fleury and his superb wife and his thriving small son: a handsome and loving young family.
The grand entrance took place at Leith, as Nicholas wanted. His caravel rowed into harbour, its sails shipped, its sides washed and shining, its banners taut, its trumpets piping and blaring. Lighters fled to and fro at their keel; the pilot boat which had brought them saluted; and, far ahead, glossy in satin and silk, men stood arrayed on the riverside wharf: the magnates of Scotland, come to welcome their Knight of the Unicorn. And