To Lie with Lions - Dorothy Dunnett [82]
The nurse said, ‘Madame, we shall wait somewhere else.’
The King had sent for the child. He would not be permitted to leave. Kathi moved, but already Whistle Willie was speaking. ‘Or, your grace, he could sit here by his nurse until his father arrives. This is a boy who can play on a whistle. He could play the spinet, I am sure.’
A cooing sound made itself heard. The Queen’s ladies were much attached to young children. The nurse waited, her hand on the boy’s shoulder. The Queen hesitated, then sat. She said, ‘He may stay.’
The Princess Margaret said, ‘For all the good it will do, he might as well go back to his cradle. But you were right, Kathi, he’s Nicol all over; he can’t be another man’s after all. Is he going to scream?’
‘Maybe,’ Kathi said, since it was the answer Meg wanted. She saw the grey-black eyes rest on her and on Roger, then wander; Jordan’s expression, of dazed resistance, was fixed. Mistress Clémence knelt down beside him and spoke. The words, which Kathi couldn’t quite hear, were in French. The nurse waited; the child nodded; then, guiding him forward, Mistress Clémence settled herself on the chest beside the musician, and set the child on her knee. He leaned his head into her shoulder and Whistle Willie, conductor of souls, had the wisdom to turn his back and ignore him.
The Queen discussed what Master Roger should play and agreed, when Meg suggested it, that it might be pleasant to dance. The little matrons rose, chattering, and took each other’s hands, deciding what to do, and how to do it. After a while, the child unburied his head and looked up. Once, the Queen, passing by, touched his cheek and smiled at him. She was the same age as his Robin. He smiled back. Kathi thought of a very bad Greek word the parrot had taught her. Then she began to watch the door again as she danced.
Chapter 11
IT WAS THE scene which Nicholas de Fleury came upon presently when, opening the door, he stood aside to let the King enter, along with his brothers Sandy and John and their households. He received an immediate impression of a great deal of movement and laughter: it was not a very large room, and it was filled with a number of young women, dancing. They stopped and, turning, sank into curtseys; Nicholas scanned them.
The music, which had also stopped, had been provided by Whistle Willie, of course, who sat looking straight at him. Not far from him, Kathi – Katelijne Sersanders, whom he should have met yesterday, if the King had allowed him to leave. Whom he had not met since Venice, when she had decided to help to free Jordan. Next time, she might just as easily offer her services to Jordan’s mother: Katelijne Sersanders had very flexible prejudices, or an enlarged sense of fair play, depending on your viewpoint. Just now, she was glaring. He supposed he knew the reason. It had nothing to do with a broken appointment.
And there, of course, superior as ever, was Clémence of Coulanges, seated on a stool and restraining his son by the arms until the ladies rose from their salute. Then Jordan broke away and came speeding towards him. The child’s face was red, but not swollen. Nicholas said, ‘What a good son I have. You have kept mademoiselle company until I came. Have you danced?’
‘No,’ said the child.
‘Well, we shall dance now,’ Nicholas said, bending to lift him.
Mistress Clémence said, ‘He is perhaps heavier than you think.’
He smiled, the child in his arms. He said, ‘I see my young friend Katelijne is of the same opinion. I shall be careful, mademoiselle.’ He knew it was apparent that none of them was quite sober. The King had been persuaded to put on his pourpoint again, but his shirt was visibly torn from the last bout of horseplay, and the young men of the chamber were worse.
It had come to swords in the end,