She was unhurt but covered with blood, one of a group working to lift a fallen horse from its victims. She scrambled to her feet as soon as she saw him, open relief on her face. She said quickly, ‘Jodi’s safe. They got him out at the beginning, and Robin and Archie and the others are taking him home.’
‘Where are they?’ he said. High above in the flickering darkness, lines of light began to appear and run like fire down the slopes of the Rock. Help from the Castle. Help, with any luck, from all those towering houses whose windows now glittered red.
She said, ‘They’ve gone. He’s safe. Nicholas, where is Gelis?’
The horse was dead. Its victim’s blood spattered the ice. Where it had fallen a crack had appeared, below which he could hear running water. The ice was thick, and had not given way. Elsewhere, with a little help, it might be different.
For a moment, ridiculously, he could not move. Then Kathi pushed him and said, ‘I’ll come too. Find her. Find her.’
The numbing cold of the water roused Gelis to come to the surface, and then notified her that further effort was not worth the trouble. She was aware that there was ice at her shoulder and that she would shortly slip under it. The thrusting boot appeared to have gone, but in any case, she felt no pain from its work; she felt nothing. Her eyes, blurring, rested on a sky which had turned into a portal of fire: a solemn circle of flames which would lead her to Heaven or Hell; into torment; out of it. It wrung pain from her then, to know that she was to be alone in this too; that he would never be with her; that, at last, she had lost him. She fancied she saw, as she sank, his face looking at her as she wanted him to look.
It was Mistress Clémence who, applying claustral calm and secular competence, discerned the strange burning tent and devised a means, helped by Dr Tobias, to thrust it over. When she saw the cracked ice and the pool, she set her lips and looked at the doctor, for you could see how the crust had been broken and sawn to make it unsafe to approach. Then they both saw something move, something sinking, and threw themselves forward.
A girl’s voice said, ‘No, Mistress Clémence. Go for help.’ The girl Katelijne Sersanders, her hands gripping her shoulders. The girl said, ‘Let him do it.’
Mistress Clémence saw that the father had come. She knelt up. Dr Tobias half turned, his face haggard. The girl said, ‘Jodi is safe. Go for help. Dr Tobie will stay.’ Then there was a great surge of water, chilling her feet, and she saw the man had dropped into the pool, breaking more ice as he went, and tugging at something below. She could not see his face, or hear what he was saying over and over. Mistress Clémence looked around her, took her bearings, and sped towards the lights on the shore. Then she changed direction, for someone had called her by name.
And is as a tree, sheltering those of his blood whom he loves.
As once before, Nicholas sank in chill water; as once before, he dragged himself out bearing the weight of a woman, pale hair on his arm. As before, Kathi was with him.
That time, it had been Simon’s sister, and she had been dead. He did not know, now, if Gelis was still alive. Her eyes were closed, her flesh icy. His coat was sodden; he hadn’t waited to strip. Kathi threw off her sealskin and rolled Gelis in it as she lay on the ice, and Tobie began labouring over her. Tobie said, ‘Don’t look, and get those things off. Kathi, look out for Clémence.’ And almost at once, it seemed, a group of men were hurrying towards them, bearing a pallet and followed effortfully by a woman who was not Mistress Clémence at all.
Bel of Cuthilgurdy said, ‘My poor childer.’
Nicholas heard her. It meant something. Last time she had said, What have you done?
It meant something. It meant nothing, if Gelis was dead.
Then Tobie said, ‘Nicholas.’
And her eyes were open. And she was breathing.
Nicholas said, ‘You can’t get away from me like that.’ And she closed her eyes again, but her lips had moved.
They had lifted her into the pallet before his mind started to work and he said, ‘Wait!’
Tobie said, ‘She could die. She has to be dry and warm quickly. You too. Let her go.’
‘To Simon’s house?’ Nicholas exclaimed.
Bel said, ‘It’s empty. I sent him away. Do you think Clémence would have agreed otherwise?’ And as he stared she said, ‘I called her. She is there, preparing for what Dr Tobie might need. I couldn’t wait.’
‘For Gelis’s sake?’ Nicholas said. He had asked Bel to take Gelis to Beltrees. He didn’t even know whether she liked her.
‘Yes,’ said Bel. ‘And, since you don’t ask, for yours.’
In the house of St Pol in the High Street Gelis slept, with Tobie nodding beside her. Kathi had gone, as had Mistress Clémence the moment Jodi’s mother was safe. News had already come from the Canongate to say that her charge was in Pasque’s care, and well. Nicholas had slept unintentionally as well, stripped and warmed and clothed in a bedrobe he hoped he was creasing for Simon, and fallen victim again to one of Tobie’s innocent potions. Awaking, he had found his way immediately, corrosively, to where Gelis was, but once satisfied, had allowed himself to be led back by Bel. He was in her room now, floating still in a sump of opiates and emotion and aware that, at the moment, she was more than his match.
Unusually, she did not make for his throat, appearing willing to heat him some soup in near-silence. It was he who broke it at length. ‘It was not an accident. The inner rims of the horse-shoes were spiked.’ He had seen it on the dead horse. As soon as the beasts picked up speed, they would have kicked their own legs to shreds.
Bel said, ‘I didna imagine the ice chopped itself up. And the sluice had been shut down. That let the springs well up and soop under the ice: Clémence heard them. So what’s next? It’s your shot. A band of pig-gelders and thieves to strake Simon? No one’d miss him.’
‘Henry would,’ Nicholas said. ‘I’ll leave the straking to Fat Father Jordan. And really, Simon and Henry deserve each other.’
‘So?’ the old woman said. ‘You nearly lost Gelis. You nearly lost Jordan. And it wasna Martin’s blame this time. He wouldna give Simon the crook of his pinkie: no one would. Simon’s place in Scotland is corrupted and gone.’
‘Hardly,’ said Nicholas. ‘I hear Kilmirren has never been richer. Flourishing lands, handsome castle, expensive shipping in Ayr. Fat Father Jordan is preparing a bolt-hole.’
‘Or maybe Simon has been onbeset by his conscience at last,’ Bel remarked. ‘So what are you going to do now?’
‘About Simon? Suggest some lines of enquiry to the magistrates. They may indict him or not; I think not.’
‘I wasna speaking of Simon,’ she said. ‘I was speaking of rank stupidity and self-indulgence, and a bairn already old enough to ken when something is wrong. But for the skill of that woman his nurse, the skaith would be much greater already. End what you are doing.’
‘End the marriage?’ Nicholas said. ‘Or my work? Or myself? What would please you?’
She was looking at him in the way that hurt most. She said unexpectedly, ‘What did your friend Bessarion say?’
Tobie should keep his mouth shut. ‘He rambled,’ Nicholas said. ‘In the way old people do. So give me your advice.’
Bel said, ‘I didna want ye in Scotland. Then I thought that perhaps that was the only solution. Now I say to you, go away.’
‘I am going,’ he said.
When Gelis woke, Tobie brought Nicholas to her, having warned him what he would see. Even so, he felt sick. He said, ‘You were kicked.’
She turned her bandaged head towards him. One of her eyes was swollen and darkened. Simon’s revenge on them both. A traditional ducking, in the traditional place for loose women. A less than traditional drowning, in the way that Simon’s sister had drowned. Simon had wanted Gelis obliterated. And the chance had come to remind Nicholas savagely of the past, as well as make him a widower. As ever, Simon had no idea what he was interfering with.
Gelis said, ‘Thuggery seems to b
e the fashion this year. You pulled me out, I’m told, with Katelijne. Practice from Iceland.’ She hadn’t been by the river four years before, when Lucia drowned. She had been in Flanders then, giving birth to their son.
He said, ‘It was Mistress Clémence and Tobie who found you. I want to talk to you when you feel better.’
‘I feel better,’ she said. Her face round the bruising was composed. ‘What were you going to say? That I deserved it? That when you humiliated Simon last year, you made quite sure this would happen? That it is rather a pity you don’t seem to be able to protect anybody, even Jodi? Where would you like us to hide next?’
‘That depends,’ he said, ‘on our talk. We were playing a match. I thought we should set a finishing date.’
‘I owe this to Bel? Peerless Bella?’ she said.
‘Bel has remarked, yes, that Jodi is growing. And time is passing in other ways.’
‘I don’t work to dates,’ Gelis said. ‘Just by result.’ She shivered suddenly.
He said quickly, ‘I still think we should talk. But not now.’ He smiled, to make it less serious. ‘If neither of us can achieve a result in five years, then I think we should both retire anyway.’
‘You want to finish this year?’ Gelis said.
There was a silence. He said, ‘By the end of December, for choice. Think about it.’
She said, ‘I used to be afraid of your patience. I asked you once if you would wait twenty-five years if you had to.’
‘What did I say?’ Nicholas said, as if he had forgotten.
Her breathing was shallow, and her eyes had the brightness of fever. ‘You said you thought I knew my own mind better than that. I do. I know it very well. I do not want to be tied to a date.’
‘But I do,’ Nicholas said. ‘I shan’t press you. Think about it. Get well. But before we sail in the spring, I shall come to you again and ask the same question. If you are as good as I think you are, you should know the answer by then. Every trader has to set dates, or starve. It’s nothing. It’s a matter of calculating how soon you can be certain of winning.’
He looked back at the door, but she lay with her eyes closed. She looked frightened. But he had had to do it, or so he believed.
Chapter 42
NICHOLAS LEFT HIS wife alone for three weeks, securely attended in the house in the High Street. Her friends visited her when she became well enough to receive them, and Nicholas called on the household and Jodi, and was kept informed of her health by a belligerent and ubiquitous Tobie, who treated any mention of Dr Andreas as a threat.
The fever which seized her ran its course, and the bruises and stiffening faded. Gradually, she resumed some of her customary interests, as he began to lay aside his: sealing off veins; choosing that project to ripen, and this to remain suspended in ice. He had given her time to do the same, if she wished.
On Wednesday the seventeenth of March, the Queen’s grace of Scotland gave birth to a fine, sturdy prince, baptised James. The processions, feasting and plays, ceremonies and contests brought the dame de Fleury recovered to Court, and the young red-headed princes and their sisters made her welcome, while complaining because their grand fatiste claimed to be too busy to help them. The Queen, hitherto cool, now became markedly gracious to Gelis van Borselen, and desired to be introduced to this Pavian physician whose uncle (she had heard) had treated half Christendom.
Tobie returned from Court somewhat flushed, and paraphrased the royal dilemma for Nicholas. ‘She doesn’t like it. She wants to know how long can she induce him to wait, and need she do it at all if he’s got some infection through Simon.’
‘I told you,’ Nicholas said. ‘What did you say?’
‘Nothing she can quote against me,’ Tobie said. ‘Except that infertility isn’t infectious, and the faster she breeds, the sooner it’ll be over with. She hopes you’re going to stay. She enjoyed your little conspiracy over Iceland.’ He paused. ‘Would you stay, if it weren’t for Simon and his father?’
‘No,’ said Nicholas. He softened it. ‘Scotland’s too far away from the Bank.’
Tobie weighed it up. Tobie’s thoughts were generally visible. He said, ‘Venice would be safer than here.’
‘Everywhere will be safe, fairly soon,’ Nicholas said.
The last weeks fled. He had paced it well: all his business was settled; all his appointments were concluded one by one, many of them in the hunting-field, or over some boisterous sport (all countries were ruled half from horseback). By the end of March he had let it be known, as it had long been known to Gregorio and Diniz and Govaerts, that he was establishing his family in Venice.
‘In the company of Julius and the delectable Anna!’ Gelis had observed. ‘Why did I not anticipate that?’
‘It was Tobie’s idea,’ Nicholas said.
It was understood that next summer he was not coming back, and that, as had the Baron of Cortachy, he had placed all his flourishing enterprises in the care of his excellent agent. It saddened and even annoyed several merchants and magnates and their ladies that the castle of Beltrees, this promising venue of pleasure, was to benefit nobody, unless the Baron’s guests and business partners were to lodge there, or the Baron himself, when compelled north.
It was agreed that its only purpose had been to supply him with an excuse for his title, although the more romantic believed that it had been built for his lady, who had rejected it. The lands around would, of course, provide him with a sizeable income, as Cortachy did for the other.
He had been prepared for all that, and also for the probability that he would be treated to some kind of feast on his departure. He had not expected to find that it was to be held in the royal presence at Holyrood, nor to discover its scale. He was a Burgundian banker, that was all.
Four years ago, in the opening moves of this time-blighted enterprise, he had appeared at an impromptu royal banquet in Linlithgow, at which he had acted as playmate and sycophant. Now the royal children of Scotland were grown, and had learned to befriend him for himself.
Most of the same people were here, in the tapestry-hung hall of the Lodging, whose windows admitted the scent of the wild flowers, instead of the death-chill of snow.
Adorne was absent, a widower now, but laden with appointments and honours. Standing for him were Katelijne and her brother, who had shared an experience they could afford to remember, but Nicholas, their companion, could not.
Julius was not here. He was married.
Patrick Graham, Archbishop of St Andrews, was not here, for his luck had changed for worse as well as for better. Patrick Graham remained skulking at Rome, while unfortunate accidents happened to his belongings, and the tide of resentment ran high.
By contrast, Nicholas was held in esteem: the Church was well represented at Holyrood. The Abbot his landlord, of course, and Tulloch, and Blackadder, and Knollys of the Knights of St John. And with these the great officers of the Household: Whitelaw and Argyll, Crawford and Sinclair, Semple and Hamilton.
Of the girls of that time, Joneta Hamilton had long left Kinneil, and the others were unknown except to him: the mistresses whom Simon could never again hope to enjoy. For of course, Simon was not here, nor his father. Martin of the Vatachino had also gone: to consult with his superiors, they said.
The doctors were present: Scheves and Andreas with their training in mysteries; Tobie who kept himself apart. The royal sisters glittered and sparkled at the table of honour: Bleezie Meg, the short, forceful maiden whom he had begun by half drowning, and who would dare any venture. And the lady Mary, come to honour him, despite the small comfort he had vouchsafed.
She had asked for his advice, these last days, and he had given it. He did not think the King her brother would relent. If she joined her husband, forced out of England, she would face perpetual exile, and see her children homeless in penury. Tom Boyd’s own cause was lost. Now his name and his future lay with his children, and with her as their regal protector. She had wept. She would stay, with the children and
Betha and Phemie. Both were here. But Betha would leave Haddington soon, with another royal infant to care for. The Queen, plump and smiling, was there.
And so were the merchants. Young Bonkle, now divorced from the Bank and trading with Bruges and with Veere. The veterans, the family names: Napier and Lauder. Andy Crawford and Richard his son. Thorn Swift. John Lamb from Leith. Tom Cochrane who, from cutting and building, had discovered how to be everyone’s expert. And Oliver Semple, factor, bailie and agent for more than the Beltrees land now.
And the Berecrofts family, whose roots had persistently threatened to tangle with his: old sharp-tongued Will, and Archibald the Younger, who had given him shelter, and become a steady companion to both Kathi and Gelis. And Robin, whom he was leaving. It was eighteen months since the crazy game on the ramparts, and all that had followed in Iceland and the Low Countries and France. He could teach Robin nothing now that would benefit him.
He knew the musicians who played for the feast, but Whistle Willie was there as a guest, with others – Arnot, Malloch – he remembered from Trinity. Established, pensioned, entrusted with the funds to create his magnificent Chapel Royal, Willie’s fortunes also had changed, but the man had not. He sat glaring at Nicholas, defying him, forbidding him to leave the country he had adopted.
And lastly, the King and his brothers. Rebellious John of Mar, bored and sullen, who had once goaded Henry so cruelly. Sandy, whose dreams he had listened to, and who had turned to him in the last year, sitting late at night in the Canongate house with Jamie Liddell beside him, questioning, arguing, conjecturing. He had never spoken of these meetings to the King, for James could be jealous.
And James? They sat next to one another this time, Nicholas and James, in doublets and robes of identical richness, with identical chains crossing their shoulders, the unicorns glinting: the experienced man; the young King. Some things were different, some were not. This was not now a callow youth, but a man and a father, diligent, fretful, pinned by Fate and by pride to the long hours at the council table, in the assembly hall, or the chamber of state.