‘Your son is lucky,’ Nicholas said.
‘My son is dead,’ Bel of Cuthilgurdy answered. ‘That was what kept me away.’
The life of the street swirled behind him. He believed her. He even understood, he thought, the terrible impulse that had forced her to blurt it out now. He signed to Jodi and slowly came back, stepping up to the dim hall beside her, where he took her by the hand, drawing her away from the light. ‘How, Bel?’
‘A fever. It was quick. I dinna want to say more.’
He tightened his grip. ‘You have grandchildren,’ he said.
‘Oh, yes. But I have a wee place for Jodi as well, if he ever wants it. And for Gelis and you. And that’s enough on the subject. Looking backwards makes for poor steering.’ She took out her hand, looking away.
‘Bel,’ he said again. He thought of Umar, and Phemie, and what she had said, and drew breath. She turned back to him, smiling.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I was talking blethers. You canna mourn a lad you don’t know. Come again. Send Jodi. Tell me when he wants to go coursing. Those moulting bitches need exercise.’
She had collected her courage again, and he would not disturb it. He kissed her dry cheek, and left.
Chapter 13
That to his knychtis neuer mor he said:
‘Go furth or go,’ bot: ‘Knychtis, fallow me!’,
So that mor plesand suld thar laubour be.
LATER THE SAME day, Colin Campbell, Earl of Argyll, left his lodging over the tavern he owned in the High Street and took the same path Nicholas had earlier taken, down the steep incline to the grand house of his colleague Andrew Avandale in the Wellgate, that they now called the Cowgate. He took two torchbearers with him, to protect his dignity and light his way back, for although the sun blessed the land through the long redolent evenings of summer, Archie Whitelaw and Will Scheves were joining them, and the meeting was not likely to be short. On the other hand, Drew Avandale kept a good table and a range of reliable clarets, imported regularly direct from Bordeaux. It was a thing you could do, when you came from the Lennox and had shipping friends on the Clyde at Dumbarton. Argyll had one or two such arrangements himself.
In the event, there was a cushion of veal, and a piquant stew done as he liked it, together with such dainties as hot pears and wafers; and an hour and more had gone by before the four of them settled down in Avandale’s own private chamber, with the rest of the claret and some platters to keep starvation at bay: nuts and apple-oranges from Spain; cherries and lumps of coloured glazed fruit of the kind Archie Whitelaw could never resist. Will Scheves was a good raconteur and Argyll himself was a better: it was with a showman’s reluctance that, as the laughter died down, he acknowledged Avandale’s glance and, sighing, reverted to the voice of MacChalein Mor, King’s Justiciar and Master of the Royal Household. He was the youngest man there, but not the least powerful.
‘Yes, we forget, so hospitable is our host. I apologise. There is business to do. So you saw de Fleury, Andro. And Will has spoken with Adorne briefly at Roslin, and has had a session with our good Dr Andreas. So now we are here to decide what to do about our Burgundian friends. Will?’
Will Scheves said, ‘The poor man was in no state to question at Roslin. But it’s my understanding that he’s here for temporary sanctuary. I see no political purpose in this sad affair with Euphemia. The child has been placed in a convent, and both the Dunbars and the Sinclairs seem to have agreed to forget what has happened. I would guess that with nothing to keep him, Lord Cortachy will return to Bruges as soon as he thinks the new rule will accept him.’
‘But meanwhile he is here, and perhaps for some length of time. In what capacity, we must ask? As an asset, or as a liability?’ said Whitelaw. He had a grating voice: in a Gaelic-speaker’s opinion, all German-trained orators enunciated like corncrakes. There was a drip on his gown. Nevertheless, behind the chopped pied hair and the croak existed several decades of experience, which no one, under that abrasive black gaze, could ignore. Whitelaw continued.
‘Financial standing. Ser Anselm Adorne has presumably brought no bullion with him. Nevertheless, he was once much esteemed by the King and the Princess Mary his sister. If Adorne retains their favour, he may expect a modest continuing income from his life-rent from Cortachy and his other lands. He might supplement this by joining his nephew, and sharing in Andro Wodman’s consular work. He is likely, therefore, to be self-supporting and no more a charge on the kingdom than he has ever been.’
‘So long as the King continues to allow him the barony,’ Argyll said.
‘That is so. Secondly. Is he potentially useful? So long as he has the regard of the Duchess, he forms a diplomatic link between Scotland and Burgundy. He is an experienced administrator and judge, and adept in both financial and military matters. He has a son in the Curia, and another who is a Knight Hospitaller of Rhodes. He himself is well thought of by many rulers abroad, including His Papal Beatitude. He has traded in England, and his late daughter served the English King’s mother. The answer therefore is Yes, the potential is there. But, we must ask, is the implicit risk worth it? In short, he is either a paragon on limited leave, whom we may wish to tempt to remain; or a paragon with personal ambitions to fulfil, and a young and impressionable monarchy through which to fulfil them. In which case we devise a reason for him to depart.’
In short. Argyll began peeling an orange.
‘These indeed are the issues,’ Avandale said. ‘So what of his character, Will? He performed his office of Conservator, as I recall, with integrity, and without ruffling too many merchants—apart, that is, from those who thought him too close to the King.’
Will Scheves set down his cup and rubbed his classical nose: a comely-faced, round-shouldered medical man whose even humour and quick wits and energy had brought him within sight of the Metropolitan’s chair. Colin Campbell enjoyed an intellectual skirmish with Will Scheves. Master Whitelaw had less use for frivolity, but set aside time, now and then, for a long, civilised conversation with the Archdeacon on some abstruse subject. Fortunately Will, although privately pretending to wilt, could give Whitelaw good measure. And, because of his student friendship with Andreas, Will Scheves could draw on an insider’s view of Adorne.
‘Dr Andreas is of his household, and loyal, but is not alone in his good opinion of the gentleman. In Bruges, Lord Cortachy has always been severe but respected. The town may have discarded him for the service he gave to the Duke, but no one has ever proved him dishonest. If he settles here, he will serve this country as well. On the other hand …’
‘He loves his peers?’ Avandale said. Though born illegitimate, Drew Avandale was of royal Stewart blood, and had suffered his share of sycophancy. And all of them knew, Will Scheves most of all, how readily this King responded to a personable man with a confident manner.
‘We all do,’ the Archdeacon said. ‘But there’s a little more to it than that. This is a nobleman: his kinsmen are Genoese dukes. He is drawn to remind them, perhaps, that he walks in the same eminent circles. But the book he presented to the King was by Jan, his son, and I think that patronage for his son was what he chiefly hoped for. I’m not sure what my lord of Cortachy now expects of the King, but I can promise you that it will take very little to revive the King’s liking for him. And after that, you will not be able to reject him.’
Argyll said, ‘That was what I was thinking. It was what we feared with de Fleury.’
‘Our decision, as I understand it, was to encourage my lord of Albany’s friendship with de Fleury,’ said Whitelaw. He had taught the King in his day, but not Albany: Argyll sometimes wondered, with amusement, how he’d got out of it.
Avandale said, ‘That, I think, is where my reasoning is tending. If we trust these two men, then there is something to be said for placing them in opposite camps. One will balance the other.’
‘And do we trust them?’ asked Colin Campbell. ‘What did our agile young Burgundian say, in this latest friendly encounter? I
trust it was friendly?’ His hands were sticky. Scheves stretched out an arm and proffered a bowl and a napkin from the side table. The water was scented. Avandale’s house always had everything.
Avandale said, ‘Encounters with de Fleury could be said to be wearing but friendly: I am sometimes made to feel, Colin, that I am conversing with you and Archie at once. I am sure he will address me in Gaelic one day. Meantime, he reports regularly, which was the condition of our arrangement. On the business side, he has put in place a skilful structure, supported by Nowie, which co-ordinates the landing and marketing of salmon along the length of the east coast of Scotland, from the Moray Firth down to Berwick-on-Tweed. It will be run by Adorne’s nephew, in partnership with the Berecrofts family and with Wodman’s blessing. He will contribute ships, managed from his own second tenement in Leith, and then from overseas if he goes back. He talks of links with Dumbarton, through Colquhoun. He is also looking into Darnaway timber.’
‘A word of warning,’ said Whitelaw. ‘As I have frequently mentioned. De Fleury has displayed these qualities before. His performance before was inconsistent. You say he has changed. But the greater his success, the more our native merchants will lose by it.’
‘Unless they join him,’ Argyll said. ‘I hear that Berecrofts will consider anyone who wishes to make the minimum investment. Tom Yare will tell you. Several of the shipowners have joined, and some well-known names from St Johnstoun of Perth and Dundee. Others think it too risky.’
‘And Adorne will join this?’ said Whitelaw.
‘That is something no one knows,’ Will Scheves said. ‘Or not yet. It would fit. Adorne and his nephew were burgesses of St Johnstoun of Perth at one time. His family church has Charterhouse connections. I imagine de Fleury is waiting to see what Adorne himself wants. And what we want, of course.’ He paused. ‘I should say that de Fleury has asked me, quite recently, about the health of his lordship of Mar.’
He caught the eye of Argyll, who treated him to a sardonic smile. Argyll had said all along that there was no point in counting on secrecy. A man had only to look at the number of royal physicians to know that something was wrong. And grotesque things were happening. Instead of an unpleasant feud between de Fleury and the St Pols, the old man had left town, de Fleury had reached some sort of truce with young St Pol, and Johndie Mar was the fool who was attacking them both. Argyll said, ‘As I have frequently mentioned—’
Scheves grinned. Whitelaw looked up and grunted. Avandale said, ‘I still propose to say nothing yet. They may guess: they don’t know. I want them deeply committed, Adorne and de Fleury, before I will present them with secrets of state. Now. We have gone over the ground. What is your advice? Does Adorne stay, and if so, on what terms? Do we continue to accommodate Nicholas de Fleury, with the provisos laid down? He has brought his wife and son now.’
‘A beautiful woman. Why not send de Fleury away, and keep the family?’ Argyll said.
Whitelaw plunged his hand into his finger-bowl and then used the napkin, muttering, to mop up his lap.
Lord Avandale said, ‘There is something to be said on both sides. But my inclination is to propose that we continue to review de Fleury’s position each month, and that we invite Adorne to join us at Court and in council, with appropriate emoluments. It will please the Duchess, and enhance his standing if and when he does return home.’
‘Also, he will renew his acquaintance with both their graces. And if a difficult decision has to be taken,’ said the Earl of Argyll, ‘here are two clever Burgundians who may help us to take it.’
‘END OF SYNOPSIS,’ Nicholas said. ‘That’s what Avandale said. That’s what he’ll discuss with the others tonight. And that’s what I think they’ll decide.’
‘You’ve been casting runes,’ John le Grant said. ‘Along with Andreas and Scheves, and every second gargoyle from Nowie’s chapel at Roslin. And you’re wrong. They won’t let us stay. They’ll send us home.’
Nicholas wished he were drunk. They’ll send us home. As he’d outlined it, there was no question of anyone being expelled from Scotland except himself and Adorne. In the eyes of the Lords, John was an asset and Robin was nothing.
Robin lay, his eyes open on John. They were alone, the three of them, in a room in Tobie’s house. Nicholas had come to have this settled once and for all and he was going to do it. He said, ‘Do you want to go home?’
It was blunt. Robin flushed, but John answered. ‘You want to stay, Nicholas, for your own reasons. Everyone understands. But we’re not needed here. I’m glad to have come and met old friends. Robin is grateful to have seen his father and grandfather. But there is work for us back in our own country.’
‘This is your own country,’ Nicholas said.
John said, ‘It used to be. But I’ve made my career, as you have, elsewhere.’
‘Doing what? I thought you’d given up war.’
This time, John’s freckled skin reddened. He said, ‘I thought I had. But there are mercenary companies. Or gun-casting. Or sailing.’
‘Robin can’t sail,’ Nicholas said. He didn’t look at the paralysed boy.
‘What do you know of it?’ the engineer said. ‘You would have him lying here in the dust, counting barrels and pennies in ledgers. That’s no life.’
‘He didn’t say so in Iceland,’ Nicholas said. ‘I assumed he wouldn’t say so in Scotland. Especially when I tell him what is happening. He and his father are going to hold in their hands the greatest salmon monopoly ever known. The stakes are so high that ordinary merchants can never compete. But we can. And from salmon, the contracts spread to salt and to coal and to timber. Have you never wanted to be rich, really rich? We can buy land. We can buy up businesses. We can build ships and arm them, for offence or defence, like Benecke did. And then, when we want, we can leave.’
‘Is this true?’ John le Grant said.
Robin was staring at Nicholas. He said, ‘We’ve drawn up a plan. There has been a plan to acquire fishing rights and …’ His voice died. His nostrils were wet, and there wasn’t a handkerchief he could reach. He said, in a clear voice, ‘But not to drive out everyone else.’
‘But surely that was understood?’ Nicholas said, with smiling patience. He took out his handkerchief. ‘There is no point in taking over half an industry if you can have it all. And then it could be run perfectly well from Bergen or Veere.’
He laid the handkerchief within easy reach. Robin ignored it. He said, ‘We didn’t give sanction for that.’
‘You’ve forgotten,’ Nicholas said. ‘Or you didn’t happen to get to the meetings. If you aren’t interested, then you ought to go home. Your father will send you your profits.’ He could see the boy straining to move and, of course, failing.
John le Grant said, ‘You’re doing it again, aren’t you? Damn you, Nicholas, you’re making a midden of Scotland again. Then to hell with it. I’m going. So’s Robin. If he can’t sail, I’ll find him something to do.’
‘No!’ said Robin
‘What, no?’ said le Grant. ‘You hate it here. You’ve told me. There are grand things still to do in a war. Your bairns will grow up in their mother’s land, and you’ll be out among men, as ye should be.’
‘And what will be happening here?’ Robin said.
‘I think,’ Nicholas said, ‘that I can probably manage without you. Although I don’t quite see what Robin is going to do among men on the battlefield. Are they supposed to run about carrying him? Or do they put some stones in his hand, and let him throw them till captured? Or might he even have to lie in the dust, counting barrels and fodder in ledgers?’
‘You cruel bastard,’ said le Grant. ‘Stop your mouth.’
‘Why?’ said Nicholas. ‘You’ve talked about war. You’ve wept upon one another’s bosoms. You’re cured of your anguish. That’s good. But Robin isn’t cured, is he? All you’ve done is arrange to make a freak of him. He can’t move. There’s no point in taking him anywhere.’
Even then, Robin didn’t c
ry out. But John’s temper had long ago snapped. Nicholas saw the fist coming, and made a half-hearted gesture. He didn’t realise quite how much he had miscalculated until the blow landed, and the next one, and several more. He was lanced by excruciating pain, which doubled and redoubled until he stopped thudding about, and lay supine. Robin was screaming, and John was gasping something over and over. Nicholas heard the sound of the door being wrenched open, and Tobie’s voice, at its angriest, saying ‘What?’
What, indeed. Thankfully, Nicholas experienced the departure, one by one, of his senses. The last thing he heard was Robin’s voice crying, ‘It was my fault, all my fault, all my fault.’
SOMEONE WAS SAYING, ‘It was my fault. It was all my fault. I’m sorry.’
John.
Nicholas opened his eyes. He said, ‘I should bloody well think it was.’ He was in John’s bed, and John was kneeling beside him, pounding the bed with a freckled fist, which he then pressed and squeezed over his face. Behind him stood two of Nicholas’s grandmothers. Tobie, naturally. Kathi, even more naturally.
Kathi said, ‘Well, it was your fault in a way, but Nicholas didn’t give you a chance. At least, he gave you too much of a chance. But he didn’t explain.’
‘Explain what?’ said Tobie.
‘Well, that Nicholas would have dropped just as fast if he’d breathed on him.’
‘Why?’ said Tobie. You could tell that Tobie’s mind, to that point, had been on other things. Rigid with bandaging, Nicholas felt like Tam Cochrane’s collapsed buckram pillar. Lying flat in the dust. Reading ledgers. To hell, to hell with it all.
‘Why did Nicholas want you to hit him? To make Robin feel sorry for him,’ Kathi answered herself. ‘He’s gone grey again.’ She spoke calmly. Her eyes had darkened.
John said, ‘Nicholas?’ and Nicholas opened his eyes with reluctance. He was trying to breathe very shallowly. He even thought of dumb language, translated by Tobie, but his hands were trussed up. He said in a secretive voice, ‘It’s all right. I meant you to do it. Look, of course it’s all right if you want to go home. But Robin has a Sersanders wife; it would be dangerous. And if Kathi went, Adorne would have to follow them both.’