“Under the hoe,” said Claes. “Unless someone has stolen the hoe. It’s late to start back.”
Raymond du Lyon showed his three broken teeth. “Your young Monsieur Felix has had a message already from the Dauphin’s steward, regretting that his lord has changed his plans and a meeting cannot now be expected. But a room has been arranged for you both on your way back at Wavre. There will be nothing to pay.”
“That will please Monsieur Felix,” said Claes. His arms were soon found. He took leave of Gaston’s brother and rode off. He felt slightly breathless, as he had in February, climbing out of the frozen water. Somewhere under the shock, a feeling of pleasure was struggling with a very sensible apprehension.
Chapter 24
WEARING COURT dress, including a hennin, Katelina van Borselen rode through the streets of Ghent with her parents and a handsome retinue, below the Veere banner. With her, she carried her liege lord Duke Philip’s permission to visit Brittany, there to take up her post as maid of honour to the widowed Scots Duchess. Tomorrow she and her party were passing to Zeeland. Tonight they had rooms in one of the great inns of Ghent. They were turning into the courtyard when her father stopped yet again to greet someone he knew, and his wife and daughter and servants halted once more obediently.
Then Katelina saw that the person he was greeting was the son of Marian de Charetty, and that behind him were two grooms and Claes. Claes, whom she had not seen since the morning after the Carnival. Claes, who had taken, very courteously, what she had enjoined upon him, and then had taken it again, she was rather pleased to remember, purely for his own enjoyment. Unless he was rather cleverer even than she had thought.
At no time, either next morning nor later, had she felt ashamed of what had happened. She had chosen well. She had not been roughly treated. Her initiation, she was ready to believe, had, from its circumstances, been more careful than she could have expected at the wedded hands of the seigneur’s son from Courtrai, or even Guildolf de Gruuthuse, never mind Jordan de Ribérac and his nasty son. She was grateful to Claes, although he had made one miscalculation. He had, as he had said, wakened her too far.
You would think, then, that she would have been eager, for the first time, to study the renewed lists of suitors, young and old, which her mother was pressing upon her. That she would, with this curious ache which now visited her, have sought the company of the young men who came to her house, and escorted her family and tried to please her. It was ridiculous that she did not. They said that a duckling, born out of sight of its mother, would follow the first form it set eyes on. Heaven forfend that she was to spend the rest of her life looking for someone who, put in a bathtub, spoke like … looked like … handled her like the boy Claes.
She thought particularly about their next meeting. Despite their difference in rank, Claes and she were bound to encounter one another in the weeks to come. She could trust him, she believed, not to be familiar. But the circumstances demanded some acknowledgement – some change of attitude, a special friendliness, even in public. She had to deal with that, and so had he.
She found, in any case, that she was curious to know what became of him. She discovered that, as courier, his status had risen a little; that his employer was giving him experience about the various forms of her business. Claes was permitted to escort Marian de Charetty nowadays to business meetings and was not treated entirely as a servant, but was allowed to sit quietly behind and sometimes make notes, as if he were Meester Julius. Of course, it suited a respectable woman to have servant and bodyguard both. Speaking of Claes, people still laughed.
But although Katelina heard of him, no encounter with Claes had taken place. Since the night of the Carnival, she had glimpsed him only once, and that on the following morning, when the household had been drawn to its windows by an unaccustomed shaking of bells. Called by their merriment she had gone too, and so had seen Claes skipping by, his creased blue clothes weirdly decked out with goat bells, and a flock of goats trotting behind him. He had looked round in elastic response to the catcalls, returning happily insult for insult, his eyes searching the casements. From her window she had tried to convey in her smile the freedom and gentleness she felt that morning, and made for him a movement of her hands which said, All is well.
And now they were meeting again. He looked older. In six or seven weeks, that was impossible. Different work made people’s faces settle in different lines. A life indoors in cellars and dyesheds amid heat and harsh vapours had formed in him an appearance she remembered as rounder and softer. His unusually open eyes, looking at her now, conveyed an expression that was friendly; muted; apologetic; a little daunted. Apologetic because, she assumed, he had not anticipated the encounter. But, clearly, there was no harm done. She was on her way forthwith to Brittany, and he must leave soon, she supposed, for Milan.
The raw, jagged scar no longer leaped to the eye, but was just a heavy pink mark, as if a stick of dye had been drawn down his cheek. He was wearing the same doublet and jacket she had dried for him in front of the fire. The rip had been mended and the cloth well pressed and looked after.
The boy Felix, on the other hand, looked as if some accident had befallen him. Half the flounces on his violet overjacket were torn, and he wore a hat quite at odds with the rest of him. Her father, she saw, was putting questions to him. Behind, Claes was responding, with a small bow, to the smile of her mother. Then his gaze switched to Katelina herself, his smile deepening as he studied her steeple headdress.
Her mother approved of Claes, who had been such an exemplary escort for Gelis on the night of the Carnival. The manservant, heavily bribed, had taken Gelis home that night as if nothing had happened. The porters at her father’s house were even simpler to deal with. No one seemed to have suborned them. They had seen a masked escort leave with her, and arrive back. They hadn’t seen him emerge because, as Katelina explained to her mother, he had left almost at once by the postern. Her mother, listening, had been inclined to be severe over her rejection of Guildolf de Gruuthuse. Katelina had not made it perfectly clear that the rejection had taken place at the beginning, not the end of the evening. She didn’t suppose that Guildolf would boast of it. She hadn’t spoken to either parent, after all, about Jordan de Ribérac.
The vicomte de Ribérac had left Bruges the following day. She had found that out herself with some trouble. Claes, she learned, had been enquiring as well. She had felt relief, and a sense of being protected. This was nonsense. If anything in this world was certain, it was the death of Claes, if de Riéerac ever found out what had happened. Claes knew how necessary it was to take precautions.
Anyway, she had her parents to shield her. Except that her parents, again, were discussing suitors. This time there was no escape from it. She was not likely, now, to choose a nunnery. She chose Brittany. If life wouldn’t open its gates for her, she would force them.
No. She had already done that.
Her partner in that experience was, at the moment, busy shutting them again. Yes, jonkheere Felix was passing the night also in Ghent. No, Claes regretted that he had not bespoken beds for jonkheere Felix and himself at this inn, but another. Had he not told jonkheere Felix? He must have forgotten.
Her father, goodnatured man, didn’t press the young fellows to change their arrangements. The inn was an expensive one. On the contrary, he invited the good son of his old friend Cornelis to join him and his family for supper. And of course, to bring Claes, who had been so protective of their young Gelis. A tribute indeed, thought Katelina, to Bruges’ view of Claes’ improved prospects. Felix, delighted, accepted, and his harbinger, overruled, said nothing more.
Claes, her father had called him. It was the name all Bruges knew him by: perhaps they would never allow him another. It was the name which, with great determination, she had continued to give him in her mind ever since that night. She had not forgotten the things he had said, which were true.
They parted briefly: Felix de Charetty and his party to settle
their horses and baggage in some other inn whose name Claes had some trouble, it seemed, in remembering. Then they returned, as guests, to share Florence van Borselen’s supper.
Her father had taken a private chamber for his family, and had invited other guests, all burgesses of Ghent with one or two wives and one daughter. His own clerk was there, considerately placed next to Claes. The room itself was small, with a clean tiled floor and a long table with a good linen cloth on it, striped with drawn threadwork. Seated on trestles along its three sides, the company ate and drank and made seemly conversation, served by her father’s excellent servants. Katelina watched the one girl glance at Claes, and away, and back again. He didn’t appear to notice, but she knew, positively, that he had. He and the clerk were finding an enormous amount to say to one another.
Her mother, as might be expected, talked of Brussels. Young Felix contributed something, but soon changed the subject and launched into a detailed and rather endearing account of coursing with the hounds of the Dauphin. When that came to an end, her father spoke of the attractions of Louvain and its professors and, politely, of the Charetty business there, and those parts of it about which clearly he thought Claes as well as Felix might feel able and happy to speak.
Katelina said, “You forget, Father. Claes has left that part of the business to carry dispatches.”
Her mother tapped her father’s hand. “There now, Meester Florence: you did forget that. And the beautiful warming-apple young Gelis received from Milan. A fine city, I’m told. But the princess’s chaplain was shocked at the way the ladies whitened their faces. He is a broad-minded man. But the paint was too much for him. He told us about it.”
Katelina’s father rarely listened to what his wife said, a practice which, Katelina often thought, must have contributed to his sweet temper. Now he said, “Dispatches? That should take you to some interesting places. Do you carry for the Dauphin?”
The two deceiving dimples appeared in Claes’ cheeks. The girl – who was she? She had missed her father’s introduction – glanced at them and remained looking at Claes. Claes said, “I know jonkheere Felix hunts with the Dauphin’s hounds, but there are the limits to the exalted company we keep. I carry for Angelo Tani, though, and the Strozzi bank and the Doria.”
“Well, I’ve met the Dauphin even if you haven’t,” said Felix. His hair, solidly curled for once, bounced as he turned to his host and hostess. “A delightful castle, Genappe. I expect you know it?”
Since they didn’t, he told them about it. Katelina doubted, from the recital, if he had seen much of it, or had been there often. She thought that it was perhaps just as well. Every plot was supposed to start at Genappe. It would do the Charetty business no good to appear too close to it.
Her mother said, “I suppose there is something to be said for a good family life, even if one doesn’t trouble with great households of servants and lodgings in every hunting-forest. There is the King of France, unloved and ailing, in spite of his dozens of new silk gowns and red and green doublets; and his own son his bitterest enemy.”
Katelina’s father smiled. “Hardly unloved, by all accounts, my dear,” he said. “Indeed, if you will forgive me, it is the love which they say has caused the ailing. But yes, it is sad. For a son to dislike his father – that passes. That is natural in a growing man. For a man to vent hatred on his son – that is unnatural.”
“Then look at the Duke of Burgundy!” said her mother. “What has he but an only son; charming; religious; of the purest habits. The finest landowner in Holland: brave as you wish: sailing his boat in the roughest seas; longing only to show his worth in the field. And see how he hates his father and his father hates him! That dreadful quarrel! But for the Dauphin, they might have killed one another. As it is, the poor Duchess left court. And now, when the Dauphin takes young Charles hunting, the Duke is furious. They said the King of France offered in jest to take the Duke’s son for his, since his own liked the Duke better. See what land and power will do!”
The guests, who had met Florence van Borselen’s wife before, smiled warily and preserved a circumspect silence. As they always did, Katelina and her father sat through it also. At the end, her father said merely, “I advise you to watch your words, my dear, or you will have Katelina marry a pauper in case her heirs are impelled one day to turn and rend her.” He had not mentioned Simon of Kilmirren, whose relationship with his own father he had once called “unnatural”. And whom, once, Katelina had toyed with the idea of marrying.
Felix had flushed. Claes glanced at him, hesitated, and then said nothing. Felix said, “I don’t say the Dauphin is right, or the Count of Charolais. But men don’t always want to obey orders. Whether it has to do with land or power or not.”
“You are quite right,” said Katelina’s father. “Indeed, even womenfolk object to orders at times. But the effects in some families are more far-reaching than others. Discord between princes can ruin a country. A dispute between father and son can of course ruin a business. A quarrel between a fisherman and his son might mean that the boat cannot be launched and a livelihood is lost. Hence a king will have many bastards so that, failing sons, he will have men of his blood he can trust. Hence a man of small family will cleave to his uncles and cousins, for he may need them. Many a man had a truer son in a nephew than the one born to him.”
She had not heard her father say that before. She realised that the presence of bastard Claes had slipped his mind, and glanced over to find the same bastard looking at her, mildly amused and mildly reassuring. Then her attention was recalled as her mother exploded.
Her mother often exploded, and they all simply waited until it passed over. It appeared that she was deeply affronted to think that any husband of hers could dream of putting some woman’s child before his own two dear pure-bred daughters, and was sure that the other ladies round the table would feel as she did. She thought the number of the Duke’s bastards a disgrace. Was her husband trying to tell her that the Dauphin’s two illegitimate daughters were also got as a matter of state policy? And what about …?
The principal guest, with great aplomb and a certain amount of experience of the Borselen family, discovered that it was sadly late, and he deserved a chastisement for keeping Meester Florence and his lady from their beds. So kind had been their hospitality, so ravishing their company, they had however only themselves to blame for it.
People rose, Claes among them and Felix, with reluctance. The unknown girl required help, supplied by Claes, to extricate herself from the table. He had stupid eyes like an imported monkey. It was perfectly true. And the muscles inside his sleeves came from pounding cloth in a dyevat. The dimples trembled, and the girl looked up at him, speaking, her eyes sparkling. He replied. The girl was smiling.
Her father said, “Katelina! You’re dreaming. Pray escort the ladies.” She attended their departure punctiliously and with a certain tart enjoyment. She saw them leave the inn gates and turned back to follow her father and his clerk, and bumped into someone. Claes said, steadying her with a nearly invisible palm to her elbow, “She has the reversion of three bakers’ shops in Alost. What do you think?”
As if he had flattened it with a hot-iron, the pain disappeared. Katelina lifted her hand and, when he dropped his, caught it in her own and held it, despite him. The inn-yard lights shone on them both, and showed her his eyes flicker: to her father waiting on the steps, and back to her again. She kept his clasped hand in shadow. He was smiling. He said, “Oh Madonna, you must go in.” And within her, another ache had begun.
Her father was returning down the steps, his face impatient. Katelina said aloud, “Tomorrow morning, then. My maid will give you the packet. Father, you don’t mind? Claes has been kind enough to undertake a transaction for me.”
Her father also was smiling. “You’re a good lad,” he said. “Young Felix couldn’t be in better hands. I’m only sorry you can’t stay in Bruges all the time. But youth calls, eh? And ambition. You’ll do well. I’m sure of
it.”
And then Felix, whom Nature rather than youth had called with inconvenient suddenness, reappeared to repeat his formal thanks, and take his leave, and begin, before he left the yard, to berate Claes for not having the forethought to reserve rooms in the same place. Claes, who usually answered back and got him into a good humour again, was less communicative than he should have been.
It was van Borselen’s fault. Servants should never be invited to table, or they thought they could do anything.
Katelina retired to her room. It was a lady’s privilege, to test young men, and tease them. If Claes didn’t come, the matter was closed. He was a servant, and a coward.
If he came tomorrow to the family room, and made her transaction in public, it told her something else about him. He was a prude.
If he came another way, trusting her maid, trusting her powers of bribery, trusting her discretion, he was too sure of her, and too sure of himself, and ungallant. And false, after all he had said.
He came before dawn. She was asleep. It was her maid who wakened her. By the time he opened the door and closed it behind him with the utmost quietness, she was sitting up, the sheet high and firm round her body. A candle, shielded from the door, had been lit. She had also loosened her hair from its night-pleat. She saw it reflected in his eyes, as if she had only summoned him as a mirror. Her hair, and the sheet, and her naked shoulders.
He stood by the door and said softly, “There is some trouble?” His voice was reassuring, but there was concern in his face of a kind she couldn’t mistake. Of course. That was why he had come.
Pride demanded that she should undeceive him and send him away. Beseeching flesh overwhelmed it. Her throat was dry. She said, “Yes, there is trouble.”
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