‘Robin! Robin who?’ Henry had said. Tobie and Wodman had exchanged looks. It was the first time the name had been mentioned. In the ensuing silence, Henry’s face had grown scarlet. He had said, ‘Berecrofts! The living corpse who thinks he helps with the training at Greenside? I’m here—You got me to release Simpson because of one cripple who happens to be married to Anselm Adorne’s niece?’ Then he said, ‘And you knew it?’
‘I knew it,’ said Wodman. ‘I didn’t tell you. I didn’t think that it mattered. I want Davie Simpson brought to justice. So does everyone else. Getting Robin out is Nicol’s affair.’
‘Why? Because he cuckolded him?’ Henry said.
‘Of course. That’s why I don’t want him killed,’ Nicholas had said. ‘So you stay behind and come with the local reserves. It isn’t your fight.’
‘Yes it is, since you made me free Simpson,’ Henry said. ‘He might escape you. I’ll see that he’s taken.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ Nicholas said. She could make out his eyes as he said it. And the deepened lines by his mouth, and the deliberate set of his shoulders, moving only to the gait of his horse. She could make out woodlands from moor, and then sky from a line of low hills in the distance. In a long black hollow, water glinted. By the time they reached it and turned their horses up the slope from its banks, points of light could be seen, and the shapeless smoke of newly stirred fires, grey in the darkness.
She knew where she was, for she had taken this way to Beltrees with Bel. The path they were climbing led to the ridge above Simpson’s castle, which had once belonged to Nicholas. And the dark blur they had passed at the loch-end was Elliotstoun Castle, the home of the Semples.
It was empty. They knew as much from Wodman’s second scout, who had discovered it lightless and unresponsive when sent ahead to find out what he could. The same man, casting about, had found a herdsman to tell him that a party of horse had arrived some hours since, and made its way up the same ridge they were climbing, followed after some time by a single rider.
It could be anyone. They had to believe that it was the detachment carrying Robin, followed by Simpson himself. In which case, Simpson’s plan had succeeded. He was locked in his tower, waiting to bargain with Nicholas.
Nicholas said, ‘I think we dismount. Henry, you glitter. Stay here with the horses and Andro’s man. Gelis—’
‘I’m coming,’ she said. They spoke in murmurs. The harness chinked, and was still as the tired horses drooped. Their footsteps sank into grass. It was so quiet that a raucous pulsing of gulls’ cries was shocking. A blackbird uttered a query, and was answered, and far below, on the water, a line of duck rose with a paddling splash. Tobie trudged up the slope with her, and they lay down beside Andro and Nicholas at the edge of the ridge. Below, she recalled, was a gentle hollow, sunlit by day, but a pool of darkness by night. Beyond was the sky, free of cloud to the south and east. The stillness before dawn in the country; the hour that refreshes the soul.
Of course, they were expected. Approaching, they had put out their torches, but the sound of their horses would carry. Simpson’s scouts would have seen them, and reported back to the fortress. We can negotiate. There is only a handful of men, and a woman. Gelis closed her eyes, and opened them, and looked down not into darkness, but into the searing bright bower of elfland, standing open, and vile, to receive her.
She choked. Then Nicholas’s hand closed over hers, and she looked again, with her mind.
The tower of Beltrees lay like a courtesan in its gardens below her, coruscating with light; garlanded with lanterns; set with lamps and torchières and candelabra which sparkled and flickered and danced in the clear, icy air. A whimsy; a seemingly innocent gesture; a welcome from a dangerous man who wished to indicate that he, and he alone, was master here. She understood. Her heart slowing, she set it aside, and studied the buildings.
She had last seen this place as Tam Cochrane had designed it for Nicholas: the old keep restored and embellished; and the guest-houses, chapel and hall added in harmony with it, spare of ornament and simple in line, round three sides of a square. All the extravagance had been reserved for within.
Now she saw what David Simpson had done, through the architect he had employed in place of Tam. Cochrane’s refusal no longer surprised her. In remaking Beltrees, Davie Simpson had debauched his own tastes to achieve a work of outrageous vulgarity. Now the walls, patterned, coloured and gilded, had grown upper storeys with lavish dormers encrusted with foliage and offensive grotesques. False chimneys, gnarled with sculpture, rose into the sky. The stables looked like a brothel, and the old keep itself had lost its discreet ornaments and its dignity in a welter of painted accretions.
At this moment, it mattered to none of them. What mattered now was what the brilliant light was meant to expose: that every door of every building stood open, and every shutter as well. That there were no horses left in the stables or dogs in the kennels or birds in the mews. That there were no men to be seen, for the place was deserted.
The light from the great double doors spilled down the steps, augmented by the bright lantern above them. The yard before them showed the trampling of many boots, and the stable-yard was deep in freshly churned mud. The exodus had just taken place.
Wodman said, ‘You thought he would wait for you.’
‘Maybe he has.’ It was Henry, arrived glittering where there was no point in concealment. ‘Maybe it’s an invitation. So what do you think, Uncle?’
Nicholas didn’t answer. Tobie said, ‘I don’t think I can get up. I certainly don’t think I can get on that horse and follow them. Do you think they know that?’
‘I don’t know. Stay here. I’ll go down.’ Nicholas had got to his feet and stretched a hand for the reins. Henry kept them.
Henry said, ‘I rather think that may be what he’s hoping for. Why don’t I go first and see? Since I do have some protection?’
There was a pause. ‘All right,’ Nicholas said. ‘You go first, and I’ll walk behind you. The others can wait. If they have artillery, you might as well all go away.’
‘They don’t,’ Henry said. He should know. Kilmirren was not far away.
Wodman said, ‘Don’t be a fool. We’ll all come.’
Again, Nicholas didn’t argue. She supposed that, like them all, he was thinking of what he might be going to find. If the nature of the challenge had altered, David would no longer need Robin.
They mounted, and achieved the ridge and rode down to the trampled forecourt, and across to the steps, where there were tethering-rings. Wodman’s man took the horses. Nicholas said, ‘Let’s not walk through the front door to begin with. Let’s start somewhere else.’
‘You’ve done this before,’ Andro said.
It was Andro he kept at his side during that swift and vigilant tour, with Henry strolling behind in supercilious mode, and Tobie and Gelis to the rear. Beginning with the outlying quarters, Nicholas walked through each room, finding no one, and leaving the keep to the last. Then he entered that, from the cellars, and began to make his way up. The rest followed.
They had seen nothing: no vibrating crossbows, no threatening weights. No douches, no iron birds shrilling, no traps that opened, where mattresses should have been laid. This time, Gelis was forbidden to lead, and Tobie held her arm as they walked. There had been kegs in the cellar, labelled and sealed and laid beside other crates, all clearly merchandise. Some of them contained artillery powder, but there was no actual artillery, only a store for hand-weapons, which was empty.
Nothing else had been removed. Inside, the castle was as Davie Simpson had furnished it, which was as a palace owned by a prince. Nicholas, squandering money, had packed this building with expensive objects, now gone, and Bel had done the same, in her dogged efforts to drain his resources. The furnishings purchased by this owner—the sumptuous inlaid patterned beds, the Flemish paintings, the Italian sculptures, the painted coffers, the Turkey rugs and the knotted pile carpets from Naples, the arras
, the Florentine glazed terracotta, the velvet pillows and the tooled leather cushions, the tall, carved chairs and the plaster-work, the painted glass, the carved, gilded cupboards, the walnut firescreens and the embroidered Venetian hangings were the chefs-d’oeuvres of craftsmen from all over the world, commissioned, chosen, assembled by a master, in deliberate contrast to the carcass that housed it. It appeared priceless. Gelis could guess what it cost. She knew where the gold came from.
Of course, Nicholas also would know. He showed no awareness of it. Only, as the ascent led towards the more private chambers of the keep, he became more withdrawn. When he reached the door to the small hall, he stopped dead.
Wodman looked at him. Beside Gelis, Tobie also had come to a halt, his gaze sharp. She couldn’t see what was wrong. The cressets guttered. The stairway above was now dark. Below, dim in the powdery air, there swam the rose-coloured ghost of some window.
The reason why they had stopped she now saw. Unlike all the rest, the door they were facing was shut. Wodman started to move, but Nicholas was quicker. Before he had taken a step, Nicholas had closed his hand on the knob and pressed the heavy door open. When it was wide enough to admit him, and no wider, he entered.
A voice said, ‘This is a knife, my lord. Come in, alone.’
A soldier’s voice: unknown; peremptory. Nicholas halted. Wodman put his hand on his sword.
A second voice spoke. ‘I am afraid you are too late, Nicholas. Dawn has come.’
The dulcet voice of the owner of Beltrees, David Simpson.
Henry, also, had silently drawn his sword.
Then the third voice made itself heard. A voice of authority, faintly amused, faintly languid, wholly contemptuous. ‘It has been a night of disappointments, has it not? My good Claes, come in and give up your sword, unless you want to be killed. I shall also accept my grandson and Andro, disarmed. Your lady and the doctor must wait. My men will show them where.’
The silence of the castle was broken. Running down the stairs from above there came men in light armour, with a familiar crest on their sleeves. The crest of the speaker, Jordan de St Pol, lord of Kilmirren.
There were too many to fight. Driven back to the stairs, Gelis eventually did what she was told. So did Tobie. Then the door closed on Nicholas, and Andro, and Henry.
Chapter 20
Oftsys in perrell and oftsys ar thai tynt,
Slauchter is wrocht and landis braid ar brynt.
SIXTY MILES THROUGH the night without sleep is no particular feat for a fit man, such as Nicholas de Fleury, who has been careful to eat and drink little, and who has prepared himself for most things, even this. This had always been possible.
The door closed, and he stood still, assimilating the room. It was not full of soldiers. There was no one before him but Simpson, standing alone in the centre, and Kilmirren himself, ensconced against the far wall in a chair by a brazier, sipping wine. Even the man who had disarmed them had gone. Nicholas remained, with Wodman and Henry behind him, and wondered, mildly, what the odds really were.
The hall before him was familiar enough, but not its contents, which glittered under the sconces. There were so many lights that the growing pallor outside hardly showed; and the exquisite David stood illuminated like a small, revered object, of the kind generally attached to a basin of flowers. That he was also a murderous swordsman must not be forgotten. Unlike Nicholas, he had had time to change from travel-stained court dress, and wore a quilted tunic and shirt which did not quite hide his muscles. His hair was uncovered, and his lips curled above the dark, dimpled chin. He said, ‘You did want Berecrofts dead? I was counting on it.’
Nicholas said, ‘Naturally. I counted on your counting on it.’ He could tell where Henry was from his grandfather’s eyes. Wodman also stood without sound, but close enough to a table for his reflection to shimmer across it.
Nicholas couldn’t decide whether the helpfulness was deliberate or not. He had mostly considered it genuine, the enmity between Andro and David: the ugly black man and the beauty, both of whom had once fought side by side in the King of France’s Royal Guard; both of whom had once worked for the fat man now watching and sipping, watching and sipping over there.
Jordan de St Pol had expelled David, who had exceeded his orders and entertained hopes of usurping his business. David had briefly recruited Gelis to the same company, and no doubt once hoped to share in her wealth. David had not enjoyed her rejection, or her cleverness, or the fact that Wodman had kept St Pol’s trust when he hadn’t. David could not comprehend or forgive the success, financial or sexual, of anyone who did not look like David. Wodman didn’t look like David. Neither did he.
And Wodman? Wodman had given personal service to the old man, and to the French King, and now was independent of both, with a high position owed to Adorne. Andro Wodman had fought beside Nicholas. He had saved Jodi’s life. He had protected Bel. He had also collaborated with Nicholas in protecting Henry. He could not possibly know whose son Henry was. Without Wodman, they wouldn’t be here.
Henry didn’t know whose son he was either, and never would. You didn’t have to consider whom Henry would choose, because it was a foregone conclusion.
So you weighed up the chances, and played accordingly. You tried to forget Robin, for what was done was done. Afterwards, if you lived, you could afford to be human. Meanwhile—
Nicholas said, ‘If we are talking, do you mind if we sit by the brazier? There are some terrible draughts in this room. I always used to keep a screen there. So now tell me …’ He walked across and sat down by Kilmirren. The other two hesitated, and then did the same. Nicholas repeated, ‘So now tell me. What did you think when you heard of the Star?’
He was concentrating, with a pleased air, on Simpson. ‘I do hope you heard of the Star? Star of Bethlehem? Taken by pirates in the Narrow Sea? Colquhoun hopes to get the ship back, but I fear for the cargo. I heard it represented all your reinvested Florentine savings.’
‘There are laws,’ Simpson said. He let the three of them pass and sit down, and then walked to a settle and leaned on it. Drawing him, Donatello would have fainted.
Nicholas managed, without difficulty, to forget Donatello. He said, in the same friendly way, ‘Not in wartime. France is blockading Flanders. Remember the problems with Benecke’s mixed English cargo? Poor Henne’s altar-piece is in Danzig yet. I shouldn’t be surprised if this consignment hasn’t gone the same way. Paúel’s widow and daughter will be rich.’
‘I’m happy for them,’ Simpson said. ‘Is this a way of expressing superiority? If so, I am tempted to mention a matter of gold.’
He sounded, as Nicholas had, perfectly calm. Henry blinked.
‘My gold?’ Nicholas said. ‘I don’t see it here. Have you buried it?’
‘In a way,’ Simpson said. ‘It has been converted. It has rebuilt and furnished this house. You are sitting on it. You are standing on it. It has clothed the walls and painted the rafters above you. In your hands, it would have been dross.’
‘I sometimes suspect Ochoa had the same theory,’ Nicholas said. ‘So when you die, where does it go?’
‘To me,’ said Jordan de St Pol lavishly, from over the brazier. ‘As you have guessed.’
It was the first time he had spoken since the beginning. His morning beard, a silvery nap, coated the unconfined rolls of his chins. His eyes above it were fixed on Nicholas.
‘I hesitated to broach the matter,’ Nicholas said. It emerged sounding bemused. He removed his own gaze, a shade late. He felt giddy, actually giddy, with relief. The bastard. The bloody-minded old bastard. The fat man’s eyes did not change.
Henry said, ‘What do you mean, Beltrees will be ours?’ It was rare, these days, for his voice to split.
The old man said nothing, nor did Simpson. Wodman was still looking down. Nicholas explained, like a good marionette. He said, ‘As a reward for capturing Master Simpson, and stopping him from blowing everyone up. The King will confiscate Beltrees, and Sir Tho
mas Semple will request that it be passed to the neighbouring owner, your grandfather.’
Henry said, ‘I sent a man to my grandfather, while we were all riding to Beltrees. I told him where to find Berecrofts and Simpson. That was me.’
Nicholas said, ‘Well, it was risky, but it worked.’ He hoped Wodman wouldn’t speak.
Wodman said, ‘Good God, I warned Monseigneur well before that. It let him join up with Semple and come and clear this place out. Am I right?’
‘Yes, you are right,’ said the fat man. ‘Sir Thomas surrounded this tower with his men and mine. All the Beltrees men surrendered, and are now locked in Kilmirren. Their captive was found, and used to entrap David, in turn, when he arrived. David, of course, is my prisoner, thanks to Andro.’ He turned his indolent eyes on his grandson. ‘That was him.’
The bastard, indeed. There was nothing to be done.
‘And Berecrofts?’ Nicholas said. It was not yet time to be human, but he could legitimately ask, and sustain the answer, and get Tobie to help him, very soon.
‘Ah, Berecrofts,’ Kilmirren said. ‘Our crippled friend Robin of Berecrofts deceived us all. A condition of helplessness is, of course, disarming, but sometimes deceptive. The young man tricked his family and actually ensured that he would be taken to Beltrees. He left a message for Andro.’
‘Why?’ Henry said.
‘He felt Master David here threatened his family. I am not sure I agree. I have always believed a sustained plan to be beyond our dear David. However. He guessed that David dreamed of confronting de Fleury, and was willing to assume the position of hostage.’
Wodman said, ‘It was quite a sacrifice.’ He was looking at Jordan de St Pol.
‘Oh, his chances were better than you might suppose,’ the fat man said. ‘Which reminds me. This interview, so far as it has gone, represents one generous undertaking I have given: that David could remain, as he has done, to confront de Fleury in person, and even to fight him, without hindrance, if that was his choice.’
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