Gemini

by Dorothy Dunnett

  Later, Tobie maintained that it was the second worst greeting he had ever heard to a crazed patient; Andreas quoted three quite as bad. At the time, they all fell silent, simply measuring the space between Mar and the King and preparing to leap if Mar did. Mar said, ‘You poisoned me.’

  The door was still open. Nicholas closed it. The King said, ‘No one poisoned you. You think you are like this because someone poisoned you? You tried to kill me.’

  Nicholas said quickly, ‘My lord King, these were accidents. The proof is that, God be praised, you are both still living. My lords have great powers. Had either been ill intentioned, the other would be dead.’

  The King looked at him. He said, ‘That would appear to be so. But had my brother not been put under restraint, who knows what might not have happened?’ He turned to Mar. ‘Deny it. You plotted with Sandy. You wanted me dead.’

  ‘Doesn’t everybody?’ said Johndie Mar. He had been given no wine. He took the King’s goblet and drained it. ‘No wonder Margaret gets out of your bed the first moment she can. I wouldn’t want to be tied to a vacant man who has to be supplied like an infant with friends.’

  ‘And what friends do you have,’ exclaimed James, ‘but raped women and doctors known for dealing with madmen? Why have they let you out? You should be under lock and key, and in chains.’

  Those outside could not hear the scuffle. But when the King shouted, his guards broke the door. Inside, they found the King rolling over the floor-tiles unhurt, and my lord of Mar on his face, held down by three pairs of hands, with his smashed goblet strewn on the floor. Now his hat had fallen off, you could see the marks of blows at the roots of his hair, and his wrists were black and blue, as if he had recently struggled against bonds. The King saw his men, and got to his feet. ‘Get me out of here. And send a guard down tomorrow. I want my lord of Mar in the Castle, in prison.’

  Andreas said, ‘But Dr Ireland, my lord King?’ Beneath his grasp, and Cochrane’s, and the Burgundian’s, Mar kicked and swore.

  The King paused. ‘When Dr Ireland has gone. I hold you responsible for my brother’s imprisonment until then. In chains, if necessary. He must not leave this house.’

  ‘I hear you, my lord King,’ said Andreas.

  ‘Then lock him up. Now. I will wait until you return.’

  There was no alternative. Nicholas made a loose tie round the fallen man’s wrists, while Cochrane and Tobie eased him to his feet. He was talking continuously, while his eyes watered and mucus covered his lips. Clémence stood before him with a fine kerchief and tended him, neatly and kindly. Mar and his helpers disappeared, and only the helpers returned.

  The King said, ‘Enough time has been wasted on this. I am glad you sent for me. It has allowed me to decide what to do. Roger: you will return. Your presence is needed at Court. De Fleury: I believe you were asked to entertain Dr Ireland. You will return with me, and do so. Dr Andreas: likewise, I have more need of your presence than my brother. I want you back at the Castle. Cochrane?’

  ‘I have work to do elsewhere, my lord,’ Tam Cochrane said. ‘I was leaving tonight. But my lord of Mar needs care, and someone to guard him.’

  ‘I will leave my guard,’ said the King. ‘And, of course, Dr Tobie, who has generously lent his house so that my brother may be adequately safeguarded.’

  Nicholas said, ‘My lord, forgive me, but the Earl needs care day and night. It requires several men.’

  ‘That is nonsense,’ said the King. ‘My prisoners at Blackness and Berwick do not need day-and-night care. They are locked up. They are fed at prescribed intervals. They sleep. I have no more to say. I am leaving. Those I have mentioned will accompany me.’ The door opened, and the King led the way out.

  The visit was over. The hoped-for remedy, the invocation of childhood, of family, had been a disastrous mistake. Whether James and his brothers were touched by a heritable sickness was not really an issue. The family was already split asunder by shared characteristics of a different kind.

  Parting company with Nicholas at the Castle, Dr Andreas was bitter. Nicholas said, ‘You did all you could. He thinks a lot of your prophecies. The lion will be killed by a whelp.’

  ‘Even that he got wrong,’ Andreas said. ‘The prophecy didn’t mean Mar.’

  ‘How do you know?’ Nicholas said. ‘I didn’t think you still drew up charts. I hope you’ve done mine.’

  ‘Do you want an answer?’ said Andreas. ‘I couldn’t. I don’t know when you were born, or where. I don’t even know in which country.’

  ‘Good,’ said Nicholas. He believed him.

  BECAUSE HIS WATCHERS were thus reduced, John of Mar was left for some time on his own, and no one thought to search his inner clothing, where he had pushed a shard of the goblet which he had taken from his brother the King. By the time the door was unlocked, several hours had elapsed since the young man had opened his veins; and his pulse was almost gone. Returned desperately to his side, the doctors fought for many hours to redeem him, but before dawn, he received the last rites from a chaplain from Holyrood, and died without opening his eyes.

  The Chancellor was sent for, and arrived, his silver hair ruffled, his cheek creased from sleep. He looked at the body in silence. In death, the angry skin rash had withdrawn, and the long-nosed, bony face with its combed auburn hair held something of unaccustomed nobility in its stillness. He had been a Stewart. Avandale, of the same descent, crossed himself eventually and rose from his knees. ‘Poor lad. Poor lad. Whatever he did, it shouldn’t have ended like this. And, of course, so far as the world knows, it has not. So, what do we say?’

  Nicholas had been there from the beginning, with Andreas. He said, ‘There will be talk, especially as the King was recently here. People may put it about that the King has got rid of both his brothers.’

  ‘Albany rebelled and deserted,’ Avandale said.

  ‘I know,’ Nicholas said. ‘But rumours don’t flourish on logic. I think my lord of Mar has had a fever and, being brought to his physicians to be bled, has succumbed to a mysterious illness unknown to the finest of doctors. Andreas and Tobie can elaborate. They may even mention the unnatural humours which caused the Prince, against his true inclinations, to attack those he loved.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Tobie.

  ‘Then it is agreed,’ Avandale said. ‘And now I must tell the King.’ He tilted his head, allowing his thoughtful gaze to dwell on each member of the small group. ‘Since we are friends, I ought to say that I often draw comfort from the simplicity of his grace and his brothers. Were they persons of malignancy or cunning, one would serve them with less than a whole heart.’

  He was looking at Nicholas. Nicholas said, ‘I feel as you do. So does Dr Tobias. Otherwise we should not be here.’

  He left Tobie’s house in broad daylight, and made several brief calls, before walking uphill to his home. There, he took Gelis aside. ‘Something has happened. Come into the office.’

  He never had to explain the implications to Gelis. She listened, and spoke at the end. ‘I am mortally sorry as well. But it must be contained. When will his death be made known?’

  ‘Avandale has gone to the Castle. Once the King has been told, the Councillors will frame an announcement. Meanwhile I have asked Adorne to come here, and all those who have been caring for Mar, so that they can hear what Avandale proposes to do. Then we have to think of the effect on Mar’s siblings. On Mary and Margaret. On Albany, when he hears.’ He broke off. ‘It is such a tragedy.’

  ‘You were sorry for him,’ she said. ‘So were we all. But he was ill. He was dangerous. He would have had to be cared for to the end of his life, or face the hangman, as he continued to kill. He may have realised that himself.’

  ‘I don’t think he even did that,’ Nicholas said. He got up, more deliberately than usual.

  Gelis ached for him. Nevertheless, she spoke levelly. ‘There is one other thing. You know that St Pol of Kilmirren is in town?’

  Nicholas sat down again. ‘Yes
?’

  ‘I’m sorry. He called this morning to deposit a single piece of wicked news. You remember the Hamilton funeral?’

  ‘Clearly,’ Nicholas said.

  ‘In November, Henry left the keep for Kilmirren. There, he wrote and sent off a letter, without telling his grandfather until it had gone. It’s on its way to Simon his father, insisting that he come back to Scotland at once.’

  There was a silence. Nicholas said, ‘Can he? He was exiled.’

  ‘On a medical charge, on the King’s orders. Apparently the King later relented, but Simon’s father didn’t mention it to him. Seemingly, St Pol doesn’t want Simon home.’

  ‘Which is why Henry has sent for him. What did St Pol say about that?’

  ‘Just that Henry seemed to believe that Simon was a person before whom brave men shivered in tears.’ She heard the chill in her voice as she repeated it. Simon, athletic and fair as Henry was fair, had once been her despised and unknowing tool against Nicholas. But as a fighting man, Simon de St Pol did not deserve his father’s contempt. And, of course, he would never have Henry’s. Simon’s petty beliefs, Simon’s vindictiveness would immediately be adopted by Henry. She said again, ‘I’m so sorry.’

  He said, ‘So am I.’ He sounded uncharacteristically at a loss. She thought she saw in his face the same look he had worn when coming to tell her of Johndie Mar’s death.

  She said slowly, ‘It’s winter. Nothing can happen for a long time. And you don’t need to wait for him. You can leave Scotland now with a free conscience. Havens are re-opening elsewhere. Adorne knows it. Even this poor Prince’s death has smoothed the way, and so has Albany’s absence. The kingdom has had everything you can give it for three years, and they need you less now. It is worth thinking about.’

  ‘And you?’ Nicholas said. ‘Would you leave?’

  ‘Wherever you go, there I shall be,’ Gelis said. ‘Although, whatever you suggest, I shall probably complain about it.’

  Chapter 28

  Leifsum it is this povne him to defend

  And no man suld in-to this warld pretend

  To lichtly ocht or sic men to dispys,

  For oft we reid of pur men in this wys

  That wonnyng has the kinrik and the crovne.

  THE SUDDEN DEATH of John, Earl of Mar, was announced, but because (as the Abbot of Holyrood said) God in his Ipseity chose to cap the world that winter with ice, it did not immediately cause a furore, even in the country where it happened, although the Princesses Mary and Margaret furiously mourned their young brother, and the King descended into gloom.

  The severe weather also cloaked happenings elsewhere. Yule and the following weeks passed in untoward frozen calm, in which families kept to their hearths and saved their energy and their food for the spring and the summer. Only, for good or for ill, Dr Ireland contrived to buffet his way back to France, having warmly recommended to James a reconciliation with his dear brother Albany, and tested the Scottish King’s willingness to abandon his friendship with England.

  King James, advised by his Councillors, dismissed an accommodation with Albany, and remarked that he could hardly contemplate breaking the peace unless much better provided with gunners and cannon. King Louis failed to take the hint. As a result, Albany remained rent-free all winter in France, and in January married his Bourbon, a lady of quality distantly related, unsurprisingly, to Charlotte, the wife of Wolfaert van Borselen. It was conveyed to the scholarly Dr Ireland that, come the spring, he might be sent back to continue his kind advisory offices in Scotland. Dr Ireland, who admired Louis in much the same way, he suspected, as de Fleury, agreed peacefully.

  Unknown to England, Louis of France made secret approaches to Maximilian of Burgundy.

  Unknown to France, Edward of England engaged in exploratory talks with the same Duke of Burgundy, largely to elicit whether, if Edward risked his French pension, Maximilian would make good its loss.

  England learned, at last, why the Princess Margaret was not coming south to wed the King’s brother-in-law. England looked at Scotland’s short-tempered King, and at the King’s younger brother in France, perfectly in position to spearhead a French war to oust King James and threaten England on two fronts. England laid plans for the first break in the weather.

  James of Scotland, unimpeded by his Council, renewed (for the third time) his English safe conduct to take one thousand men through that realm on his way as a pious pilgrim to Amiens. An expensive gold medallion was struck by a rich goldsmith at Berwick and sent to Amiens as a mark of intent. Amiens was well known as the King of France’s preferred meeting-place, and the intent, obvious to England, represented a threat which had nothing to do with the shrine of St John.

  Spring hovered. On the basis of the last news from Bruges, Anselm Adorne began provisionally to conclude his affairs, which included making secure arrangements for the future of his daughter, who was to remain with the nuns. With his nephew and niece as her guardians, and the goodwill of her aunt on her mother’s side, Euphemia would receive the income from Cortachy, and from the several tenements which her father had purchased in Linlithgow, whose Palace was owned by the Queen. There was also the mill he had built, not far from the port of Blackness. It served a prosperous area, and was capable of a good annual return. As for the rest, his own position of service in Linlithgow would devolve on his departure to Sersanders, who would remain as his agent. That is, if the present mood in Bruges remained the same. If, with the past now forgotten, he could take his place once more in the merchant community, if not in civic life.

  Nicholas had made no such moves, but because it was bad business practice to say nothing, had let it be known that he would reconsider his future in the spring. No one was particularly pleased, although the councillors and the traders could hardly fault his reasoning on material grounds. He was a talented man, with the right to take his family where wealth and position were offered. He suffered a series of informal suppers with each of the senior judges and councillors, and was taken out and unsuccessfully plied with drink by all the shipmasters and an assortment of the late Phemie’s cousins. Adorne had always known the extent of his options but had applied no pressure, although his own strongest wish, it was clear, was to see Nicholas return to his calf country of Bruges.

  Kathi took no sides at all, nor did Gelis. The most miserable part of the exercise was introducing the possibility to Robin. Although he could sit, and there had been a faint easement in one stricken shoulder, Robin was now as he always would be, without the use of one side. Frustrated, currently immured by the weather, he had fallen into one of his rare fits of rebellion, when he fought the world as well as his disability. This, one did not treat with sport or diversion, but by becoming an intellectual football. Having floated, at second hand, the subject of his departure, Nicholas waited a day and then hopped and skidded over the packed snow down to the nursery in Kathi’s house. There, having swept Hob on to his back, and played a short, violent game with a screaming Margaret and Rankin, Nicholas left the room and presented himself, breathless, at Robin’s wheelchair.

  ‘How kind,’ said Robin. ‘What will they do for proper sport, once you have gone? So have you decided? France, or Venice, or Burgundy? Or even the Duke of Lorraine?’ His jaw was knotted through the fine skin.

  Nicholas sat down with a bang. He said, ‘I’m going to find the man who took your leg off. And then I’m going to ask him to take off the other one. Will you stop this? I may not go away. If I go away, I’ll come back. And if I don’t, you have a life of your own. We’re not bloody married.’

  Robin went very white.

  Nicholas said, ‘You’re supposed to think it over, and then give a furious laugh, and then kick me out. That is, you can’t kick me out from a wheelchair. So devise your own bloody response.’

  ‘You bastard,’ said Robin.

  ‘I know,’ Nicholas said. ‘But it’s a fast way of reminding us both how much we hate one another. I’m going to get beer. Line up your questions
.’

  Afterwards they argued, but not bitterly, although Robin did a lot of objecting. Towards the end, Nicholas said, ‘Anyway, you heard. Simon is coming.’

  ‘And that really frightens you,’ Robin said. ‘If Henry had known you were leaving, he would never have called Simon back in the first place.’

  ‘Yes, he would,’ Nicholas said. ‘It’s as much about his grandfather, now, as about me. In fact, they can sort it out better without me.’ This was true. As he thought Gelis guessed, it was the strongest inducement, among several, for leaving.

  ‘And I thought Julius was coming?’ pursued Robin doggedly.

  ‘Then Julius can fight Simon for me. Once Simon’s dead, I’ll come back.’

  ‘You are a clod,’ Robin said automatically. He added, ‘You know what they feel, Willie Roger and Cochrane and the Leithers? It’s like the last time. You turn your back and leave whenever you feel like it.’

  Nicholas said, ‘Do you think it’s like the last time?’

  And Robin had the grace to flush, and say, ‘No.’