Gemini

by Dorothy Dunnett

  The driving power behind advancing Islam had gone, leaving a vacuum. Mehmet’s eldest son had died before him, strangled on his own father’s orders. The other two lived, and would already be vying for power. King Edward of England might well be emboldened to break the peace, and risk papal displeasure. The Turkish war had lost its urgency, for this year at least.

  So Edward of England might now feel morally free to attack—but would he do it this year? The verdict, among those debating round Avandale’s table that day, was that he would not. Howard’s venture had failed. Edward had sent no army to support it, or to reinforce Gloucester, waiting in vain on the Border. There might be—there would be—trouble still on the Marches, where there remained vengeful men with energy to spare while their food and their pay and the good weather lasted. But the main threat from England would come next year. They had time to plan.

  The meeting over, Nicholas and Anselm Adorne walked uphill to the High Street; impeded as ever by the onslaught of eager bodies who wished to sell something, or extract news or impart it, or establish a personal forum on a question of public importance. Fresh from the sea, it was a change to be among pigs, and horseflies, and children; and banging from the hammermen’s shops, and disputatious clamour from packed, busy markets. Every brosy face on the causeway had a name, or a nickname. However unavoidably courtly their clothes or glittering the chains of their chivalric orders, this was also true of themselves. Everybody called Nicholas Nicol, and quite a few called Adorne Seaulme, an unexpected tribute from the horseless class which he received in good part. Life in Edinburgh was heavily communal, as it was in the Canongate, whose smells and noise were considerably worse. Adorne said, ‘Come to my house for a moment.’ He meant his own house, in the same street.

  Kathi was there. It was an extra pleasure, like the coolness and quiet. Perhaps because he was used to the dyeyards, Nicholas functioned at work without reference to his surroundings: the crowded premises of the two Berecrofts houses shook his concentration no more than did the silence of a Greek cell. When he was not working, it was different.

  Kathi looked the same. No, that was not true. Between them, Robin and her children had achieved the impossible: had anchored her to normal living; had absorbed the extremes of energy which had made her life so exhausting, and left her—not calm, she would never be that, but less volatile.

  Nicholas himself had once been the same; perhaps still was. Together, they had engendered a form of articulate and genderless lunacy which he did not allow himself to dwell upon now, for it could not have continued, if only because it put her under too much strain. She was still very astute. She was saying, ‘How extraordinary, you managed to walk up from the Cowgate without buying anything.’

  ‘I didn’t,’ said Nicholas, defensively. ‘I bought another goose. It’s being delivered. Would you like one?’

  ‘I have three,’ Kathi said. ‘No household containing Hob need ever fear thieves. Come and have some food. Are you wondering why you are here?’

  ‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘I am trying to stay happy for as long as possible.’

  Adorne said, ‘Don’t look at me. It’s Katelinje’s idea.’ Already, his face was lighter, as it had looked in the summer evenings this year when, for the first time since Phemie’s death, he had begun to entertain like-minded friends, bringing together singers and verse-makers: Jock Ross and his son-in-law, the goldsmith’s cousin; the clerk Stobo; the young man from Dunfermline who had studied at Paris with Jan. Even, once, Blind Harry, suddenly welcome at Court and on campaign. With, of course, Willie Roger and his songsters. Sometimes, among the like-minded friends, with the King’s approval, were visiting envoys such as Ireland, and Leigh.

  Tonight, it was only Kathi, flanked by Nicholas and her uncle, seated before a table of savoury dishes, and attended by polite, silent servants. The wine-flagon was a fine one, of glass, which Nicholas had last seen at the Hôtel Jerusalem in Bruges. It seemed lucky, when so much else had gone, that it had survived.

  The servants performed their last office and left. Kathi said, ‘Guess.’ There was a trace of mischief in it; yet her face was not perfectly cloudless. And she was here, and not at home.

  Nicholas said, ‘Julius?’

  Her grimace made him want to laugh with relief. He went on, ‘Julius and his new zeal to authenticate me as a St Pol? He has been asking questions of Robin?’

  Julius had not been with the fleet. Julius, it was plain, had been busy. Kathi said, ‘It’s my fault. I’m sorry. I didn’t think Robin knew anything anybody else didn’t know. But he was talking to Julius about France, and he mentioned the time you were attacked and hurt by the Loire, and he visited you.’

  ‘At Chouzy,’ Nicholas said. Adorne was courteously listening.

  ‘Robin remembered the name of the family: Bernard de Moncourt of Chouzy, and his wife Claude. He explained to Julius they were relatives of Clémence, and that you had called, since you were passing, because you knew so little about her, and she was so important to Jodi.’ She paused. ‘Was that awkward? Do you mind Julius knowing?’

  ‘Not at all. I actually went to make enquiries at the convent where Clémence was reared, and arrived at the seigneur’s house quite by accident. No, it doesn’t matter. I’m sure Clémence wouldn’t mind, if she knew. Julius is thorough, isn’t he?’ Nicholas said. ‘Who else is suffering?’

  ‘Well,’ said Kathi, munching reflectively. ‘He went straight to Tobie, of course, but Tobie just repeated what Robin said. Then Julius went and got hold of Oliver Semple. Your old factor? Who’s gone back to work for Sir Thomas Semple? He thought he might remember the scandal—’ She broke off. ‘I’m sorry. This is very difficult.’

  ‘Not at all. It was a scandal. Sweet young Scottish lad is tricked into marriage by Burgundian harridan thirteen years older, who gives premature birth to his dead child and, plunging into promiscuity, tries to saddle him with her next. That was what everyone in Scotland was told, and what they believed. I wish he’d leave it alone.’

  ‘He won’t. It’s what the monks in Paisley were told as well. Julius asked them. They said Simon was notoriously wild, but that the girl he married was shameless. The St Pols said that if she’d tried to come to Scotland, she would have been thrown out.’

  Kathi had begun to look rather hot. She said, ‘It’s no wonder you felt crucified by everyone here, Nicholas, and not just the St Pols. They were told atrocious lies, and they believed them.’

  ‘And Oliver Semple?’ Nicholas said. He kept his voice friendly. He didn’t know why she was saying all this with Adorne there.

  ‘Bel got to him first: he wouldn’t pass on gossip anyway. But, of course, Julius is now hunting for Bel. He knows Bel was in France at the time when you and Adelina were still with your mother, and St Pol was becoming the vicomte de Ribérac. Julius is planning to question the French Archers who have retired back to Scotland. There was an Erskine among them. Even a Lisouris.’

  ‘Kathi, what do you think they could know?’ Nicholas said. ‘Anyway, to listen to Wodman, they retire with enough claret to preserve them from thinking clearly ever again. As for the two Princesses, Eleanor is dead, and Julius is very welcome to try to talk to Joanna.’

  He suddenly realised why Adorne was here. He sent a flicker of apology to Kathi, and spoke to her uncle. ‘Julius has bothered you, too? I am sorry.’

  Adorne was more tranquil than he was, or Kathi. ‘The situation has been created by Julius, not by you. He asked me about Venice, and my visit to Montello, where my brother is buried, and where your maternal grandfather was then being nursed. I saw the vicomte de Fleury at the time, but he could not speak, and I had nothing to add to what Gelis and Tobie learned later. Julius did also ask, however, whether I had sent a servant back to ask further questions, as someone claimed. I had to confirm that I had not. Then he asked me if I had heard any rumours about the old lady called Tasse, the retired servant who died, drowned in a Venice canal while staying with Gregorio.’

&
nbsp; He stopped. After a moment he said, ‘Nicholas?’ Kathi was looking at him as well.

  Nicholas said, ‘I’m sorry. She was one of the few friends of my stay in Jaak de Fleury’s house, and her death was a blow. What rumour did he mean?’

  Adorne said, ‘Apparently, Gregorio was not satisfied that her death was an accident, and he was right. Investigation showed that she had suffered a blow before falling, and might possibly have been held underwater until she died. But no reason for her killing was found, and no murderer. Julius wondered if the mysterious man at Montello was implicated, and if Tasse had been killed because she could prove that you were Simon’s son. In which case, who was the man?’

  Nicholas said, ‘I don’t know, but I don’t think it matters. Tasse knew nothing at all of my parents, and if she was attacked, it couldn’t have been over that. People get robbed, and then killed. The muddle over Montello was probably just a mistake of the monastery porter’s, and Julius is working up fantasies. I think we should all leave him alone. When he finds out it’s hopeless, he’ll stop. So may I have some pudding and get to be frivolous?’

  Adorne said, ‘You may not only have pudding, you may drink my health. This is the other reason you are here. Her grace the Queen has just made official my position at Linlithgow. I am to be her servant there, for as long as I wish to stay.’

  Kathi was beaming, and Nicholas gazed at them both with unalloyed pleasure. For a long time now, Adorne had been shouldering what were virtually the duties of a Keeper of the Queen’s Palace, with all that entailed. He had received some sort of payment for that, and for the Conservatorship he still shared with Wodman. But the official emoluments for the maintenance, repair and defence of a royal palace were substantial, involving rents from land and crofts all round Linlithgow, and the returns from the King’s coalheugh as well. All that, with his charge at Blackness, made him one of the guardians of that very vulnerable part of the coast.

  There were other implications.

  Nicholas said, ‘I don’t know when I’ve ever heard anything about this royal family that pleased me more. At last, they have done something right. And, of course, I have to ask: does this mean that you are staying in Scotland?’

  ‘It means I can afford to,’ said Adorne. ‘I can provide for Euphemia. I can, and shall, gladly give my services until, God willing, this unnecessary war has come to an end. What happens after that will depend on what happens in Bruges. But yes. For the first time I am truly contemplating spending my life in this country. Does that appal you, after all Katelinje has been saying?’

  ‘If it did, I shouldn’t be here,’ Nicholas said. ‘Your health. Your health, and all it says on that flagon.’

  The flagon was Syrian. It said, Lasting joy, increasing prosperity and fortuitous destiny.

  ‘I wish him a fortuitous destiny every day,’ Kathi said. ‘And you know what I’m going to say next.’

  ‘Am I staying. I don’t know,’ Nicholas said. ‘And yes, I’ve been offered inducements. And yes, you’ve been talking to Betha Sinclair.’

  ‘No. It is I who have been talking to Gilbert Fish and Landells and Livingstone and MacCalzeane, and Will Goldsmith the Halfpenny Man, and even one of the Mullikens,’ said Anselm Adorne. ‘Am I not a compendium of information on the bullion trade? You were offered virtually anything you wanted, if you would mount another expedition to Africa and bring back gold. You were offered lands and a barony, if you would stay in Scotland and use your powers for mineral divining. You refused. Why?’

  The sweetmeats had been set out by the window. When Nicholas did not immediately answer, Adorne rose abruptly and walked there, turning, glass in hand, to look at the other man. Nicholas took his glass and joined him, more slowly.

  Nicholas said, ‘I don’t want to go to Africa, because I don’t want to spend my time that way, and the bullion wouldn’t arrive for two years, and the coinage problem is urgent. Parliament won’t vote James the money he wants; he’s trying to hoard what he has, and raise more by other means, and you and Drew and Colin and Archie have to guide him, as we have to do about war.’

  He had used Christian names, forgetting. Adorne said, ‘That is what councillors are for.’ He sat down, in a collected way, and Kathi came and sat with him.

  Nicholas looked down on them both. He said, ‘I’m not demeaning the throne. I meant no more than that the King should be advised. There are deposits of silver and lead and perhaps gold about the western moors: we all know that—the Hamiltons and the Crawfords and the monks of Newbattle better than anybody. But it takes time and money and good engineering to raise it, and it may not make all that much difference. I think it’s better to sit down with the Treasurer and your mint masters, as you’re doing, and plan what kind of coins the country needs to keep trade going, and the Curia happy, and the price of food down. You don’t need my sort of gold. If I thought you did, I might divine. If I thought you didn’t but felt greedy, I might pretend to divine. I refused because I didn’t want to face the decision. If I can’t trust my judgement, then I shouldn’t stay.’

  He had spoken calmly, but Kathi looked troubled. He sat.

  Adorne said, ‘You mistake me. I am glad beyond measure that you have refused to divine. It is something that came between us in the past. Now, perhaps I trust you more than you trust yourself. I am only concerned that, between us all, we shall drive you away. I know something about defensive war. I know a great deal more about coinage and fund-raising taxes, but success in that—I think you are right—will not depend upon a sudden influx of bullion. It will depend upon the management of a healthy, developing trade that will continue through every political change, clandestinely if necessary. I know manufacturers, I know shippers, I know dealers, and I know men who are all three. I know of no one who combines them in all their most questionable aspects with the brilliance that you do.’ He was smiling.

  Kathi wasn’t. Kathi said, ‘I think you should say to Nicholas what you said to me. That your work needs his, and his yours.’

  Adorne said, ‘I think he knows that, but I hope he will absolve me from personal pressure. I assume, at least, that you are in Scotland, Nicholas, so long as the war lasts? Are you to be in Edinburgh, or irresponsibly in the thick of the fighting on the Borders? You know, you ought to place that young lady somewhere safe. Eccles is far too near the frontier.’

  Nicholas emitted a short, alarmed groan. ‘Bonne? I sent to have her brought north before I sailed. Didn’t she come?’

  ‘Not for you,’ Adorne said. ‘What a shame. I had no trouble taking her from Edinburgh. Would you like me to go down and help?’

  ‘You’re not going,’ said Kathi positively. ‘But someone must. And if she doesn’t obey Nicholas, who?’

  ‘She,’ said Nicholas, ‘will obey Nicholas.’ He resumed his ordinary voice. ‘I suppose I’d better ride down. And the nun—oh God, the nun.’ He brooded, and then brightened suddenly. ‘I know. I’ll take Julius.’

  ‘Who then can’t search for Bel. You are obvious, aren’t you?’ Kathi said.

  ‘It’s why he’ll never get on. What about some music?’ said Adorne. There was a lute to his hand. He drew it over and brushed the strings, lovingly, with his tapering fingers. He began to sing under his breath, and when Nicholas joined him, he smiled, and then again, when Kathi brought in the descant.

  It was partly improvised, the best kind of music: concentrated, pure, more demanding than anything the real world had offered that day.

  Harmony is a maiden carrying a shield. As soon as she enters the hall, a symphony swells from the shield.

  Come. Here is peace. Here is safety. Here are friends.

  Part IV

  Quhen I was zoung we had a tyrand king.

  I askit than that sone he suld be deid

  And so he was; a war come in his steid

  And als fast than for his deid I besocht.

  Syne come the werst that ever mycht be wrocht.

  Chapter 34

  Richt sad in m
oving suld thir women be

  And of schort space and to no fer cuntré

  NICHOLAS RODE SOUTH to Eccles next day.

  At first, Julius had refused to concern himself with the plight of his step-daughter, driving Nicholas to fulminate. Then came news of fresh fighting on the Border, and Julius, bribed by the leadership of their small troop of cavalry, agreed to set off via Eccles, so long as nobody expected him to bring the wench back. Nicholas could do that, he said, and then return to the sheepfold in Edinburgh, and keep the King happy. To Julius, sometimes, Nicholas was still vaguely an apprentice, whose job was to look after children.

  Nicholas, who occasionally shared this opinion, took Jordan with him. At the last moment, he found Willie Roger also applying to come.

  He tried to dissuade him. Conducting choirs developed the shoulders, but the rest of Whistle Willie’s appearance—furious eyes, tousled locks and meagre physique—was more the March hare than the March harrier.

  The insult (sweetly transmitted at once) displeased the musician. ‘I ride more than you do, back and forth to bloody St Andrews. If I can just bring back some altos, I wouldn’t need to ride quite as much.’

  ‘You won’t get any altos at Eccles,’ said Nicholas. ‘If you get three cracked sopranos, you’ll be lucky.’ The Prioress, by name Euphemia, was a half-sister of the late Bishop Kennedy and aged sixty at least. Ysabeau, the only other nun he had heard of, had died touching eighty.

  ‘Then I’ll go to Coldingham,’ Roger said.

  This was defiant idiocy. The King had enraged the entire wealthy foundation of Coldingham and their patrons the Homes by milking the monastery to fund Willie’s Chapel Royal music.