To Lie with Lions

by Dorothy Dunnett

  James, Third of the Name, would be twenty quite soon, and the months were firming his face and lining the over-dry skin, though he still sat on his cushion like a youth who preferred tilting or hunting to dealing with papers and numbers. Since the Play, his way of speaking to Nicholas had changed, but it was five weeks and more since they had met.

  He said, ‘Master Nicholas of the Unicorn, we warn you to have regard for our nails. Every nail in this room has been counted.’ He then burst into laughter, politely echoed by the elders in the room, although Sandy, origin of the anecdote, merely grinned.

  Nicholas said, ‘Sire, your nails are the Nails of Divinity, sacrosanct as those pinning Thor’s shrine. I bring you a gift, which I have left in the hands of your steward; and also news of a good venture.’

  ‘A gift?’ said the King, and waved to have it brought in. It was a pretty sight: white fox furs and swan feathers. It was of course designed to pass from the King to the Queen. Then that was over, and they let him sit down and relate the long tale of the voyage. He was good at it by now.

  With James, the gift; then the story; then the business. The lords, aware of what was necessary, were patient as well. Only at the end did Nicholas describe his cargo, and William Sinclair sat up. ‘Fifteen hundred pounds’ worth of stockfish!’

  ‘Thanks to you, my lord. Without the dogger and yoles, it could not have been done in the time. The fish are already dried, and fit to travel anywhere. I have unloaded what was ordered at Leith, and the rest is already on its way.’

  ‘And you say there was no trouble?’ said James.

  ‘The Hanse ship was not, of course, happy with the situation, but I was able to arrange, I think, that there will be no complaint. It has returned to Bergen with a full cargo.’

  ‘And the other ships?’

  ‘The Baron Cortachy’s ship, the Unicorn, was somewhat resented by the Hanse and also by the Icelanders, but managed to escape, as you know, with a load of sulphur. I rather think,’ Nicholas said, ‘that an accommodation had been reached with the local officials, and in particular with the Bishop. I did not pursue it. One would not wish to offend the Church. I am not sure, however, if they would be welcome again.’

  ‘And the English were pirates and cannot complain. While you, of course, had our personal sanction in our capacity as a son of Denmark. That may now be ratified.’

  ‘My lord,’ agreed Nicholas humbly.

  ‘And the share of fish we agreed on be apportioned.’

  ‘My lord, it has been arranged already. Also, the ship will be yours as soon as she has delivered her cargo. I am honoured to think that she comes to you bearing a victory.’

  ‘Ah,’ said the King. He looked about. No one spoke. He said, ‘You are a Burgundian, but your Bank’s clients belong to no single country. You lease your army to Duke Charles, but it has done little that I have heard of. A whisper has reached me that you have been received at the French Court, and have even discussed a possible contract.’

  ‘I rarely listen to rumours, my lord King,’ Nicholas said. ‘But it is true that I try not to discriminate. You are speaking, perhaps, about Brittany?’

  ‘You have heard of our own glorious plans,’ said the King. He was flushed. ‘We have always hoped, as you know, to lead an army this summer to France to aid King Louis in taking back his Dukedom of Brittany. Now Parliament has voted the money, and the Lord Monypenny has come to assure us that in return for our help, a portion of Brittany will be ours. Your ship, therefore, is of great value to us.’

  ‘I am honoured,’ Nicholas said.

  ‘But equally,’ said the King, ‘there are new financial commitments which I had hardly contemplated when we spoke of this last. Briefly, I have no money with which to pay you.’

  Nicholas manufactured an expression of pain. It was not very hard. He added some meekness, and a good deal of perplexity. He said, ‘Then, my lord, I do not know what to propose.’ He didn’t suggest waiving the price. The King knew what he owed him already, and so did he.

  There was a silence. Then Semple said, ‘My lord King. If I might make a suggestion?’

  There was no such thing as walking alone down the High Street to his house. Apart from the escort which had already attached itself to him, he had accumulated a scurrying crowd by the time he came to his front door, and had to waste time answering questions and throwing remarks to them all. Then he managed to enter. The porter knew him these days. He did not try to see Gelis, but went at once to the rooms where Jordan was.

  The boy was there and awake; the nurse had got his message. The boy rose very slowly from his play and stood looking, unsmiling. It was the first time Nicholas had seen his eyes full of anger. He thought that they had probably succeeded, if the child felt sufficiently safe to show what he felt. He felt the gaze of the nurse on his face.

  The child’s skin was sprinkled with blotches. Nicholas said nothing of them, but kept his own face open and pleasant, dropping comfortably on his hunkers. He said, ‘Maman kept telling and telling me to come back. I should do what I am told.’

  ‘I do what I’m told,’ Jordan said. After a while he said, ‘What were you doing?’

  ‘I was buying fish for the King,’ Nicholas said. ‘I saw a white bear and some falcons. If I didn’t have to come home, I could have caught one for you.’

  ‘I could catch a falcon,’ said Jordan.

  ‘Could you? Then perhaps you should come with me next time. All I could get you was this. I had a horse. This was my whip. See, the handle is carved from the bone of a beast called a whale. Hold it.’

  Jordan held it. The horsehair, dangling, lay on the floor. He moved it up and down, hissing. Mistress Clémence said, ‘Master Jordan rode with the family at Dean Castle. He had to borrow a whip.’

  The wooden horse he had painted was quite near. Nicholas perched on its back and said, ‘Come. Show me how the whip works.’

  Soon after that, the child settled quite naturally on his knee, and began to ask the first questions, and then to chatter. Mistress Clémence moved back and forth, fetching milk for them both, and poking the brazier, and finally sending Pasque for the tub and undressing the boy for his bath while the conversation went on. Then at last, sitting wrapped in a towel on his father’s knee, Jordan said, ‘Poem.’

  Nicholas said, ‘I like hearing poems.’

  ‘Poem,’ said Jordan. And struggling down, he stood, breathing heavily, and recited.

  It was a long poem, and although he hesitated once, he remembered it all.

  Nicholas stared at him with vast and clown-like astonishment. ‘Now that,’ he said, ‘is the longest, finest, best-spoken poem I have ever heard. Are you really Jordan de Fleury?’

  ‘Yes!’ said the child. He jumped up and down, making noises.

  ‘Yes, you must be. And here is Mistress Clémence so proud, and I am proud, and so will maman be, when I tell her. And now I suppose I will have to take you sailing with me on my new ship? Do I have to?’

  ‘Yes!’ shouted the boy.

  ‘With me and maman and Mistress Clémence and Pasque?’

  ‘Yes! Yes!’ screamed the boy.

  ‘And what do you think the ship should be named? What is my name? What is your name? Should the ship be called the Fleury?’

  ‘He will never sleep,’ the nurse said, over the squeals.

  ‘Yes, he will,’ Nicholas said. ‘For we are not going sailing just yet, and I am going to bed too, and in the morning I shall still be here, and I shall come and see him. If he has gone to sleep.’

  He saw the boy placed in his bed, and the nurse followed him out of the room. She said, ‘He is very young to take on rough seas.’

  He smiled. ‘I’m not proposing to go back to Iceland, Mistress Clémence. I hope you have no objection to a summer in the Low Countries, while I look after some business. My wife will be with us, and my step-daughters will be near, among others. He can have a pony, if you think he is ready for one. But there is time to plan: we shall be here fo
r another three weeks at least.’

  ‘He is a good boy,’ she said.

  ‘I can see that. And you have been a good friend to him. Thank you.’

  She went back into the room. Limping, to the head of the stairs, he thought again how skilful she was at not asking questions. He hoped she didn’t really know how he was feeling. And now he had to go and see Gelis.

  He took out a lion, tossed it, and clapped it on the back of his hand. A sound made him look up. Mistress Clémence, bearing a lamp, had emerged from the boy’s door again and was looking at him with curiosity. He said, ‘Face or pellet?’

  ‘Face,’ she said at once.

  It was face. ‘Damn,’ he said. ‘I have to stay sober.’

  Gelis was reading. Gelis was wearing a night-robe he had cause to recognise, and had unbound her hair, so that it fell over the silk, wheat on ivory. Her skin was flushed from the warmth of the brazier, and the lamp on its stand at her side glowed on the cushions, the carvings, her thin-fingered hand on the vellum. She wore several costly and beautiful rings. The lamp-oil was scented.

  ‘You should try halibut-oil,’ Nicholas said. ‘Or fulmar. Very easy to repel people with fulmar. Were you expecting Simon or someone?’

  Her eyes were jökull colour, and patient. ‘This is how I always retire. You wouldn’t know.’

  ‘And that is true,’ Nicholas said. ‘I have just told Mistress Clémence that we shall be leaving for Flanders by the end of April. I have to see to the business and settle Astorre.’

  ‘I hope you asked her if the arrangement would suit her?’ Gelis said. ‘She is an excellent woman.’

  ‘I did, and she has agreed. You have no option,’ said Nicholas, taking a seat uninvited. ‘Apart from anything else, I hear that the good vicomte de Ribérac has set free his impetuous son. Simon could be back in Scotland by May.’

  The artifical surprise covered, he thought, a real one. She said, ‘I thought you didn’t mind if we resumed our affair?’

  The doublet irked his bruised skin: he pulled open some of the buttons and relaxed, clasping the cords of his shirt to his chest. ‘I thought he wanted to kill you,’ he said. ‘But you may have more recent advice. In any case, I’d prefer to be present. In the same country, that is. Otherwise people would watch you too closely.’

  ‘So he and I have to wait until winter?’ she said. ‘That seems a little unfair, after last night. Who was she?’

  ‘The connection of a frequenting man. No one you know. It was all done, as I said, for your benefit. May we move on to some planning?’

  ‘You are lying. Why?’ she said.

  In fact, he was not. He stared at her until he thought her colour changed. Then he said, ‘Why was that so important? It doesn’t trouble me when you lie. You detest Simon, and if you aren’t frightened of him, you ought to be. You made him look like an idiot.’

  ‘But you’ll protect me when we come back in the autumn. Don’t you know,’ Gelis said, ‘how hatred and love come together? It might be dangerous.’

  ‘I know,’ he said. It was a general affirmation. It amused him to see that it made her first flush, and then become very pale. Then he turned the talk to the humdrum matters of their exit from Scotland and he saw her engage her intelligence. She understood the importance of Burgundy to their future. The supreme importance, if the Duke were to obtain the sovereignty that he wished, and the Emperor were to support him. Then bankers would come into their own.

  At the end he stood with an effort. ‘Thank you. I must go to bed.’

  ‘You are short of sleep.’ She rose also. ‘How do you know you can afford a new house in Bruges? Beltrees must have emptied your purse, and I don’t see the King rushing to repay your investments in Scotland.’

  ‘Ah. You saw Beltrees,’ he said. ‘I am sure Bel displayed all its advantages. How shall I pay? You forget the stockfish.’

  ‘But,’ Gelis said, ‘that depends on the market at Bruges. And Bruges is nervous over the Hanse, and might even refuse a cargo of pirated fish which has deprived the Hanse and cheated the King of Denmark of his taxes.’ Her voice was mild, and her eyes were jökull colour again.

  He said, ‘Bruges refuse me?’

  ‘Bruges. Reinforced by the opinion of one of the Duke of Burgundy’s principal councillors, and of the new Conservator of the Scots Privileges in Bruges. A recent appointment by James your young royal friend,’ Gelis explained. She refolded the robe at her breasts and shook out her sleeves with elegant care. ‘Conveying, as you know, remarkable powers and perquisites. Stephen Angus will continue at Middleberg, but the new Conservator at Bruges is Adorne.’

  Cold as jökull ice. Hot as the inferno beneath it. He said slowly, ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘It was arranged as he left. The documents have been drawn up to ratify it. Everything you now sell between Scotland and Bruges will be subject to the Baron Cortachy’s scrutiny. You have lost your Flemish market.’

  ‘But,’ he said, ‘Bruges is not the only market in Flanders. May I help you with that?’

  Her fingers fell away from her gown as he settled it. He smoothed her sleeves and stood back to admire them. He said, ‘The van Borselens have very good taste. It was really quite a coup to marry into them … Did I say I was selling in Bruges? Did I say indeed that our house would be in Bruges? Perhaps you didn’t know that I had a bureau in Antwerp?’

  ‘No,’ she said. She backed and sat on a cushioned chest, frowning.

  ‘And a small staff, and a warehouse, and a bodyguard. I arranged to deliver my stockfish to Antwerp. The buyers are waiting. Ships will move them to France and to Spain, and will come back with wine and salt, some of it mine. And meantime, the Merrybuttocks will return, to be transformed into The Lion.’

  He saw her seeking wildly for the flaw. She said, ‘He couldn’t pay for it. The King couldn’t pay for it now.’

  ‘So he has just told me,’ he said.

  ‘And so?’

  Watching her, he was sorry, but not greatly sorry. She knew him well. She already understood, without knowing how, that he had eluded her. He could read her, as she could read him. He said, ‘He paid me in lands and a title. Beltrees is a barony.’

  There was a long silence. She said, ‘From when?’

  ‘There will be a ceremony. You will take part. So will Jordan.’

  She said, ‘Bel said you would do that.’

  ‘Bel might well guess. She dissipated all my liquid assets. Isn’t it lucky,’ Nicholas said, ‘that you didn’t divorce me? Now look what has happened.’

  She stood up. ‘I won’t stop,’ she said.

  ‘Of course you won’t,’ Nicholas said. ‘That is why I came back.’

  The safe, mediocre span in the middle, which didn’t tear you to pieces. Neither of them would stop, however minor the tussle might seem on some scales. At the same time, even though it was minor, he felt the wrench, as he always did, when he left.

  The ceremony he had spoken of took place before the end of the month, on the day that his new ship from Danzig sailed into Leith roads. She was the size and weight of the Unicorn and the Pruss Maiden and more modern than either. Her name, as Jordan spelled out, was the Fleury.

  Her owner boarded her bearing a different name: Nicholas de Fleury, Lord Beltrees. The formal ceremony of investiture at the Abbey merged, later, into the informal ceremony at sea of christening and departure. John had the honour of taking her out as her first master, and Moriz sailed as her chaplain. They lost a tide, because the young royals could not be persuaded to leave.

  In the end, they tumbled into the boats as the Fleury prepared to raise sail. Willie Roger lingered behind.

  Nicholas said, ‘I’m not taking you. I’ll be back in the autumn. For God’s sake, I’ll keep telling you all I hear about your Chapel Royal money and Coldingham.’

  Roger said, ‘It isn’t that. I’ve talked to Moriz and John. You’re taking Robin.’

  ‘Well?’ Nicholas said. He was taking Robin, because he wouldn
’t inflict on Robin the mortal wound of leaving him behind. He was taking Gelis and the child and his nurses. He did not need to concern himself with Kathi, for she had already left Scotland, and before that she had been ill, and under the jealous guardianship of the Prioress. Halfway through April, word had come that Sersanders had found a ship to take him from Bessastadir straight home to Bruges. A few days later, she had got herself a passage to Flanders, and the Priory had reluctantly released her. She had only been waiting to hear from her brother.

  Willie Roger said, ‘You are all together. You’ll all be together in Flanders. It’s bad. You need to get rid of Iceland.’

  ‘What?’ Nicholas said.

  ‘Or you’ll let it blunt you, like Africa. I thought we’d write plays together,’ said Willie.

  ‘You did. Well, get in some better beer, and I might. What makes you think I don’t want to?’ said Nicholas. Luckily, Roger never knew when he was lying. He didn’t want music. He was plagued enough by the sounds in his head. Gunnar, chanting from inside his burial mound. The voice of Thorfinn on the wind: a better sailor than any of us. Old loyalties, old battles, old dreams.

  He pushed Willie along to the steps. ‘Get off, or they’ll rescind all your sinecures. I’m not going to Flanders to mourn over Iceland. I’m going to fight for Duke Charles, and tell King Louis how lucky he is, and persuade Henne Memling he’s got a picture all wrong, and arrange a welcome for Julius.’

  Gelis had heard him. ‘Julius is coming to Bruges?’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Nicholas. ‘Bringing with him the widowed Gräfin Anna von Hanseyck, part-owner of the vessel on which we now stand. Iceland is forgotten. Why should a man visit Iceland, unless to sift through the shades of the underworld, looking for his next incarnation?’