On the third day, in a fashion no one had contemplated, the doubt was resolved. An English privateer, foundering off Dunbar, had been seized as a prize and brought into harbour, where it was discovered that this ship also was returning from Iceland. If the state of the Unicorn was bad, it was a wonder that the Charity had stayed afloat at all, with her strakes splintered with balls, her sails patched and both her boats missing.
Half her crew was missing as well. According to Jo Babbe, her master, she had sent two boats to make a peaceable landing on Iceland, when she had been set upon by the crews of two skiffs from the Svipa, the vessel of Nicholas de Fleury. After some severe fighting, the Englishmen had been tied up and handed to Icelanders, the two boats confiscated, and a message sent to the Hull ship advising her to get off at once, reinforced by some shots from a cannon. Without a proper crew, they had been unable to respond and without boats they could hardly go fishing. They had turned and sailed off, intending to demand compensation from the Banco di Niccolò.
‘They’ll be lucky,’ had said Govaerts, arriving from the Bank to report to the lady Gelis. The words sounded more defiant than flippant. He was nervous. Mistress Clémence, who had been asked to remain in the room, saw her employer observe it and brace herself. The child was not present.
Then the lady Gelis said, ‘You did not come to tell me only that.’
‘No,’ Govaerts said. ‘I have more news. I should not have believed it, except that I went and saw for myself. The ship, the Charity, is covered with ash.’
‘It happens,’ Gelis said. ‘They use Greek fire in fighting.’
‘Covered with ash,’ Govaerts said. ‘Not consumed. It began to fall as they sailed south, so heavily that the sky was black as night, and they could not see one another twelve inches apart. Before it fell, they saw the mountains of Iceland explode. The flames rose so high, Babbe says, that they saw them two hundred miles off. They fled because of that, not only because of the Svipa.’
‘And the Svipa?’ Gelis asked.
‘Remained behind with the Hanse ship, the Pruss Maiden. They were waiting, it seemed, for word from on shore.’
‘Both of them?’ Gelis said.
‘Babbe didn’t want to confess it, but apparently both the Svipa and the Hanse ship had sent to attack him on shore. Both ships were still in good order. If they had fought one another, the fight had been stopped, or resolved.’
There was only one question to ask, and for a long time, she did not ask it. Then she said, ‘For whom were they waiting?’
By then, Mistress Clémence knew that the reply was one that Govaerts was unwilling to give. She did not realise, until she heard it, how bad it was going to be.
Robin of Berecrofts had taken part in the fighting on shore and when it was done, had ridden inland with men from both ships. For M. de Fleury had not been on the Svipa, nor had the girl and her brother. All of them were in the interior of the mainland with the Hanseatic master Paúel Benecke. And they were still there when the mountains exploded.
‘I am sorry,’ Govaerts said. ‘But there has to be hope. The ships would not leave until M. de Fleury and the others were found.’
‘But the ships themselves may have burned,’ Gelis said. Then she said, ‘When will we know?’
Govaerts said, ‘Eric Mowat is on Orkney. As soon as he is sure.’
‘How will Orkney know something is wrong?’ Gelis said, and then stopped. ‘Ah. The ash.’
‘Swift as the wind,’ Govaerts said. ‘I have to ask you. Would you like to come to the Canongate house, and wait there for news? Your rooms are there. The Berecrofts family are waiting as well.’
Clémence sewed, jabbing and jabbing. Then the Lady said, ‘I think that would be best, of course. Thank you. Jordan can stay here with Mistress Clémence and Pasque. Do you not think so?’
She was asking Clémence her views, and Clémence agreed, her voice quiet. The child was her charge, not its mother. And she thought, once the word travelled west, that she might have company in any case very soon.
Because Govaerts was steward and manager both, the house and bureau of the Banco di Niccolò in the Canongate was as impeccable when Gelis came there that Friday as it had been five weeks before, on the February day when Nicholas and young Robin had left. Before she went to her rooms, she walked with Govaerts through all the offices, showing Nicholas’s household and clerks that she was not distraught, but was waiting with patience for news, as they were. Showing them, in case they feared for the future, that she was not merely a cipher.
She had thought, of course, of what would happen if Nicholas was killed before their mutual game came to an end. She had achieved some of the objectives she had set herself that wedding night, awaiting his step on the stairs, although they hardly mattered if he were not alive. There were some hurdles, some traps she had prepared and fiercely wished him to face. Now he might not. She could not complain. She had taken a gamble that the game could be played, rounded off, and completed; if it did not do that, she had lost everything. But then, so had he.
She thought of the girl Katelijne, and the rumours. The priest was there, and could scotch them, but she was sorry, for the girl’s sake. She was sorry, for several reasons, that the girl had gone to Iceland at all. But she was certain beyond possible doubt that Nicholas would neither have touched her, nor allowed her to be touched. It shook her sometimes to see proved, over and over, that in this, the one glorious indulgence he had always permitted himself, Nicholas could will himself to abstain.
There had been only one exception she knew of, and that had been Simon’s wife, her own sister. But Kathi was not Katelina. Kathi was bright. She liked to parade her independence, but she would never – could never arouse him. Gelis was indifferent to Kathi. Her anger sprang from the knowledge that twelve years ago Nicholas would have abstained, had the young Katelina not possessed the looks and the art to seduce him. Katelina, however, could not have kept him.
She did not sleep. She heard the cavalcade as it swept under her window from Leith Wynd, and even heard the crash of Berecrofts’s door as it was flung open. Then it was upon her own door that someone was hammering.
Archie of Berecrofts stood outside, with Govaerts half dressed beside him. Archie said, ‘There is a ship in the road. They think it may be the Svipa. Dress. I’ll take you.’
She dressed, and had to stop to retch even though there was no food in her stomach. She had thought she did not care. She was wrong.
The ship was still in the road by mid-morning, when she reached Leith along with Archie and Govaerts and all those who could be spared from the Banco di Niccolò. It was raining, with heavy gusts from the west – one of the reasons why the vessel was sheltering in the midst of the estuary. A boat waited to take them all out there to join it, so this time she did not have to play her part for the crowds on the jetty. Even if royalty came, she would see Nicholas first.
The crossing was rough. Govaerts was sallow. Berecrofts said, ‘I’m sorry. Will the motion disturb you?’
He, too, looked sick, but with the pallor of strain, emphasised by his natural fairness. She thought of Simon, and of Simon’s heir Henry, and compared that spoiled brat with the thoughtful boy that Robin had become; and the sickly wooer in Flanders with this kind and courteous young merchant, no older than Nicholas, but free of that furious dedication to excess.
She reassured him, and smiled as best she could while she kept her eyes on the ship. A three-masted caravel, heavily down in the water, with two ships’ boats also sluggish behind her. Men in the rigging. Men lining the poop, the forecastle, the waist, but too far away to be recognised. Then beside her, Archie suddenly moved. He said, ‘It is the Svipa.’
A moment later he said, ‘He is there. Robin is there.’
She was not looking at Robin. Her eyelids fluttered. Her eyes, blurred with rain, peered at each glimpse of the ship, with its beading of blockish forms and pale faces. Her gaze, but not her mind, registered the red hair of le Grant, the
short priest, the big Scandinavian Crackbene, the beardless young face, yes, of Robin, the flying hair of a girl. They had pulled off their caps and were waving them. Her mind and eyes together saw Nicholas, standing at the furthest end of the poop. He had not uncovered his hair but she recognised him, as she had recognised him under the archway at Hesdin. And she knew, distant from each other as they were, that his eyes were on her boat, and that his gaze was only for her.
She pressed her hand on Archie’s shoulder, and stood. On the ship Nicholas hauled off and semaphored with his hat to no one in particular. Then he made a single extravagant gesture which seemed to include all his people, the ship, and the cockboats.
The gesture said, Success, riches, victory. His face, and the faces of all they could see, now coming fast into focus said, We are tired to death, and we have seen things we do not yet wish to speak of. But we are here.
She sent Archie first up the ladder. Moving past the boy, entwined with his father, she stood before Nicholas, and, as once before, found herself without words. This time, returning her gaze, he did not taunt her. Instead, placing his hands on her shoulders, he bent his lips to her mouth, then removed them. He had not kissed her on the lips for four years. He had embraced her only once since their marriage. ‘Ey’, he said, with one dimple.
Behind him she saw the girl Katelijne, her eyes twinkling. There was no malice in her face, or in that of Nicholas. His lips had been chilled; the contact had been of the slightest. Some sort of token, a gesture, a wry joke. Except for the look in his eyes.
They crowded together for the sail into Leith. The ship ploughed into the waves, and everyone shouted. Listening, Gelis learned something at least of what had happened in the north. The role of the Unicorn was not entirely made clear, nor did the sardonic references to the Maiden’s Paúel Benecke in any way agree with what Martin had told her. It seemed that Benecke had also been rescued, and the two ships had sailed for some time in consort. According to Robin, they had played competitive havoc when storm-stayed in Orkney. She stopped listening after a while, the better to scrutinise Nicholas.
He had not been desperately ill, and he was not seriously damaged, it was clear. But eight days before, she did not need the priest to inform her, he had not been capable of sailing this ship. And the girl Sersanders, despite her animation, was visibly weak.
Her brother, it seemed, was still with the Icelanders. ‘He is safe. They will send him back with some ship. You didn’t bring Jordan?’ Nicholas asked.
They were temporarily alone; the ship was preparing to anchor. She was herself again, too. She said in a low voice, ‘You don’t know what has happened?’
He was watching Crackbene, Eric Mowat. He transferred his attention. ‘Don’t trouble,’ he said. ‘I know Jordan has been ill, but not gravely so.’
Unchastened, she returned to her usual voice. ‘It was the water-pox. He’s better, but house-bound. Will you come to the High Street?’
‘Later. Would you wait for me there? There are some things I must do.’
She understood. His cargo was fish for the Low Countries, and the faster the delivery, the higher the price it would fetch. Victualling and repairs would have to start straight away, so that the Svipa could set off tomorrow. She said, ‘The Svipa. A suitably menacing appellation.’
‘I know. Childish,’ he said. ‘I decided to change it last week to the Merrybuttocks. We held a ceremony of re-dedication off Nólsoy.’
‘Oh,’ Gelis said. ‘It doesn’t seem much of a change. Will it translate, do you suppose, into Venetian?’
‘It won’t have to,’ Nicholas said. ‘It’s staying in Scotland. The King has promised to buy it after this shipment. He’s always wanted a fleet. He’ll probably call it The Lion.’
‘You don’t want it?’ she exclaimed.
‘I don’t need it,’ he said very reasonably. ‘I should have the Danzig ship soon, Merrybuttocks Two or Four, and they’re building me more in the Arsenal.’
His gaze had shifted to the shore, where she saw a flag had appeared. As once before, Alexander Albany had rushed down to meet him. She saw Crackbene was grinning.
Enlightenment dawned. She said, ‘You’re not coming to Edinburgh at all. You’re going to celebrate your arrival all night at the King’s Wark, or Lamb’s.’
He half pulled a face, but his eyes were still elsewhere: on flaming-haired John, on the Russian oddity and his son, on the infamous Dane. ‘We have something to celebrate,’ he said.
‘And spend the rest of the night in a bawdy house?’
Now he was paying more heed. He said, ‘Leith does have the best. And really, I am thinking of you, as you noticed. I hope to return to my patriarchal commitments shaved, clean, freshly attired, and professionally reduced to that state which will least discommode you. Do you mind?’
‘I am glad to hear it,’ she said. ‘Will one night be enough?’
Father Moriz returned with her to Edinburgh, carrying Katelijne Sersanders on the saddle before him. Behind her rode Archie of Berecrofts, his voice lifted, as if in protest, to Robin, his son. He said, ‘I am proud of you!’
‘I couldn’t stop them,’ said Robin.
The Svipa, now the Merrybuttocks (Nicholas having spoken the actual truth), sailed with Crackbene the following day, leaving behind it a number of persons in precarious health. Among them was the musician Will Roger, who had added himself to the festivities at nightfall; and who now took Nicholas under his charge.
‘When is your first meeting?’
It was then an hour after noon. ‘Now,’ Nicholas said.
‘Who with?’
‘With the King.’
‘Sandy will tell him. When he sees Sandy, he’ll know not to expect you. Do you know he’s written to the Pope about suppressing Coldingham Priory? I’ll get my choir. You’ll get my choir. Never mind. Do you want to go home, or to your bureau? Do you want Govaerts to report to you first?’
‘He has,’ Nicholas said. ‘He brought me clothes, too. Willie, would you just say nothing and get me up to the Castle? I want to change in your rooms, and drink all your beer, if you have any.’
‘Beer?’ said Willie.
‘I got used to beer,’ Nicholas said shortly. ‘The sophistications of travel.’
His protector’s silence lasted all of ten minutes.
‘Do you want to stop?’
‘No,’ said Nicholas.
Seven minutes.
‘Talking of beer. Was it true you became friends with Paúel Benecke?’
‘Yes,’ said Nicholas. ‘Apart from the fact that we each had a good try at killing the other.’
‘Oh,’ said Will Roger. ‘Maybe you won’t get your Danzig ship, then.’
‘Maybe I will,’ Nicholas said. ‘If he knows what’s good for him.’
‘Oh,’ said Will Roger.
Five minutes.
‘Was that true what you did to the Hull ship? What did you call them? The Chinchins?’
‘I didn’t fight the Hull ship. John and Moriz.’
‘Whoever. They took away their cocks and their fokkes and handed the crews to an Icelandic harridan who’d already captured and kept English prisoners?’
‘As John said. Willie, I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘You wouldn’t let me play my drums either. What’s wrong with telling the story? You’ve had a great victory. You’ll have to talk about it up at the Castle.’
‘You didn’t see it,’ Nicholas said.
‘John described it. You all did. You saw off the Hanse; you saw off the English; you nearly saw off the Vatachino. And you come back with a treasure in stockfish. Why not bang your own drum and mine?’
‘Because God’s drums were better,’ Nicholas said.
There was a silence. Surprisingly, Roger had understood. He said, ‘You mean when the mountains exploded? But they all got away. They had warning. It wouldn’t harm anyone. A few fish.’
‘They fled where they could,’ Nicholas said. ‘Our sh
ips carried them, too. But the old and the sick and the young wouldn’t all get away. No one knows where the lava is going to burst out, or which way the rivers will flow, or how the scalding water will fall from the glacier, and where it will pour out to sea. When the ash comes, it sets light to everything. The sheep burst into flames. Women run about with buckets over their heads, trying to herd in the beasts. But even the families that we saved couldn’t take their livestock with them. And when the water enters the sea, the fish will die too.’
‘Nicholas?’ Roger said.
Once he couldn’t start. Now he couldn’t stop. ‘They say, after the last time, that the rivers and sea were full of boiled bodies, fish and human, jostled together. So there will be no fishing this season, and no moss and no hay and no grazing, therefore no sheep and no cattle for milk and for meat, and no horses to load up or ride on. And they can’t expect any help from King Christian of Denmark, who has had to pawn away Orkney and Shetland already, and who can’t even protect them from Jo Babbe.’
Roger said, ‘Would he sell Iceland to Scotland? Is that what you are going to suggest to King James?’
His voice had become very quiet, for which Nicholas was thankful. He let time pass, and not only because he was feeling unwell. Eventually he said, ‘Scotland couldn’t afford it.’
Then Willie Roger looked round and said, ‘Well, you’d better get down, if that’s what beer does to you, and get rid of it.’ He waited and said, ‘What’s wrong? It wasn’t your fault. There is nothing you can do for them.’
‘No,’ said Nicholas angrily. The anger was not against Willie Roger but himself, because when he made a plan, he liked to stick to it.
In honour of a few of his other plans, he sent a message, before he presented himself at Court, to Mistress Clémence at the house in the High Street. At the Castle, he was taken immediately to the monarch’s private apartments in David’s Tower. He was received in the room with the canopied chair and grandiose fireplace, generally used to impress personal heralds and foreign magnates of the medium rank.
To Lie With Lions: The Sixth Book of the House of Niccolo Page 51
