To Lie With Lions: The Sixth Book of the House of Niccolo

by Dorothy Dunnett

  ‘And, presumably, poor Martin,’ said the fat man agreeably. ‘I have to thank you for that satisfaction, at least. Henry, do you understand what is happening?’

  The boy had been fidgeting in the uncertain light. Now he came to his grandfather’s side. ‘He is a coward,’ he said.

  ‘Your cousin? We have established that,’ said Jordan de Ribérac. ‘But if you are to represent the future of this family, you must endeavour to recognise when it is threatened. This man beat you, and drove your father from Court. Do you understand what he has done to your country?’

  The boy was only twelve. He said, ‘He can’t go back, he told lies. Anyway, you’ll kill him, grandfather. And we still have Kilmirren.’

  ‘Ah, but he is clever,’ said the vicomte de Ribérac. ‘If King Louis demands it, Kilmirren may be confiscated, and Scotland closed to us all. At best, the land will share in the country’s impoverishment. We no longer have French estates to support us.’

  ‘But you have Burgundy,’ said Gelis suddenly. ‘If you have told the Duke what has happened. And once he knows that Nicholas is secretly pensioned by France.’

  The fat man sighed. Nicholas was smiling. The fat man said, ‘The thought, of course, had crossed my mind. Unfortunately, your astute husband thought of it too. The Duke considers Nicholas to be his own secret agent with Louis. He has offered me a small sum for my counsel, on condition that I retire to my Madeira estates and do nothing that threatens his favourite. So where, madame, will you live? You have lost your home in Scotland, it seems.’

  Gelis said, ‘As Dr Tobias has said, there is no proof as yet.’

  ‘I think there is,’ said Jordan de Ribérac. ‘I think Nicholas de Fleury has proved himself capable of something that very few men would have attempted, never mind achieved. Whatever else may not be true, it is certain that you must now admit defeat. He has won.’

  ‘No,’ she said.

  Tobie said, ‘For God’s sake. You can still talk of a game?’ His voice shook. She saw that, at last, he was beginning to believe what Nicholas had accomplished.

  The vicomte looked at the doctor. ‘You would rather talk about the destruction of Scotland? Let me say it again. For Nicholas, Scotland was part of the game. It was the master-work which was intended to prove – which has proved – his supremacy. I judge him the winner in this. I condemn him on all other grounds, as any fair-minded man must. What was his prize to have been?’

  To have been. Nicholas said, ‘That is between myself and the lady.’

  She couldn’t tell if his colour had changed. His expression had not. Despite the scuffle, he looked immaculate, as he always was in court dress. The knots and embroidery glinted, and although his head was bare, the trim, snuff-coloured hair was of the kind that clung to its place unless soaked, or made damp with exertion. He was not sporting, today, the broad golden chain and pendant of the Unicorn, identical to the one Adorne wore; identical to the one the King wore in Scotland. The other James, who had not been loved.

  De Ribérac remarked, ‘You are going to die. She will never know, unless you tell her.’

  ‘I think she knows,’ Nicholas said. ‘As I think I know what her choice would have been. It might even have been the same thing.’

  He was looking directly towards her, but she could not see through the twinkling light. The fat man said, ‘My lady? You may compose yourself. You are in no danger from me. Indeed, you may come with my fee if you wish.’

  Nicholas moved, and then stopped. The soldier behind him eased back. ‘Your fee?’ Gelis said.

  ‘Do they not pay judges in Zeeland?’ the vicomte said. ‘My fee is my namesake, your son. I am taking Jordan de Fleury. You may come.’

  ‘Where are you taking him?’ Henry said. The nurse was sitting up, her hand on the child’s arm. Henry said, ‘Are you going to beat him? May I come?’

  Jodi was whimpering. The lights burned. Her eyes cleared. Outside, the noise was as great, and the yellow panes were dappled with shadows. Gelis heard a distant, irritated voice that she knew. Nicholas, apparently deaf, was looking at Jodi. Behind their son, the knife glittered.

  Gelis said, ‘It is time to stop this,’ and stood up.

  The soldiers stirred. The fat man, watching intently, waved them back. He said, ‘I agree. You have decided to come with me, and your son?’

  ‘We will thrash him. We will kill him,’ said Henry. The fair face was anxious.

  ‘I think not,’ said Gelis. The document was tucked in her sleeve. She knew, drawing it out, that now she had the sudden attention of Nicholas, and also of Tobie. Jodi began to sob wildly, and the nurse quieted him, watching over his head.

  The vicomte said, ‘What have you there?’

  ‘No!’ said Tobie.

  Nicholas looked at him. Then he faced back to Gelis. He said, ‘Put it away. You have made a mistake.’

  ‘What is it?’ said the vicomte again.

  ‘Something I got from a priest,’ Gelis said. She spoke to Nicholas. ‘How can it be a mistake when you don’t know what it is? And anyway, what does it matter? You are going to die anyway. I have to think of the future.’

  Tobie said, ‘Gelis. Who else may die?’

  She said, ‘Not Jordan, at least.’

  The fat man said, ‘Give me that paper.’

  Nicholas said, ‘Please.’ His face was wholly without colour.

  Gelis said, ‘Have I won?’

  ‘Yes, you have won,’ Nicholas said. ‘Name anything. Anything. Anything but this.’

  ‘She hasn’t!’ said Henry shrilly. ‘Grandfather? We’re going to thrash the boy, aren’t we?’ He tugged at the vicomte.

  Mistress Clémence said, with an air of total veracity, ‘Your grandfather isn’t going to thrash your little cousin, Master Henry. He is going to bring him up as his heir. He told me so.’

  Henry seized his grandfather’s arm, and received a blow which sent him staggering back. ‘Madame! Give me that paper! Take it from her!’ said Jordan de Ribérac.

  Gelis, lifting her arm, hurled the crumpled ball to the floor.

  Henry recovered his balance and, tugging his knife from its sheath, drove himself across the small room at his cousin. The soldier behind Jodi jumped out to stop him. Mistress Clémence flung Jodi bodily round and thrust him into the arms of the doctor. The vicomte, ignoring all that was happening, stooped to the paper as Nicholas pitched himself forward, followed by the soldiers behind him.

  Gelis stood quite still, and watched. You could say that Nicholas had nothing to lose, but he didn’t throw away any hope he might have of life. He twisted as he fell, avoiding the plunging arms of the soldiers. He even got to the document and, crumpling it into his fist, rolled aside, drawing it under his body. Gelis saw Jordan de Ribérac stand, his sword singing out of its scabbard. She saw the soldiers beginning to close. She heard Henry squealing and struggling, and the shrieks of Jodi in Tobie’s arms. And she heard the crash as Mistress Clémence flung open the shutters and Tobie thrust the child out, while his sedate nurse, cap askew, screamed, and screamed, and screamed again into the night. And, lastly, she heard John le Grant’s answering shout.

  There were three men struggling still to contain Nicholas: one of them was the vicomte, his blade in his hand. Now he straightened and called. The man holding Henry released him. The rest began to recoil towards the door to the front of the house, all but the two who were wrestling, grunting, with Nicholas. The fat man dismissed one of these with a nod, and as the other knelt back out of range, the vicomte lifted his sword with both hands. Tobie started running, Gelis behind. The fat man spoke once, and then began to bring down the blade.

  Gelis saw that Nicholas, attempting to rise, was looking upwards into de Ribérac’s face, and that the fat man was returning the gaze. The next moment, Tobie crashed into Jordan de Ribérac, sending the unwieldy bulk staggering, and followed up with his fists. And immediately, the window and anteroom became thronged with determined men and bright steel.

 
John le Grant thrust past Gelis towards Tobie with four men at his back. His sword clashed once with the vicomte’s, and then the fat man retreated, his blade flashing, his henchmen about him. The place where Nicholas had gone down was swarming with people: she couldn’t see what he was doing. Mistress Clémence had disappeared: a moment later Gelis heard her voice outside, speaking to Jodi. Steel clattered. More men clambered in and buffeted past her. She wondered where John had found them. The candles guttered and streamed, and the room stank of sweat and leather and blood.

  From the middle distance, the voice of Nicholas, in the irritated accent of one who is tired of repeating himself, said, ‘Let them go! Let them go, you bloody fools! What are you going to charge them with?’ The sound of fighting gradually came to a halt, and the room started to empty.

  Gelis remained in the seat where she had dropped, on hearing that unmistakable voice. She crouched, gripping her arms, but the stomach pangs and the shivering continued. The room she sat in became gradually silent, as it had been when she was waiting for Nicholas. Finally, she was alone. She sat up, with an effort. She saw that the door was still open, and someone was standing there, holding it. She had no doubt who it was.

  ‘Oh, there you are,’ Nicholas said. He closed the door, and then smoothly locked it. He said, ‘Don’t be afraid. I don’t want interruptions, that’s all.’

  She nodded, and then said, ‘Yes,’ because the room was so dark. She watched him coming towards her, picking his way among the fallen stools.

  Nicholas said, ‘He has gone. It seems to be over.’

  She said, with an effort, ‘And no one has died.’

  ‘You sound disappointed,’ he said. He had taken Jordan de Ribérac’s chair. His shadowy outline reminded her of the fat man’s.

  Her shivering stopped. She said, ‘You could have had him killed.’ She thought of de Ribérac, fighting his way to the door. She thought of the single strange look that he and Nicholas had exchanged.

  Nicholas said, ‘He wanted me to.’

  She said, ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know. Because he hates me so much. I should have had to, if he had taken the affidavit.’

  ‘He didn’t? Why didn’t he?’ Gelis said.

  ‘He couldn’t, without taking me. I swallowed it,’ Nicholas said.

  Mask after mask. This one was smiling. She said, ‘You couldn’t have. It was vellum.’

  ‘No, I couldn’t have. But he thought I had. Now you are going to burn it.’ He had pulled the thing from his shirt: now he threw it to her.

  She said, ‘You knew what it was.’

  ‘An attestation that Henry is my son by your sister. I assume Tobie gave Godscalc a copy. I didn’t know.’

  ‘Godscalc gave it me when he was dying. It was only a copy,’ Gelis said.

  ‘But enough to tell de Ribérac that the hope of his house is my son,’ Nicholas said. He paused and said, ‘I thought the page would be blank. But you threw it down, so I knew that it couldn’t be. Why, Gelis?’

  ‘Why not? Why not treat Fat Father Jordan to some of the anguish he has dealt out to others? Why not pull that spoiled brat from his shelter, so that he can’t threaten Jodi?’

  ‘He would have died,’ Nicholas said. ‘Henry wouldn’t have lived to grow up: not after that.’

  ‘I wanted to see if you would try to stop it,’ she said.

  There was a little silence. He said, ‘I was going to die, anyway.’

  ‘But you didn’t,’ she said.

  Another silence. ‘Apparently not,’ Nicholas said. ‘So what are we going to talk about now? The fact that you have won? It is genuine, this time. No deception. I remember begging in very real earnest.’

  Suddenly, she couldn’t bear it any longer. She rose, and walked to the window and closing the shutters, turned and looked at him. At first glance, even yet, you would think he had been sitting at ease, drinking wine with his friends. The fine black doublet, buttoned up to the throat, had resisted all the mishandling: only the cuffs below it were torn, and there was a slash in his hose, showing the skin below spotted with blood.

  She said, ‘Stop acting. Stop pretending. The game is nothing, is finished, is void. You wrote a script for the destruction of Scotland and carried it out, just to show you could do it. And because I was your reason, you’ve forced me to share your guilt, too. You’ve destroyed everything else, not just Scotland. And just when …’ She stopped, on a sob. She said, ‘What demon gets into you, Nicholas? What demon from Hell?’

  ‘It was your challenge,’ he said. ‘On our wedding night.’

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I hated Katelina … I thought I hated Katelina and you. I was afraid of you. I am afraid of you, did you know that? So I hurt you, and you hurt me in return. But we were armed and prepared for it. We – I was playing for something of value, and I think that you thought so, too. But these people – Bel and Robin and Kathi, and Betha and Phemie, and Willie Roger and Sandy Albany and his sisters, and the little Queen and all the merchants, the singers, the people who worked with you on the Play – they weren’t part of our vendetta. And they were not even strangers. They were friends. They were people who loved you. And you sacrificed them all on the – on the wheels of your satanic ingenuity.’

  ‘I suppose so. St Vincent,’ he said. ‘I’d begun to notice I’d gone rather far. I did try to surrender the game. Now I have. Could you consider Scotland as something apart? Something I had to do for myself? Against Jordan de Ribérac and his family, not because of you?’

  ‘Was it?’ she said. ‘Or wasn’t it both? Wasn’t it your trial piece, your masterpiece which had to be perfect, no matter what? And mightn’t you do it again, just as blindly, somewhere else?’

  ‘It was beautiful,’ Nicholas said. ‘Wheels are beautiful. I probably should. But it was against the others, against the St Pols, to begin with. You didn’t harm us as they did.’

  ‘Us?’ she said. She tried in vain to study his face in the gloom, thinking of something that the vicomte had said. That trollop, his mother.

  Nicholas said, ‘I grew to hate the St Pols, not you. And you changed: you said so. Gelis, what did you want? When we were playing the game, what did you want for your reward?’

  ‘What was your wish?’ she asked. She felt weighed down with grief, like someone speaking alone at a graveside.

  ‘Mine?’ he said. ‘But you know it. To spend my life with one person: with you. To respect you and have your respect; to trust you and deserve the same trust. And by night, to lie at your side, so that I may give her my love, my dear love, ki mon cuer et mon cors a.’

  Who hath my heart and my body.

  He said, ‘And yours?’

  She lifted her wet face from her hands. She said, ‘The same, of course. But you can’t do it. You can’t do it, Nicholas. I thought we were matched, but we’re not. Show me how I can trust you, show me how I can respect you after this.’

  She stopped. She said, ‘No one is innocent. I betrayed you as well. But not on this scale. I cannot live with you. I couldn’t live with you now.’

  The bond was broken. The bond they had each, she believed, thought to be inviolate, no matter what happened. Inviolate even in death, as he had proposed in the wilderness. She had understood his sudden despair. It was as nothing compared with what he had brought on them now. What he had brought on himself.

  There was a long space. He said, ‘Will you take Jodi?’

  She replied with another question. ‘What will you do? Nicholas, they won’t follow you now. None of them.’

  ‘Julius might,’ Nicholas said. She could see him slowly thinking aloud. ‘And Astorre. Not John. Not Tobie, after Volterra. Not Gregorio. Not Diniz. Not … Father Moriz. Not you. Not you. Not you.’

  ‘Not me,’ she said. ‘But we can share Jodi between us.’

  ‘Do you mean it?’ he said. Once, he had disclaimed any interest in a child reared by his wife. It had been part of the game. Then, he had been sure that Gelis would never leav
e him. As she had been sure.

  After a moment he added, ‘Clémence saved us all. Clémence and Tobie.’

  ‘You should thank them,’ she said. ‘Will you stay here? Or not?’

  He said, ‘I had better go. It should be known that the marriage has ended. You will have a better chance on your own.’

  ‘But you will tell me where you are going?’ she said.

  ‘Of course, when I know it. In any case, I shall see you tomorrow. And we have to arrange about Jodi.’ He stopped, and then said, ‘Did you burn the certificate?’

  She said, ‘Watch. I am doing it now. Nicholas, Jodi will never change into someone like Henry. That was Katelina’s doing, not yours.’

  ‘Poor Katelina,’ he said.

  Once, she would have been consumed with resentment. Now she watched the vellum blacken and burn, and then rose and unlocked the door, and went to find and send him their son, with Mistress Clémence.

  He had closed his eyes. Jodi roused him, demanding tearfully from the doorway that his father should see him to bed, while Mistress Clémence, firm as ever, pointed out that other people also grew tired, and that instead, his father would tell him a story.

  Nicholas told him his story, making room for them both in the chair, and stopping to answer the small, whispered questions. Has the boy gone? Is he coming back? Where is the fat man? But after a while, the old familiar tale exerted its power, and when the child spoke at all, it was to repeat an old joke, or an old verse in the usual places. Soon after that, his eyes lifted and fell.

  Nicholas stopped, and smiled at the nurse, and said to Jodi, ‘Bed. When I come back, what would you like me to bring you?’

  ‘Where are you going?’ Jodi said.

  ‘That depends on what you want,’ Nicholas said.

  A little later, Mistress Clémence returned without the child, and took a seat at what could be called a deferential distance. He said, ‘I wanted to thank you.’

  ‘Dr Tobie helped. Will the vicomte return?’

  ‘He is going to Madeira,’ Nicholas said. ‘But I am leaving as well. My wife and I are to part, and the boy will live with his mother, not me. I hope you will find you can stay with her. We owe you a great deal.’