On the way, he had occupied himself with a long, complicated piece of strategy to do with current rates of exchange for gold bullion. Between formidable ladders of numbers, the tracks of his mind kept presenting him with blocks of fragmented poetry. When it first happened, he followed the verses to the end, as his consciousness yielded them. When others took shape in their place, a painful jumble, he forced a return to his numbers.
Now and then, he fell asleep in the saddle: something that could happen in battle-lulls, but rarely elsewhere. This was hardly a battle. All he was doing, in practical terms, was settling a claim over property. He had to pursue a missing object, identify it, and take appropriate action.
He arrived at the convent. The guest-master, gazing slightly past his ear, offered him hot spiced wine, with speeches of welcome.
Refusing, Nicholas asked with equal courtesy after the health of his wife and the child.
‘Ah!’ the guest-master said, glancing past the other ear. ‘But that she must tell you herself. A wife’s prerogative. Shall I send to see if she is ready?’
‘If you would,’ Nicholas said, sipping water. He hated water. One day, when all this was over … For a long time he had been saying: One day, when all this was over. For, of course, it had to be over, one day.
Then he was upstairs, and his escort tapped on a door, and left him as someone remarked, ‘Please come in.’
Please. (‘Bear it? Kill it? Rear it?’) Please was an improvement.
He went in and closed the door behind him. He locked it slowly and, turning, tossed her the key. ‘Unless you want to be interrupted,’ he said.
Regardless of anything, it was her face he looked at first. He had no idea what to expect. Dislike, of course. Probably something very much stronger: hatred, contempt. Possibly fear, although she would disguise that. Or worst of all, juvenile triumph.
But not that, no. She was not juvenile. She had planned it, she had carried it out, she would carry this out. She could do it in several possible ways. He saw, looking at last, that his recollection of her face was quite exact, and that she had chosen to appear firm and calm, but for a hint of impatience.
He looked down then. She wore the gown she had worn, newly landed from Scotland last June, on the day of their sudden betrothal. He remembered the close-cut ellipse of the neck, sedately matched to the beauty – the new-ripened beauty – it covered. He recognised, forcing his thoughts through their channel, the expensive fabric; the excellent seamwork. It fitted now, from bodice to hem, as it had done before.
He said, ‘You must be cold,’ with a calmness equal to hers.
The shutters were closed, and she had brought in extra candles and lamps. Instead of the first hours of a cold winter dawn, it might have been the eve of some extraordinary Feast of the Church. Or a doctor’s tent at the edge of some battle.
It served its purpose, the light. It outlined her body, confirming what the gown had already announced: that she was not thickened with child. It showed next her firm, fair-skinned face and set mouth and pale eyes hardly defined except by their lashes and brows, unexpectedly brown. She plucked her brows, unlike her late sister, and her hairline was fashionably high, the hair light as chaff, and bound and netted as befitted a matron.
She looked like a figure of spiritual authority, rendered upon painted glass. She was five years younger than he was: twenty-four at the most. He could not read her face any longer. He doubted if she could read his.
He had left his cloak below, and his sword, although he had kept his dagger for various reasons. He laid aside his hat and gloves and sat down, as one could say was his right. In a leisurely way, he glanced about him. Then he returned his gaze to where she stood. There was no point in greetings or courtesies: it was a matter of business. He said, ‘Is there news, or should I come another day? I put off several meetings.’
He had set the level: she maintained it. ‘You need not have come at all,’ Gelis said. ‘You walked out of our last conversation. I was disappointed.’
‘You want to resume it?’ Nicholas asked, gently surprised.
She lifted her hand to her cheek. She said, ‘I am only a woman. Perhaps you would strike me again.’
‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘Since it suited your purpose so well the last time. What were you saying when I left? Whatever you want, I shall do it? I came to give you my answer.’
She said, ‘You think the offer still stands?’
‘Offer? I thought,’ he said, ‘it was a promise. In fact, you made the same one a few hours before at an altar. So have you borne a child, Gelis, since we last spoke?’
‘Let me remember,’ she said. This time, she let him hear the anger. He was surprised that she expected him to react.
He said, ‘You know why I have come. I am prepared to bring the child up as mine. I told Gregorio.’
‘I heard,’ she said.
‘So there are arrangements to be made. I cannot discuss them until I know the child exists. We can make this quite brief. It would suit me.’
She stood, looking at him. He realised that of course she had considered, many times over, what his first words would be, and how he would say them. She had not expected, perhaps, how he looked. He knew he looked different. She said, ‘I thought we ought to meet face to face. I wanted to tell you myself. It seems, you see, that I was mistaken. Tragically, there never was any child.’
It was not going to be brief.
He said, ‘Why then did you announce it and stay here?’
‘To escape you,’ she said.
‘I see. So why send for me?’
‘I thought I told you. To see your face. To talk to you in a place where you couldn’t harm me. There never was a child. I was lying. To the world, my doctor made a mistake.’
He said, ‘Then you had better explain it to Simon. Preferably in a room like this with some nuns. Whatever you do, he’ll slaughter your doctor. He thinks you are increasing his stock.’
‘You’ve spoken to Simon about …?’ She stopped herself quickly.
‘As you were hoping, I’m sure. He didn’t think you were lying. And there is Margot as well. Margot would have left if you hadn’t been pregnant. So you were pregnant. Or you have to prove otherwise.’
Move; pause; move; check; move. She said, ‘I could strip for you, but it’s cold. Or there is a small, well-known test for strayed nuns. Infallible, too. Milk is a commodity of which Nature is astoundingly wasteful.’ She waited, her hands usefully poised.
Nicholas reclined where he was. The chair-back was cushioned. He contemplated her for a long time at his leisure until she realised he was going to do nothing. Then she dropped her arms and threw his key on the table. She wore a half-smile.
‘Oh, no, no,’ Nicholas said. ‘I’m not going to assault you; I leave all that to Crackbene. And you would have stripped if there was nothing to see. So there was a child, I deduce, and we can go on, but quicker.’
‘Crackbene?’ she said. ‘What has he done? Has he done something to Simon?’
‘But quicker,’ he repeated with patience.
‘What has happened to Simon?’ she said.
He had thought better of her. She had thought it all through, surely, when planning it. He changed his position with indolence, folding his arms and lifting his chin in the air, so that his eyes almost closed.
‘You want to know the consequences of your scheme? Simon was alive when I left, but I don’t hold out great hopes for his future. Lucia is dead. Henry will die if I say so. Jordan is extremely uneasy, and is likely to come and put to you all the matters we have just been discussing, not excluding the test for lactating nuns. I will not wait any longer. Did you bear a child?’
‘Yes!’ she said. ‘It is dead.’
The lamps flickered. Wheels rumbled out in the yard. Somewhere, someone was singing. His lids remained nearly closed, because he told them to. ‘I don’t believe you,’ he said. ‘You could not hurt me with a dead child.’
‘I lost it!’ she
said.
‘You would have provided a substitute. Without it, there was no point in scheming.’
‘You are so sure,’ she said. ‘So sure you know everything. All right, listen. Listen. Open your eyes, damn you, and listen.
‘I have had a child. Eighteen days ago. It was half-human, sexless, a freak. The nuns will tell you. They buried it.’
His eyes were open by then. He sat up, and clasped his hands gently. He said, ‘Why not say so at once?’
‘It was you,’ Gelis said, ‘who taught me to delay what will give the most pleasure.’
Her eyes were searching and bright. His thoughts flickered, random as lamplight, and then became still, before the brightness of her eyes.
Nicholas drew a breath and said, ‘No!’
He rose before she could stop him. The candles streamed as he passed. He crossed the room to the inner door: the door that was shut but which showed light underneath it. He flung the door open and saw what he had guessed he would see: the invisible witness to all that had happened. Margot, who had deserted Gregorio for this.
She cried out, and he dropped his hand without touching her. Her face was drawn, the natural comeliness dimmed with fear and anxiety. He said, ‘I won’t hurt you. Come in. Will you come in?’
She was looking beyond him, at Gelis. He turned his head to Gelis as well, the standpost hard at his back. Then he straightened and left it. He came back to where Gelis stood. He said, ‘We should each tell the truth. Let Margot come in and sit. Both of you, listen. Lucia is dead, but I didn’t kill her. Henry will come to no harm. Simon is being punished, and is also bearing your punishment: I presume that is what you intended, and I make no apology. Gelis, I shall not kill the child, or renounce it. Neither will Simon claim it. If it exists, there is nothing to fear. So tell me. Is there a child?’
‘Yes,’ said Margot.
Gelis said, ‘No. He is tricking you.’
Nicholas said, ‘Margot?’ The lamps burned; he felt his lips crack.
Margot said, ‘Be fair. I can only tell you a little. A child. A child born alive, and still living.’
‘A son or a daughter?’ he said.
‘No!’ said Gelis again. She rose, her face livid.
Margot said, ‘A son. That is all I can tell you.’
‘That is all,’ Gelis repeated. She stood before Margot, as if her shadow could silence her. ‘That is all. Go away. Nothing more.’
‘And here? He is here?’ said Nicholas softly.
‘No,’ said Gelis. ‘No, he isn’t.’
‘Margot?’ he said.
She stood beside Gelis. She said, ‘No. He isn’t here.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t matter. The place isn’t so large. Look, it is daylight.’
He rose and passed the two women. Margot’s arm was round the girl’s shoulders. He laid hands on the shutters and parted them. Then he set the window ajar and rested beside it, the air on his face. Presently he said, ‘The singing. What is it?’
‘Hymns from the chapel,’ Margot said. She seemed to wait. Then she spoke in a subdued voice. ‘Nicholas? Now we have told you, will you be patient? The baby is young. It isn’t supposed to be born. You can go back reassured. Tell your friends that Gelis is well. You can be certain the baby will thrive.’
‘And then?’ Nicholas said. He did not turn.
‘I dare say you will come again,’ said Gelis’s voice. ‘Then we can discuss what to do.’
‘If you are here,’ Nicholas said. He moved then, and closing the casement, fastened it slowly. ‘And even if you are, the child may not be. Or may have turned into a freak again, or a mistake, or even died of some mysterious illness.’ He turned.
‘It will be here for you,’ Margot said. Gelis said nothing.
‘I intend that he will,’ Nicholas said. ‘And until then, he will be in a place of my choosing. Where is he now?’
‘Not here,’ Gelis said. She had separated from Margot.
‘Where?’ He was looking at Margot.
Gelis said, ‘She doesn’t know. Come again in a month. Come again when he looks more like Simon. Then tell me if you want him.’
Her eyes went past him to the window. Margot said, ‘What is that?’ and came quickly forward. Gelis hesitated and then followed her to the window. He stood aside to let them look out.
The cries were loud by then, and the sound of trampling horses, and of angry voices and blows. The voices were those of the servants, and the blows were struck by the younger grooms, and even by the fist of a nun or two. They were aimed at a troop of forty armed men which had surrounded them and was driving them briskly indoors.
His men were well trained, and obeyed orders. They used their arms in defence; they did their best not to retaliate. The yard emptied. His captain, looking up, nodded.
Gelis said, ‘You broke your word. You weren’t alone.’
He used a dimple, which she could interpret quicker than anyone. ‘You should have had the road better watched. You broke a promise more binding than mine. But for that, I shouldn’t have called them.’
‘What will they do?’ Margot said.
‘Find the child.’
She said, ‘It isn’t here. Gelis sent it away. Don’t distress these good holy people.’
‘I shan’t touch them,’ he said. ‘So long as they tell me where it is.’
‘They don’t know,’ Gelis said.
‘Then I am sorry for them,’ said Nicholas and, walking across, resumed his seat and folded his arms.
‘This has gone too far,’ Margot said. She seized the key and grasping the door, unlocked it and ran from the room. Gelis made no effort to stop her; neither did he.
‘So she doesn’t know about Simon,’ Nicholas said. ‘You wouldn’t care to send her back to Gregorio? This type of campaign is not for the sensitive.’
‘She thinks I need protection,’ said Gelis. ‘What did Simon say about me?’
‘All of it? I stopped him halfway, since there was nothing new in it.’
‘And you fought him.’
‘Over something else, yes. Hand to hand. He was very surprised. Has the child been baptised?’ Below, someone screamed.
‘Yes. I chose a name you would like. What will you do?’ The same person sobbed.
‘I thought I’d mentioned it. You can stay with the child for a month. Then you can present it in Bruges, and come with it to begin family life with me in Scotland.’
‘And Simon?’ she said.
He thought for a moment. ‘I suppose so,’ he said. ‘So long as you are discreet, and he is still there and able. It might be difficult, though. Henry knows all his father’s bedmates, you included. He doesn’t want a brother or sister. In fact, I shouldn’t let Henry too close to – what have you called this son of yours?’
She told him. With all his vaunted percipience, he had never really considered what she might do about that. He was still standing, dumb, when Margot stormed into the room pursued by his complaining captain. Margot strode over to Gelis and, grasping her by the shoulders, pushed her to stand before Nicholas. Margot said, ‘Tell him. Tell him where the child is. Now. And quickly.’
The captain, arriving beside her, was breathless. He said, ‘The Lady’s child isn’t here, my lord. It’s been spirited off to some other estate. But how far away, they won’t say. Sir, have I your leave to persuade them?’
Margot said, ‘Gelis?’ and shook her.
Gelis moved her head from side to side, smiling at Nicholas.
Know your enemy. Know what she will do, and what she will not. Nicholas turned. ‘Persuade them,’ he said.
‘No!’ said Margot, and spun Gelis round by the arm. ‘Tell them what they want to know. Or I shall tell Nicholas everything. And the van Borselen family. I shall break every promise I made you.’
Gelis looked at her. The captain paused, half out of the room. Gelis sighed. Then she said, ‘What a fuss over nothing! What sort of persuasion do you think they would
use? And the moment it began to be painful, someone would blurt out the truth. I don’t know why people always will hurry things.’
Involuntarily, Nicholas laughed. He said, ‘Neither do I. But I think that, by any standards, the time has come to concede. Where is the child, Gelis?’
‘Oh, well,’ she said. She turned to the captain. ‘Two hours away. Write it down. I don’t want to be blamed if you lose the way.’ And, calmly, she gave an address.
Margot released her and sat down.
‘You need some food,’ Nicholas said. He walked out and called down the stairs. The captain passed him, running below with the paper. Outdoor noises penetrated almost at once: shouting and the jingle of harness. From inside, below him, there continued a hubbub of voices and crying. No one came to his summons.
Nicholas swore under his breath, but without very much violence. Instead of calling again, he walked down the stairs and into the heart of the uproar. After a while, he got them to listen. No one had been hurt, and they agreed, after a while, that young women in childbirth had peculiar ideas, and that these were of less importance than the expensive new roof they required for their hospice.
While he was there, he had food sent upstairs, and some ale. He didn’t go upstairs himself, but joined the Abbess in her private parlour, and allowed himself the luxury, all the time she was talking, of one fine glass of wine.
The Abbess said, ‘If you won’t eat, you should sleep. We’ll see the Lady comes to no harm. I shall wake you when the party comes back with the child.’
The chamber he was given was small, and contained only a bed. Gelis was a courtyard away and one floor above him, but he had left men on guard. He expected Margot would sleep. Obviously Gelis would not, nor would he. Not now.
They had to shake him awake. Eventually, he rolled off the bed, and then sat on the edge, slowly dressing. ‘I’m sorry,’ the captain was saying. ‘I’m sorry, we got to the house but they’d gone. It seems like another troop came and took over, and rode away with the babe, none knows where. That’s wicked, sir. Or do you think the mother planned it again?’
‘I expect so,’ he said. ‘And if she’s wise, she probably doesn’t know the real destination herself. Well, I can’t wait. We’ll have to leave it. You’ve done well. I think you’ll find they have some meat and ale here they won’t grudge you, and then a barn where you can sleep for a bit. I’m going back.’
The Unicorn Hunt Page 25
