Caprice and Rondo (107 page)

And Nicholas said, ‘She doesn’t need me to help her reach a decision.’

A
S
C
ONSERVATOR
OF
S
COTS
Privileges in Bruges, Andro Wodman spent all his time, these days, at harassed meetings; or waiting to see people who, exhausted, afraid, overworked, did not want to be seen. Adorne, with terrifying concerns of his own, yet wielded his considerable authority to support him. Through days infested with rumour, scraps of genuine news sometimes permeated, and were shared.

That evening, unannounced, the burly figure of Wodman broke into the orderly courtyard of the Hôtel Jerusalem, and asked to see Adorne and his niece. A good deal later, he made his way between lamplit houses and over bridges to Spangnaerts Street. At the Hof Charetty-Niccolò, on being told that M. de Fleury and his wife were both at a meeting, he pushed past the protesting manservant, found the room, and walked in on them all. Diniz Vasquez and the doctor jumped to their feet. The priest, Moriz, gazed at him, frowning. Nicholas de Fleury, who had been putting some point to his own wife, swung round and then stopped, while Gelis did not look up at all, but continued to contemplate her husband.

Then Nicholas threw himself forward. It happened with uncanny speed: Wodman’s own entry; the silence; and then the blur of movement.

Nicholas stood before him, incandescent, and said, ‘He is alive.’

‘Yes,’ said Wodman. He held the other man’s distended gaze, his own eyes damp.

Diniz said sharply, ‘What?’

Nicholas, smiling, did not answer. Wodman looked past him. He said gruffly, ‘Robin of Berecrofts. He nearly died of his wounds, but not quite. He is under medical care, a prisoner with John.’ Then he said to Nicholas, ‘How did you know what I was going to say?’

‘I divined it,’ Nicholas said. ‘Or I didn’t. Do you want a pendulum, going cheap, that takes umbrage if you decide not to use it? Kathi knows?’

‘Of course,’ Wodman said. He was smiling, himself, as Nicholas turned and flung out his arms.

‘Oh glory,’ Nicholas said. ‘What can we do to celebrate this? Pull down the stars.’

L
ATER
,
WHEN
THE
TABLE
was covered with bottles, and one or two of the glasses had fallen, Tobie said, ‘We didn’t get very far with our planning.’

‘What were you planning?’ Wodman said. He had earlier won a trial
of strength against Nicholas, but was at present just failing to win a wager to drink him under the table.

‘It’s of no importance,’ said Father Moriz, who was sober, but happy. ‘Just the future of the Banco di Niccolò. Nicholas was going to tell us what to do.’

‘I had told you,’ Nicholas said. Gelis and his step-daughters and Clémence had beaten a retreat some little time ago; he couldn’t quite imagine why.

‘You should go back to Scotland,’ said Andro Wodman. ‘Stop that bastard David de Salmeton wrecking the country. He’s got your gold there anyway, according to rumour.’

‘I knew I had to talk to him about something,’ Nicholas said. He eyed the floor, which looked more comfortable than his chair, but he didn’t want to lose his bet. ‘I’ll ask him when he gets back from the Tyrol. I’ll
go
to the Tyrol. Ever hunted chamois?’ It didn’t sound right, so he repeated it.

‘You just like being a pet of the Duchess,’ Moriz said. Moriz had got on particularly well with the Scottish Duchess.

‘Well, David de Salmeton failed to become a pet of the Duchess,’ said Andro Wodman, giving Nicholas a sharp prod where some of the bandages were. ‘Don’t you feel you want to lie down? He’s not in the Tyrol any longer, he got sent home by Buchan to report on the progress of his peace mission. To stop the war between Duke Charles and the Tyrol.’

‘That shouldn’t be too difficult,’ Nicholas said. Diniz had fallen asleep. He hoped Tilde would excuse him.

‘Well,’ said Wodman. ‘News takes time to travel, in the Tyrol.’

Tobie said, ‘Andro? You mean de Salmeton’s back in Scotland?’

‘On his way there. Not passing through Bruges. You know he’s bought your castle at Beltrees?’

Nicholas opened his eyes.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Wodman hastily. ‘De Ribérac’s next door at Kilmirren, and they’ll kill each other anyway. Go back to sleep.’

His own eyes were starting to close. Tobie’s were open. Nicholas said clearly, ‘Go to hell,’ and got up, with difficulty, and took himself to bed.

G
ELIS
SAID
, ‘W
HO
WON
?’

The night was over, and it seemed to be morning. He was in a familiar bed, in a familiar room, and his wife was curled at his back, being familiar. Nicholas gave a jerk of alarmed ecstasy; yelped; swore; and said ‘Oh,
Tàte-Dieu
, I’m sorry. I slept all night through?’

‘There is a compensation clause,’ Gelis said. ‘This is it. Does your head pain you?’

‘No,’ said Nicholas.

‘That
is
gallant,’ she said.

‘I didn’t want to discourage you,’ Nicholas said. ‘From anything, truth to tell.’

‘But there are some things you could tolerate better than others.’

‘I don’t know,’ Nicholas said. ‘I’d have to try them.
Qui va piano, va lontano
. We could start with one or two possibilities, and then improvise.’

He turned. ‘Oh, my sweet,’ he said. ‘There was a price to pay, but it is paid.’

T
HEY
SPOKE
, at intervals, between that waking and the time when they would have to emerge, and step among the people for whom they were responsible, and put to the test what they had learned.

Once, as his breathing slowed, and she lay cradled and quiet in his arm, Nicholas said, ‘I am glad my grandfather saw you.’

She turned her head a little. ‘Your message reached him,’ she said.

‘And he sent it to you. He must have liked you. He seems to have been quite a connoisseur, before the paralysis came.’

She was smiling. ‘It runs in the family. I wish we could have proved something for you. At least you know what he felt for your mother. Did you know she was a twin?’

‘No,’ said Nicholas.

‘I didn’t tell you. I went to your mother’s tomb in Dijon. I saw your brother’s name below hers. Nicholas? Could
he
have been a twin?’

Nicholas waited. Then he said. ‘There was a theory that he was. It can’t be proved. And anyway, Fleury and Dijon are French now.’ He hesitated, and then said, without looking at her, ‘When you were there … Tobie thought that perhaps you found out how Marian died.’

‘Did you believe Adelina?’ Gelis said.

He said, ‘I tried to find out for myself. I called on Enguerrand de Damparis — at Chouzy — at La Guiche. No one knew anything.’

‘No one told you anything,’ Gelis said. He looked down. She went on, ‘Clémence and Pasque her nursemaid come from there. It was easier for me, perhaps, to ask.’

‘And?’ he said. He pulled away a little and eased himself up. It was instinctive. Not to recoil from her, but to spare her contamination.

She didn’t let him go, but instead laid her hands on his arm. She said, ‘They think Marian did have a daughter. They said it was born dead. I don’t think Bonne is yours. She isn’t Adelina’s. She’s just a waif, Nicholas, whom Adelina discovered and used.’

‘But Marian did have a child,’ he said. ‘And died of it. You didn’t tell me?’

‘She didn’t want you to know,’ Gelis said. ‘If you let it harm you, you’ll deny all she did for you.’ She broke off, and sat up in her turn, twisting to face him. She put her hands on his shoulders. ‘You have come so far. We both have. Three years ago, you were ready to step into mindless oblivion with Benecke. All that has changed.’

He remembered. He remembered the moment when he stood on the jetty at Mewe, and watched the raft with Paúel Benecke leave. He had just heard that Julius and Anna had come. So he had to stay, or leave unprotected all those he cared for. Goodbye, Colà.

But for Adelina, he might never have known about Marian. But for Adelina, he would not be here. And now she was dead. The sheltering tree.

O God! Thou art all-pardoning, Thou likest pardon, pardon me
.

The changes the world had seen were far greater than his, and the tragedies, too. He could only grieve on his own account that Adelina was dead in her torment; and Thibault, and stout Ochoa, and the strange Greek whose life had become entwined with his own. Astorre had gone. But Robin was living, and the bright, triumphant spirit to whom he would return. Sometimes, this evening, he had thought he could feel her joy, and he had tried to return it.
Kochajmy się
, my sweet Kathi.

Nicholas said to Gelis, ‘You are right. And these things are not for tonight. Tonight is for us.’

‘Today,’ she said, as he moved.

‘Tonight,’ he repeated, looking down at her. ‘I have not finished yet with tonight. Tomorrow is when we rise and reach our decision.’

She said, ‘I think the decision is made.’

She was right, he supposed. There was only one thing he could do, that no one else could do, that would finally repair all he had done. It would not be easy for Gelis and Jodi. It would not even be safe. But there might be ways around that. If she had guessed, she was prepared for that also.

She was here.

The place of the Spindle of Necessity, with its whorl-weight of stars, where a traveller was bidden to choose his new life.

Whoever shall cast love aside
, the words ran,
shall lose everything. For by love, laws are made, kingdoms governed, cities ordered, and the state of the commonwealth is brought to its proper goal
. So he recognised; for he was wiser than once he had been.

He gathered her into his arms, and loved her, and thought how blessed he was.

The author wishes to express warm thanks to the Centralne Muzeum Morskie, the Polish Maritime Museum of Gdańsk, source of much of the known information about the seamaster Paúel Benecke, and possessor of an elegant scale model of the actual
Peter von Danzig
. The kind help of the museum’s staff and librarian, Boźena Šwiderska, was invaluable in recreating the Danzig of half a millennium ago.

Perhaps it should be added that Hans Memling’s historic painting,
The Last Judgement
, remained in Gdańsk, and is on public view there.