Gemini (73 page)

‘Let it go,’ Jack Howard said. ‘We can’t drag all this lot after, and then beat all the way back, just for that. So. Where is this wine, and where are the oysters?’ When it was too late for reprimand, it was best to be hearty.

The wine was superb; but the singing turned sluggish and died, as the oysters had done, from ill-health.

It was a very, very bad voyage south.

R
OBIN, BRUISED AND
aching and strapped to a fiendish harness on deck, was speechless with laughter, while Jodi hung over the rail at his side, his dimpled face scarlet with pleasure. The sails creaked, the sea hissed, and far ahead of them in a flurry of spume the English wine-ship was striving, apparently, for Ultima Thule. Nicholas, ending his recital, said, ‘I’ve got some good oysters,
grata ingluvies
, if anyone wants them. No. It was a joke, but they’ve burned every house in Blackness. And they’ve captured eight ships, including three good fishing vessels, among the decoys. I saw them take two more as they left.’ He was talking to Nowie Sinclair, who was sitting on a hatchcover, looking amazed. Preston was at the helm.

Nowie said, ‘I think it’s remarkable. I think the whole scheme is quite, quite remarkable. So what about the three foreign ships, you said? They’ll blame England, of course, but they’ll also put pressure on us, won’t they, to cede Berwick and stop the dispute?’

‘England thinks they will,’ Nicholas said. ‘But I know all the skippers. The owners will get the ships back, with compensation, and the cargo is well insured. The good stuff was ashore already anyway.’

‘And now, for a bonus, we have the wine-ship,’ Nowie said.

Nicholas caught Robin’s eye. It had been a surprise, on first coming aboard, to find Nowie on Preston’s boat; but of course the Sinclairs were historically the Prestons’ superiors, and Sir Oliver probably owned the boat anyway. It was also typical of Nowie’s undoubted charm that he had welcomed Robin as soon as he discovered him, and had been equally
courteous to Jordan, aged twelve. When, still attired as an oyster fisherman, Nicholas had rejoined them all, it was to find the same mellow atmosphere. At times, Nowie might be a wealthy, spoiled martinet, but you forgave him for his exquisite manners. It amused Nicholas, now he knew him, to recognise the steely deliberation behind every inconsequential question, such as this one.

Nicholas said thoughtfully, ‘Yes. The wine-ship. Do you think Leithie Preston could join us?’ He turned to the skipper, who was watching him. Preston gave someone the helm.

‘You know something about the wine-ship?’ said Sir Oliver Sinclair. ‘And I see Robin does, too.’

‘And me,’ said Leithie, arriving. Brisk, acquisitive, humourless like all his Craigmillar kin, he was never deferential, even to overlords. It had never amazed Nicholas that the other Thomas Preston should have been killed in a courtroom quarrel at Forfar. They were all clever seamen. Leithie said, continuing, ‘It’s an English boat all right, but it’s not English-owned. It changed hands the other day, and guess who bought it: that fool Alec Brown. That’s him sailing her now, desperate to leave us behind, in case we notice he’s carrying wine to the enemy.’

‘Is this true?’ Nowie said.

‘He was brought on board Howard’s ship. He didn’t recognise me,’ Nicholas said. ‘We were wondering what best to do.’

There was as much of a silence as there ever can be in the howl and crash of a three-masted sailing ship with a following sea. Robin’s smiling eyes were on Jordan, who met them, and slowly ceased looking uneasy.

Nowie said, ‘In Berwick, one gathers, this is not unusual. Stupid, however.’

‘Very,’ said Nicholas. ‘Alec has a good memory for troop movements, though. Master Whitelaw calls on him quite often at Ratho.’

‘I suppose I could verify that,’ said Sir Oliver Sinclair. His fair skin, in the sun, was powdered with freckles, and his frame was as broad as a bullock’s. ‘At the same time, I fear that his interest is chiefly in profit-making.’

‘That is easily verifiable as well,’ Nicholas said.

‘What, no pressure? How discreet you are being,’ said Sinclair. ‘I rather like that, my Nicol. I agree, the man is probably doing no harm, although he will hang himself in the end. I do not think he should be allowed necessarily to profit from provisioning the English. Neither do I think he need die, although I do not wish, either, to be associated with his survival. In fact, I think the problem may resolve itself, given time. Are we in any haste to return?’

‘No,’ said Robin, considering.

‘No,’ said Nicholas.

‘Eh—’ said Leithie.

‘No,’ said his patron, in helpful translation. ‘In that case, let us sit back and enjoy a leisurely chase. What have we to eat, besides oysters?’

F
AR TO THE
north, in the islands of Orkney, the youngest and cleverest Sinclair prince stood on the stone wharf at Stromness and peered out to sea. ‘What’s that?’

After only a decade of belonging to Scotland, the average Orcadian still spoke largely in Norse. The harbourmaster said, ‘It’s a prize ship, my lord, in the grip of three Ronaldsay boats. Shall I send out and bring the master ashore?’

‘Do that,’ said Henry Sinclair. ‘And bring him to the house. And if the Bishop asks, he’s carrying nothing but ballast.’ The Sinclairs might not be Earls of Orkney any more, but they were still powerful landowners, with favours to hand out, and call in.

It turned out the ship was carrying wine. And what was more, the skipper looked oddly familiar, for a man who claimed to come from Hull. But the ship was English all right, and so were the seals on the butts. The man was generous, too: he offered to leave all the wine, if he might be allowed to take his ship and sail off to the west. When the young lord pointed out that the wine and the ship were his anyway, the man grew even more agitated. Then someone came in with the news that a second ship was on its way in; a Scots one this time. The messenger added something else in the Master’s ear.

‘Really?’ said Henry Sinclair. ‘Then perhaps we should see this gentleman safely bestowed, while we find out what our newest friends want.’

The wine skipper’s face, as he was taken out, was sour as bog butter.

For the newcomers, Henry changed into velvet, which was intended to give him a certain ascendancy over the five unkempt persons who were presently brought in to see him. One of them was a boy. One, in a wheeled chair, was a disabled merchant he knew of. One was Nicol de Fleury. One was Leithie Preston. And the leader was his uncle Oliver, last seen in Roslin at his grandfather’s funeral, and just before the consequent division of spoils which had proved so very satisfactory.

His uncle Oliver said, ‘We were not at all sure that you would be in residence. How very fortunate this all is, and how kind of you to welcome us. Your father, I take it, is not with you?’

Henry’s father, an idiot wastrel in youth, had turned out to be a genuine idiot in age. He was now the second Lord Sinclair. His father’s sister had married, and been divorced by, the Duke of Albany. Henry said, ‘No. Father is in Newburgh, and Uncle David is in Shetland. All I have on the premises at the moment are prisoners. May I offer you a refreshment, or would you care to retire first?’

‘Dear Henry,’ said his uncle. ‘Insalubrious as we are, we should like to sit and talk to you first. We passed a ship at anchor.’

‘The English wine-ship,’ said the Master helpfully. ‘With its master from Hull. Captured by three Ronaldsay boats.’

‘Splendid fellows. I know them,’ said his uncle, sitting down with a generous measure of wine. ‘And fully deserving of the reward they will win. But the ship and its contents, of course, are the King’s, and will have to be taken back south. They tell me that three-quarters at least of the wine has survived. The rest was lost to the ships in the Forth, as Nicol here can attest. Indeed, I was sure that I heard that the skipper was killed then as well. The man you have will be a minor seaman, elevated to master? He deserves his freedom, I should have thought.’

‘There speaks a humane man,’ said Henry. ‘But appearances, we all know, can be misleading. A ship, to be three-quarters full, would ride lower.’

Sir Oliver Sinclair rose and stood at the window. ‘My boy,’ he said. ‘I think you are right. If that cargo is two-thirds what it was, it would be nearer the truth.’

‘And the mariner?’ Henry said. ‘Would you care to speak to him, before I turn him free?’

‘No, no,’ his uncle said. ‘Let him take the next ferry south, with anyone else you don’t want to feed. Preston here will sail both ships back, won’t you, Thomas? Nicol and I have to leave him at Moray. Salmon business—so important, isn’t it, and so vulnerable, in the wrong hands. And I want to see Cochrane, if he’s there. Am I right, Nicol? The kingdom can do without you for another week? You have performed enough feats of valour for the moment.’

‘You flatter me, sir,’ the Burgundian said. His face throughout had been gravely attentive. The boy could not quite hide his puzzlement, but had the sense not to speak.

They were to stay two days, to rest the crews and themselves, and pick up fresh linen and such change of dress as they could find. Henry allowed his uncle the run of his wardrobe, for although they were related only by the half blood, they were much of a size. That is, Uncle Oliver, on his mother’s side, was descended from King Robert the Bruce (hence the mighty air), and Henry was the son of a man known as William the Waster. But since his grandfather died, and his favouritism with him, it was William of Ravenscraig, the first-born, who was the second Lord Sinclair, and not Oliver Sinclair of Roslin, a son of the second wife. People forgot that.

Henry Sinclair made a point, during those days, of spending time with the Burgundian de Fleury, whom he had met occasionally since he grew up, and remembered from the scandal four years ago over Aunt Betha’s cousin and her bastard by Cortachy. At Roslin, de Fleury had
always seemed reticent, but in fact he had more of a sense of humour than you would credit him with, and had travelled quite widely. De Fleury knew Caterino Zeno, and his wife, and the gossip about his little bastard daughter, contracted to a rich merchant at Zakynthos. He knew about the Sinclair voyages, and that Henry’s namesake had fought for Duke John of Burgundy. De Fleury had been to the tomb of St Catherine in Sinai, and brought back some of the oil. He had been in
Timbuktu
. The stay, which could have been tedious, really passed very quickly, and Henry was quite sorry to wave his uncle goodbye.

On board, Nowie said, ‘Thank you. You were very forbearing. He will make a success of the barony, once his father is out of the way. And as the husband of Pat Hepburn’s girl Margaret, the Princess’s granddaughter, he will consolidate Sinclair possessions, think of it, from Orkney to Berwick. Meanwhile, I think we have preserved Alec? Did anyone see him?’

‘I sneaked in,’ said Leithie. ‘He was right sorry for himself, I can tell you; and sorrier still when I’d done with him. I told him if he didna stop making money out of the English, I’d hang him next time myself.’

‘That should keep him quiet for five minutes,’ said Nicholas. ‘Why are we going to Moray?’

‘My dear fellow, I told you,’ said Nowie. ‘You deserve a rest. And Will Scheves and Drew are cooking up a small scheme which they really can manage best on their own. Or if they can’t, you will be there, all fresh and unsullied, to sympathise with the King.’

‘Sympathise with him over what?’ said Nicholas, jettisoning court manners. The reticence he had once exhibited at Roslin had long since expired.

‘Oh, nothing definite,’ Nowie said, redoubling the charm. ‘A rumour. You wouldn’t hear it, in Berwick. The King swore, if Howard attacked, that he’d muster the army and march into England.’

Jordan sat, his eyes huge. Leithie Preston went on with what he was doing, intermittently yelling at his crew.

‘But?’ said Nicholas, with a certain patience.

‘But the Pope has sent to tell both Kings to refrain. And they really don’t want to anyway. Drew and the Archbishop have it in hand. Truly, there is nothing to worry about,’ Sinclair said. ‘Have you ever fished off Darnaway Castle? I assure you, it is an experience fit for angels. The lad would enjoy it as well. And I do think that Tam Cochrane would have information worth hearing. I might even take him with me up north. The good Bishop Prospero has not yet come into his temporalities, and my brother is not only Earl of Caithness, dear Will, but Camulio’s Justiciar, chamberlain and sheriff. It is only wise to have a look at Scrabster and Skibo, and have a word with the Constable. Don’t you think?’ His large, fair brow wrinkled in anxious enquiry.

Nicholas said, ‘You think Bishop Camulio will actually come?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Nowie. ‘I really don’t know. The Pope is grateful. It would have been interesting, wouldn’t it, for a while. I don’t think he would be spared to us as Bishop of Caithness for long.’

‘And afterwards?’ Nicholas said.

‘Oh, afterwards, I have no shortage of brothers who could provide a successor. What a pity it is,’ said Sir Oliver, ‘that Phemie’s child was a daughter. But no doubt, if she conquers her deafness, we shall find a good husband for her one day.’

Somewhere in the suave voice there was a thread of real discontent. Nicholas looked at him. It had never occurred to him before. It had never entered his mind, as he witnessed the brave desperation of Phemie’s pregnancy, that the coupling was not, for the Sinclairs, the utter surprise it had seemed.

Sinclair hadn’t noticed his silence. Sinclair was remarking, ‘In any case, whatever action develops, the north and north-east are bound to play some part. As Bishop Spens and the Knights knew, and your Anselm Adorne assuredly does.’

‘Mine?’ said Nicholas.

‘Ours, if you prefer,’ Sinclair said. ‘Without you, he would not be here. Without him, I doubt if you would. And we need you both.’

‘We?’ said Nicholas in the same tone. It was short.

‘Oh, yes; I am Scottish,’ said Nowie. ‘But you are not. You are nothing yet, are you? You
have
been offered some land?’

‘Yes,’ said Nicholas.

‘But you have not accepted it? Why?’