Niccolo Rising (50 page)

Claes had picked up a lot about the Dauphin from his many sources, but it was the Widow, in the end, who had helped him most. That was when, finally, she had pinned him down and asked him why he was going, and he had told her.

“Messengers are always a danger. We all know too much. And suddenly, not only the Dauphin’s own man Gaston du Lyon but the Medici and Sforza are using me. It’s only commonsense to try to make out why. And whom I see. And what I know.”

It had been a shock to her. He had realised why, after a moment, and added quickly, “But Felix, of course, doesn’t know he’s giving away more than he should. I’m sure of it. But if we warn him, and make him stop going to Genappe, they’ll think there’s something to hide.’

“So why are you going then?” she had said.

“Not because he’s in danger. Only to display that I know what is happening. I haven’t asked to see the Dauphin. Just to take Felix to visit Raymond, the chamberlain’s brother. It will make the point. If the Dauphin wants to see us, he’ll say so.”

“And if he wants to see you, Nicholas?” had said the Widow. “Once before, I asked you about him. You said, I think, that he was far too astute, and you’d never expect to deceive him.”

When she called him Nicholas, it was because she was either angry or frightened. He remembered the occasion of his previous answer. She had been both, and so had he. He forgot to answer, remembering.

“So,” she had said. “You will have to decide, won’t you? Claes or Nicholas? Which will you show to the Dauphin?”

Being only one person and not a carnival freak, he had started to laugh. In any case, there was no doubt that, whatever happened, he was
going to be thoroughly tested, and at a new level. He had felt gratified, until he realised that this was primary proof of his inexperience. Now the visit to Genappe was upon him. Now he listened to Felix saying to him, yet again, as they rode: “And you kneel
three times
. Going in, going out. For God’s sake remember, and don’t make a fool of me.” And he began to laugh again, because he probably wouldn’t remember. Poor Felix. Poor Claes. Good luck, Nicholas.

Chapter 23

I
T WAS SHORTLY
after this that Claes realised that the impeccable escort sent to fetch himself and Felix had led them well away from the road to Genappe. That they were making their way over fields and through a copse to where, just over a rise of new grass, there came the sound of many voices, and hoofbeats, and the barking of excited dogs. A horn brayed.

Below Felix’s towering hat his face, turned to Claes, was ruddy with pleasure. “My lord Dauphin’s huntsman!” he said. “It must be. No one else can hunt here. Now you’ll see. Jet black horses. He’ll have nothing else. And the hounds. He has a new pair …”

“Monsieur is correct,” said the captain of their escort. He had not spoken for an hour, and Claes looked at him with amazement. The captain continued to communicate with Felix. “It is for this very reason that my lord Dauphin requested you should be brought by this route. It will not displease you to hunt?”

Claes looked at the violet flounces, the quilted skirt with its marten-edge, the tasselled cone on Felix’s head that would shear the lower branch off a pine tree. Felix cried, “My dear captain, I’m honoured!”

The captain smiled. The captain kicked his horse from a trot to a canter. So did Felix. So did all the rest of the troop except Claes, who fell off. The captain and Felix, by then well to the forefront, continued over the rise without noticing. The other horsemen, who certainly noticed, went on as if they hadn’t. The last man, who had actually to ride round him, leaned over and, collecting Claes’ horse by the reins, took it away with him.

Claes sat up in the grass and shouted after him. The last rider, leading Claes’ horse, receded impassively, breasting the hillock in a different direction at a good, regular pace. Claes, sitting with his hands dangling over his knees, took a contemplative breath and sent a musical halloo in that direction. The rider began to descend the hill on the other side. The last thing Claes saw of the company were the two ears of his horse on the skyline.

The saddle, which had fallen off with him, lay upside down in the turf some distance away. Dug in beside it was a hoe, with a man leaning on it at an extravagant angle. His feet, nearest to Claes, were in patched and squashed boots, and he wore the felt cap and rolled sleeves and brief dress of a countryman. He turned a tuberous face with no teeth in it. “Now,” he said. “Look at that. That new falcon brung down a saddle.” He lifted his chin from his clasped hands and eased himself slowly back, raising his watering eyes to the sky. Claes went on sitting.

“Might bring down the horse next,” said Claes. “I should watch out.”

The hoe quivered. Collected over the gums, the owner’s lips writhed apart, and a haze of saliva shot into the air. “Might bring down a man next, I shouldn’t wonder,” said the old man. “Catch your death, sitting on grass. Other people’s grass. Hanged a man last week on that tree.”

Claes said, “I wondered what you were planting.”

Sunbeams danced on another frothy emission. The old man said, “You hungry then?”

Claes threw back his head and laughed. If it sounded like relief, he didn’t mind. It was relief. He said, “I’m always hungry.”

“Big fellows like you,” said the old man. “I’ve seen you lot at harvest time. Eat the worth of the harvest at supper-time. They’re over there. I’ve to take your sword off you, and your dagger.”

Claes smiled at him. “Where will I find them again?”

The bristled cheeks glittered. “If you come back, they’ll be under the hoe.”

“And my saddle?”

The old man let his hoe drop. Now he turned, you could see he had a hunter’s knife slung at his hip. The two-edged blade looked quite new. He rubbed the dirt off his hands and, wiping them on his tunic, stood waiting for Claes to get up. He said, “You need a horse before the saddle’s any good to you. The girth’s broken.”

The girth, as he was already well aware, had been cut. Claes disputed nothing, but got up and, unbuckling his own unspectacular sword and knife, went across and laid them beside the hoe. The watering eyes met his as he straightened, within a miasma of sweat and unwashed linen, like the smell of pawned clothes. The old man said, “Follow the stream to the trees. Eat well. Eat well, my boy. My boy, you must be hungry.”

Louis, Dauphin of France, was supping al fresco. Within the trees to which the stream led, a light hunting cabin had been erected from last year’s timber with two small rooms, at present untenanted. The company, which was very small, was disposed on the patch of turf before it, almost crowded out by the number of wicker baskets and flasks packed between them. Further off, the jingle of bits told where their horses were tied and grazing.

All of them were plainly dressed, although the cloth of their hunting clothes and the quality of their belts, their boots and their spurs showed that they were not servants, although they were not being served.

No. One man, closest to the cabin, was being served by the rest, and on bended knee. A man who didn’t look round when Claes approached. Only one of the company did, and then rose and came towards him. Claes recognised no one, but he knew that the man by the hut was the Dauphin, and that these must be his intimates. The Bastard of Armagnac, then; and the lord of Montauban. Jean d’Estuer perhaps, lord of la Barde. Jean Bourré, the secretary. And someone of good birth for professional bodyguard … probably the man now approaching, who, on closer inspection, looked remarkably like someone he had first met in the Savoyard snows.

“Monsieur Raymond du Lyon?” said Claes. “I am happy to meet you.”

“And I you, Monsieur Nicholas,” said the other. The hair under the brim of his hat was dark, like Gaston’s, and he had a jousting man’s shoulders. His pleasant, free smile displayed three broken teeth. He added, “You took no harm, I trust, from our method of disengaging you? We tried hard to think of a gentler one.”

“It’s the one I feel most at home in,” said Claes. “As your brother would tell you.”

Raymond du Lyon smiled again, but made no rejoinder. Instead he said, “My lord Dauphin wishes to speak to you. Come.”

The prince who sat on a cushion, knock-kneed legs splayed before him, fitted well enough the description gossip gave of him. Below the narrow-brimmed sugarloaf hat was the thin, drooping nose, the thick lips, the small chin.
The most suspicious man alive
, someone had called him. Pretty Margaret of Scotland, marrying him at eleven, spoiled by his father, had died defiant at twenty, intransigently childless on a diet of green apples and vinegar. Plain Charlotte of Savoy, married at twelve, was already at twenty twice pregnant and had had no chance to be spoiled by Louis’ father. The last time the Dauphin had seen his father was thirteen years ago. Since then he had fled to Burgundy and his father had made his famous quip:
The Duke of Burgundy has taken in a fox that will eat his chickens
.

He was eating them now, wrapped in a napkin. Claes approached and, remembering not to make a fool of Felix, knelt the prescribed three times while the Dauphin laid down his meat and wiped his mouth and hands. Claes kissed his fingers, smelling of both fox and chicken. Placed on the grass, he was given a manchet with a chop and a chicken leg, smothered in sauce. A wooden tankard appeared, with Bordeaux wine in it.

The Dauphin spoke, using French. Some malfunction of palate or teeth or even of tongue made his words thick and not always clear, but never prevented him from speaking often, and quickly. Now he said, “I
have this problem that requires a young mind, my good Nicholas. Monsieur le Bâtarde, where is it?”

One of the noblemen, rising silently, opened his purse and handed a paper to the Dauphin. No, a parchment. Covered with diagrams.

The Dauphin held it out. “Of course you were at Louvain with your young master Felix. I saw you, when the good rector was teaching. Monsieur Spierinct. He made this chart for me, but sometimes, when my poor mind is full of business, I cannot remember the key. Translate it for me.” It was an astrologer’s projection, in both Latin and Greek. Everyone knew that the Dauphin employed his own astrologers. One of them was probably present.

Claes or Nicholas? Nicholas bent his serious gaze on the Dauphin and said, “Yes, my lord. I have broken the Medici cipher.”

He could feel the movement behind him. The sharp eyes in front were like the old man’s hunting knife. The Dauphin said, “Well now: you make the Knight’s move, but you drag me behind you. One step at a time. Can you interpret this document?”

Claes said, “My lord. Forgive me,” and took the vellum, running his eye over it. After a moment he said, “To this point, I can read it. After that, I should have to correct it. The transcriber has made a mistake.”

One of the company was standing at his elbow. The Dauphin said, “You hear, my lord? My transcriber has made a mistake. Show my lord, Nicholas.”

And that had been predictable, too. As he spoke, Claes was achieving, methodically, the last of his mental calculations. He reviewed them. Then he lifted the parchment, using his meat bone as pointer. “There are the false figures. Instead, it ought to go something like this.”

Halfway through the recital, the other man said, “Stop!” He looked flushed. He said, “My lord Dauphin, this is correct.”

There was a little silence. The Dauphin looked surprised. “Then give the boy more wine, another dish!” he said. “Has he to hold up a meat bone to remind us of our poor hospitality? My friend Nicholas, we are well met. We are on the same chessboard. The only question is, are we on the same side?”

Claes said, “Sir, Monsieur Gaston would tell you. I am employed by a burgess of Bruges. Her company has been hired by the Duke of Milan to help King Ferrante of Naples. As her courier my services have been retained by the Duke, by the company of the Medici and by yourself to carry dispatches and news. I brought you messages from Monsieur Gaston and from my lord the Duke of Milan, and through Messer Arnolfini have been well paid.”

“But that,” said the Dauphin, smiling, “is only the first indication of the warmth of our feelings for you. For such a relationship must depend on trust, must it not? For example, it is not convenient that the messages to me from Monsieur Gaston or my lord the Duke should fall into other hands. And yet my illustrious father, we discover, is fully
aware that Monsieur Gaston has stayed in Milan, and even that he has paid a visit on my behalf to Savoy.” The Dauphin lifted his arm and signed half a cross with the heel of his hand, renouncing anxiety. “Not, of course, that my father the King should find such news amiss. My family is twice linked with Savoy; exchanges of gossip are natural.” The hand, darting, caught Claes’ arm like a bird claw descending. “As you, my boy will appreciate. Thibault and Jacques de Fleury of Geneva are your kinsmen, I’m told.”

Claes said, “Monsieur Gaston knows my position. I am a base-born great-nephew. I owe them nothing, and they prefer to have nothing to do with me. There is a legitimate heiress. I have nothing to gain or lose should you decide to win their allegiance.”

“Of course I believe you,” said the Dauphin. “Although an unkind person might say that a bribe to Monsieur Jacques de Fleury from me might well find its way, some of it, into your purse. And that even accepting a bribe, the family might be so dishonest as to serve my father secretly. As it is –”

He paused, and Claes dropped his eyes.

“– As it is, Monsieur Gaston tells me that Messieurs Thibault and Jacques have refused to move from their allegiance to the Duke of Savoy and my father. He offered them a considerable sum. As I said, my father knows of my chamberlain’s visit. He presumably knows because your great-uncle and his family told him. But you say you have nothing to do with them.”

“My lord,” said Claes. “You are related to Anjou.”

Again, the slight movement at his back. Again, the black glance above the long, pointed nose. Then the Dauphin, lifting his hand, tapped it once, sharply on Claes’ arm and removed it.