The Unicorn Hunt (34 page)

The house was old, with worn tiles on the floor, but the door they brought him to was heavy and carved. His escort knocked and, opening it, ushered him in.

It was a bedchamber. Eating in front of the fireplace, napkin under his jowl, was Jordan de Ribérac. He attended to what was on his plate, speared something on the point of his knife and opened his mouth to receive it. His jaw movements resumed. Then he looked up.

As gross men do, he wore loose robes, buttoned tight at the wrist, with his shirt-bands not quite closed at the throat. His
outdoor hat had been replaced by a deep cap of felt swathed in white pleated muslin, which tumbled over one massive shoulder and into the napkin. Both were spotted with gravy. His knife was of silver. Its matching case lay on the cloth with his wine-cup. He said, ‘Untie his hands and wait outside. One of you fetch him dry clothes.’

‘Monseigneur?’ said the chief of his captors. De Ribérac was alone in the room.

‘Untie him,’ said Jordan. ‘He isn’t going to kill me yet. Are you, Nicholas?’

‘I don’t know, yet,’ said Nicholas, holding his hands out. Someone did actually cut through his bonds. He added, ‘You might simply have sent for me.’ The men who had freed him hesitated, and then left. He stood, pensively rubbing his wrists.

‘And you would have come alone?’ said the vicomte. ‘I don’t think so. I know the warehouse in Antwerp; and the office, the apartments, the soldiery the Bank has not been told it possesses. I cannot imagine why your guard were not with you just now. On such mistakes rest an old man’s feeble triumphs. And now you will undress for me.’

‘To music?’ Nicholas said.

‘Was such the practice in Trebizond? One never ceases to learn. My son strips before me whenever he can,’ said the fat man. ‘To allow me to savour the contrast. Of course, I could summon my men.’

‘I expect they look the same, too,’ Nicholas said. ‘You have heard from Simon, I gather.’

The fat man swabbed his platter with bread. ‘I have heard from Simon. I have visited Diniz. I have spoken to that fool of a woman, Adorne’s wife. I know what you did to my son and my daughter. I have asked you to strip.’ He looked up.

‘The Erring Nun Test? It wouldn’t work,’ Nicholas said. ‘No, I’m sorry. I must be light-headed. You want to see my safe conduct.’

‘Your safe conduct?’ said de Ribérac. He was peeling an apple.

‘A very explicit scar. Poor young Henry’s noble effort at murder. I’m sure Simon sent to ask what to do.’

The knife moved round and round. ‘A fabrication.’

‘Before witnesses?’ He found a stool and sat. There would be an attack. The vicomte liked inflicting pain, or else watching it.

‘What witnesses?’ Jordan said. ‘Adorne’s doctor, Adorne and his niece will hardly speak for you now. The man Roger is English and coercible. Your Julius may succumb to a brawl in the streets.’

It was surprising what he knew. ‘And Mistress Bel?’ Nicholas asked.

‘Lucia’s clucking hen you took roosting in Africa? See what a fine nest my daughter lies in,’ said Jordan, ‘through the efforts of Bel of Cuthilgurdy. She may have been soft with you once, but she will perjure what soul she has to save Henry.’

‘Assuming all five to be perjured or dead, then indeed there is no case against Henry. How may I help you?’ said Nicholas.

‘With a little information,’ said Jordan. ‘What news of this child of my line? Is the new infant born?’

‘Pray that it isn’t,’ said Nicholas. ‘If it comes now, too soon, it will die. Or so the doctors are saying.’

‘Too soon?’

‘It isn’t due until April. You know that, my lord. And child and mother are feeble.’

Jordan laid down the fruit. ‘We both know it is overdue now. We both know it is Simon’s. It must be born. Why are you lying? You are not fool enough to think Simon will claim it?’

Nicholas stared at him. ‘But the father is Diniz!’ he said. The man turned crimson. Nicholas waited for the knife, or the wine, or the apple. Or a call for the bullies.

‘My dear boy!’ Jordan said. By sheer will-power, it appeared, his florid skin was reduced, his eyes gleaming. ‘My congratulations! So confident, and only yesterday full of terror! You speak of Diniz and Tilde, whose mediocre union will no doubt produce another mediocre child, should this one fail. I speak of your wife. What is the glorious news?’

Nicholas pursed his lips. ‘She is reluctant to say.’

‘But she has given birth?’

Nicholas pulled a doleful face. ‘I have seen her. She is no longer pregnant. Not pregnant, that is. But whether a child has been born, she won’t say.’

Jordan wiped his lips slowly, leaning back. ‘But you would not have returned without forcing an answer. And if you did not, I shall, be quite sure.’

‘If you find out, you must tell me … Do you want that apple?’ Nicholas said, leaning over and taking it. ‘I heard she had no child, an idiot, or a son. I couldn’t tell you which was correct. What does it matter, if you don’t mean to claim it?’

‘Do you?’ the vicomte said.

‘It is her child,’ Nicholas said. ‘I don’t mind fattening it. Life is sober enough: there is always room for a jest. Especially against the van Borselen. I shall cook and eat it next year.’

‘What do you want?’ Jordan de Ribérac said.

‘From you? Kilmirren,’ said Nicholas. ‘Then Ribérac. Then an apology.’

‘I am not Simon,’ said Simon’s father. ‘Simon does not know when to apologise. I do not know what the word means. You were responsible for the death of my daughter. You attempted the murder of Simon, and no doubt will try it again. Are you prepared also to kill Simon’s two sons?’

‘If you want me to,’ Nicholas said. ‘Certainly, there is no great enthusiasm for Henry, and the new child, if it exists, is from the same stable.’ He remained grave.

Jordan de Ribérac was not smiling. He said, ‘Your death would solve all these problems.’

‘Would it?’ Nicholas said. ‘My fortune descends to Gelis van Borselen and her child. The Duke of Burgundy would take great care that it never left Flanders. Apart, that is, from the portion already invested in Scotland.’

‘A few houses?’ said de Ribérac. ‘The King would soon reclaim those.’

‘My land next to Kilmirren?’ Nicholas said. ‘Gelis and her child would inherit that. Semple allotted it. The King won’t interfere. The King needs the van Borselens, and needs Burgundy.’

‘The King wants Guelders,’ de Ribérac said. ‘So does Burgundy. He and the Duke may fall out.’

‘If Burgundy wants Guelders, he will get it,’ Nicholas said. ‘You know that as well as I. Scotland needs Burgundy. Or else you would have let Simon claim Gelis’s child.’

‘It is born,’ said de Ribérac slowly.

‘I believe it is,’ Nicholas said. The fat man was clever.

‘You believe?’

‘Legitimacy is a delicate business. It has been laid aside in some hayloft to ripen.’

‘Or in case you do the child harm? From your point of view, it is an embarrassment. From mine, a novelty. Give it to me.’

‘In return for what?’ Nicholas said.

In the silence, he could hear voices outside the door. The clothes, arriving. Someone tapped. When Jordan did not answer, they tapped again. Then Jordan directed a single obscene sentence at the door, and the voices cut off abruptly. Nicholas tossed his apple-core into the fire and stood, watching it wrinkle and seethe. ‘
La plus belle me devoit avoir
,’ he said. ‘In return for what?’

Jordan said softly, ‘What would you say to legitimacy? Legitimacy for you, as well as the child. Simon accepts you as the
son of his loins. You become the heir to Kilmirren. And I rear the child, your successor.’

‘I was hoping you’d say that,’ said Nicholas. He went and sat down, pausing to open a button or two. ‘One yearns and strives and, suddenly, there it all is, and so simple. I should need a statement under oath, of course, before agreeing. I don’t suppose you have a convenient lawyer?’

‘I can get one,’ said Jordan. ‘By the time you have eaten and changed.’

‘And Simon, when he hears, would agree?’

‘He would have no choice,’ de Ribérac said.

‘In spite of Henry? Were I legitimate, a child of my marriage would dispossess Henry,’ Nicholas pursued.

‘Henry is worthless,’ de Ribérac said. ‘You have, I should think, little love for Simon’s small assassin.’

‘I am glad you think the five witnesses were not entirely blind,’ Nicholas said. ‘I am glad, Grandfather, that we are agreed. And in token of it, do you know what I should like?’

‘Speak,’ said de Ribérac. He, too, had seated himself, but away from the fire. His skin glistened.

‘The ring on your finger,’ said Nicholas. ‘You remember the day we first met? I feel I should have something to remember it by.’

‘Mark it, you mean?’ said the fat man. He drew the band off with some trouble and gazed at it in his palm. ‘It is a family ring.’

‘So I see,’ Nicholas said.

He waited. Slowly, the fat man held out his hand and rising, Nicholas crossed and lifted the ring on one fingertip. Below, Jordan’s empty hand curled and turned white.

‘Thank you,’ Nicholas said. ‘I was afraid you’d want my poor daughter to have it, but she has only two thumbs on each hand, and not even a human nose to put it through. But the next child might be normal.’

Jordan’s hand closed on his wrist. Bearing down, he rose to his full height and stood, eye to eye. His skin, neither mottled nor red, had grown ashen. Nicholas laughed into his face. He said, ‘Sign my own death warrant? Will my fortune away? Did you think for a moment I’d do it? It’s time you took to your bed. You didn’t even make sure that the child was a son.’

The hand bearing on his was quite painful. ‘And is it?’ said Jordan.

‘So I am told. I think I believe it. Neither you nor I are likely to see it, I fear, for some time. But it will be reared as a de Fleury, by me.’

‘If it lives,’ said the fat man. ‘She may not let you. She may marry again.’

‘That would be difficult,’ Nicholas said. ‘In my lifetime, at least. Did I give the impression that I would set her aside, or even harm her? I ought to have corrected it. I ought to have mentioned it, perhaps to Gelis herself. I expect her to go where I go, once the child is proclaimed. There will be no doubt, I assure you, of the paternity of the other sons we shall have. And when I have founded my house, my home, my land, my little dynasty, I shall take a ship back to Scotland and show my wife the waste ground where Kilmirren once was.’

‘Then I shall have you killed now,’ said the fat man.

Nicholas lifted his free hand. It had the silver knife in it. He said, ‘You could have used this. So could I. I could still make you a hostage. You would only kill me if you had lost your own sense of importance. You have never been afraid of me. You are not afraid of me now, or you would hardly have amused yourself with that offer. So why not let the race run its course? Surely you are certain of winning?’

The face opposite, the veined face with its swollen chins and broad brow and pursed lips slowly relaxed. Jordan de Ribérac dropped his grasp and, moving deliberately, crossed to the jug and poured wine. He filled a second cup. He said, ‘You invoke my pride. You have some wits. Yes, I admit it. Your threats are immaterial: I have heard a thousand such in my life. But I also like battle, and can enjoy it from my chair as well as in the saddle these days.

‘So, yes. I shall let you go free. You shall have a horse, and will complete your successful homecoming to Bruges, and carry my familial greetings to Diniz my grandson and his industrious spouse. Which reminds me. You have a ring of mine?’

‘It is on the table,’ said Nicholas. ‘I doubt if you will find it suits any finger but your own.’

Since Godscalc could not, Gregorio waited, hour after hour, at the gate by which Nicholas de Fleury would re-enter Bruges. So, long after dark, he was there when de Fleury, with the rights of a burgess, passed over the bridge and was permitted to make his way into the town. Gregorio waited until he was a pace or two away from the guard, and then stepped out and took his horse by the reins. De Fleury stopped.

For a moment, looking up, Gregorio was unable to speak. Then he said, ‘I have to warn you of something.’

The mask above remained a mask. Then it changed in the wavering light. The other man said, ‘First my news. Margot is well. She will come back when Gelis does. Back to you.’ He waited and then said, ‘Not in the street. There is a tavern.’

In Bruges, they were known in every tavern. But a remote corner was found, and some ale neither wanted, and Nicholas de Fleury sat, his tattered cloak cast aside and the mud drying on his torn doublet and said, ‘What?’

Gregorio said, ‘The vicomte de Ribérac came.’

‘So I believe,’ the other man said.

‘You knew?’

‘I have seen him.’

His voice, his face, everything about him was wrong. Gregorio threw out his hands. ‘Tell me. Tell me what happened!’

‘Later. The vicomte de Ribérac came?’

‘To the house. I wasn’t there. Diniz was out. Godscalc was sleeping. The servants … He forced his way in. He had heard about Lucia and Simon. He knew you nearly killed Simon; he thought you had trapped Lucia too. He accused Diniz of – of certain practices … with you, with the young men who come to the house.’

‘With Umar. Simon’s theory. I know,’ the other man said. ‘Who heard him?’

‘Everyone. Julius. Tobie. Tobie told him he was talking nonsense and Julius punched him. Or tried to. Then de Ribérac left. But Tilde had heard, too.’

‘Heard how Lucia was supposed to have died? Heard about her husband’s reputation with men?’

‘To do him justice,’ Gregorio said, ‘I don’t think the vicomte realised she was near.’

‘He did,’ Nicholas said.

‘You have seen him? He told you?’

‘In his own way. What happened?’

‘She collapsed. The baby was born. A boy. Dead.’

‘And Tilde herself?’

‘Tobie is with her. He says she’s safe now. He says the infant wouldn’t have survived in any case. Nicholas?’

The other man stirred. ‘You want to know about mine? My wife’s? Nothing but excellent news. The birth is over. Gelis has never looked better. The child is a vigorous boy. Or so Margot tells me. It is hidden.’