The Unicorn Hunt (29 page)

‘Would you expect one?’ Gregorio said.

The mild voice said, ‘No. I wondered if you did. Now tell me about Margot.’

The winches squeaked, and from below came the thunder of barrels. Nowadays, no one spoke that name in Gregorio’s hearing. He blocked her out of his thoughts, and dreamed of her nightly. He said, ‘We disagreed.’

‘You told her the exact situation? Yes, of course you did.’

‘I told her what I heard,’ Gregorio said.

‘And she took my wife’s part.’

‘She took the coming child’s part,’ Gregorio said.

‘It argues there is a child on the way,’ said the other reflectively. ‘Or at least that Margot’s humanitarian impulses have found something or other to engage them. In other words, no one is dead, or not yet. You have made no effort to find them? No, you haven’t.’

‘I have tried,’ said Gregorio.

‘But not very hard. So I shall have to do it for you. Do you want Margot back, or shall I leave her wherever I find her?’

The enquiring face opposite blurred, and cramp seized his guts from sheer anger. Gregorio said, ‘Keep your pain to yourself.’

‘Do I show any?’ the other man said in his composed voice. ‘Such things demand a little self-knowledge, that is all. I recommend a spell in the desert.’

Gregorio said, ‘Unfortunately, not having that advantage, I have to find my own way. I am not sure it isn’t better than yours. Nicholas, what have you done?’

Nicholas moved away from the door and took up his stance against the bulkhead where he rested his back, one knee doubled. The woodwork was sweating a little with cold. He said, ‘What did Julius tell you? Let me guess. Simon and I were conducting a running fight, and Lucia was the unfortunate victim? True enough in its way. She knew about Gelis, you see. Julius, you may be surprised to learn, does not.’

‘And Adorne?’ Gregorio said curtly.

‘Ah. Anselm Adorne, the Scottish King’s favourite counsellor. He has been created a knight, and given a chain with a unicorn on it. I was so jealous I stabbed him.’

‘Is he badly hurt?’ Gregorio said.

‘He was hurt. He was also magnanimous. He isn’t going to demand redress in Scotland, but he’ll have something to say when he gets back to Bruges. Fortunately, I should be on my way back to Scotland by then.’

The shock was intolerable. Gregorio said, ‘You can’t go back!’

‘To all these new Scottish projects?’ said the other man. ‘Of course I shall. I’m going to make you all even richer. Julius considers I ought to spend a few weeks in Bruges until – how did he put it? – the harvest is over, and it’s time to start planting again. Then, of course, I must go back north to my other crops. Well now. What else can I tell you?’

‘Nothing. Leave it,’ said Gregorio. He walked to the door. ‘I’m going back to Tommaso.’

‘What did you expect?’ Nicholas said. ‘You know what you shouldn’t know. That doesn’t make you my confessor.’

Gregorio turned. He said, ‘No. Your confessor thought he was your friend, but you haven’t asked after him. If you are interested, Father Godscalc is still in your house, but not as strong as he was, and Tobie has left off his army doctoring to care for him. Tilde, too, is near the birth of her child, and Diniz is anxious about her. Catherine –’ He broke off. ‘Am I tiring you?’

‘No. I am riveted. Tilde’s sister Catherine? Not yet married?’

‘No,’ said Gregorio. He tried to recover his calm, in the face of a suspicion that his loss of calm had been what Nicholas at that moment had wanted. He said, ‘She isn’t married, but not for want of pursuit. Paul van Borselen and a young faun from Trebizond are only two of the suitors Diniz has had to deal with.’

‘Indeed?’ said Nicholas slowly. ‘But not Jan Adorne?’

‘Still away, studying law at Pavia. And just as well. Jan would be a fine suitor for Catherine, now that you’ve injured his father. What were you thinking of?’

‘An old adage,’ Nicholas said. ‘If you are a peg, endure the knocking. If you are a mallet, strike.’

He had altered his negligent stance and stood balanced, as if the motion and sounds of the ship had again reclaimed his attention. He looked chilled. Gregorio said, ‘Your family. What will you do? What will you do when you find them?’

He had spoken too abruptly. Nicholas looked at him. ‘Why? You have a suggestion?’

Gregorio said, ‘I don’t know what you are thinking. You need someone who does.’

The concentrated gaze did not alter.

Gregorio said, ‘Nicholas? At least you won’t harm them?’

‘I am unlikely to harm Margot,’ Nicholas said.

‘Your wife and the child.’

‘You think there is a child? Well, what reassurance can I give you, other than the one you already have? My wife and I play a very long game.’

‘So you believe you can find her?’

‘Of course. I have a list – didn’t I tell you? – of every convent which could conceivably shelter her. She has paid well to stay concealed. And she is not in want of money. As you have no doubt discovered, she has withdrawn from the Bank the whole sum she acquired on her marriage.’

‘I know,’ Gregorio said. The sum was immense – a single rash, magnificent gift bestowed by Nicholas on his bride. Its withdrawal had frightened and shocked him. He said, ‘I cannot trace where it has gone.’

‘No. It has been expertly done. That is, secrecy has been assured for so long as it matters.’

‘And now you will search for them,’ Gregorio said. He could hear the door of the master cabin open groggily.

‘Now I shall wait,’ Nicholas said. ‘Not for long, for obvious reasons. But don’t you think my wife will invite me to visit her soon? To show to me alone that her pregnancy is actually over? To prove to me alone that Simon’s child has been born?’

‘And if she doesn’t send?’ Gregorio said.

Nicholas considered. ‘I should give her a week. Then I muster my men and we begin, one by one, to rout through every convent in Flanders. It may take some time. Unless, of course, you have an idea which way Margot went? It would spare blameless houses some harassment … Ah, Julius. You must be tired from talking so much. Can Tommaso still walk? Do you think we could induce him to go ashore now? Gregorio would be pleased to go with him.’

‘Oh God,’ Julius said. ‘You’ve told him what you’ve been doing.’ He grinned at Gregorio. ‘I told you. The devil’s own paymaster.’

Gregorio brushed past and walked out.

All winter, he had carried this abominable secret; had disputed with Margot over what should in fairness be done. In the end, she had left him for Gelis.

Throughout, he had been upheld by his knowledge of the moderate
Nicholas of the past; by his belief in the mature Nicholas who had emerged from the anvil of Africa.

Throughout, he had built his hopes for the future on what Nicholas, given time, would have resolved.

And throughout, Margot – not he – had been right.

Chapter 14

I
N SIX MONTHS
, the Charetty – Niccolò mansion below the Tonlieu at Bruges had altered, as had its owner. It included, now, the adjacent building; and Gregorio had extended round both the solid fortified wall first begun by the Charetty daughters to keep Nicholas out. Now the two firms were one, but the precaution, after Liège, was a mark of Gregorio’s unsleeping prudence.

The gates were open, waiting for Nicholas. Riding through with his trim cavalcade he saw the forecourt cleared now of its accretion of buildings. A new archway led to the back, where yards and stables and storerooms ought now to stand where the gardens and domestic offices used to be. His private accommodation had been moved to the other house. He had not altered his orders for that.

He hoped, remembering Scotland, that the builders’ work was mostly over. After the vast, storm-lashed estuaries, the towns which straddled ravines, the keeps and lodges and cabins of grey stone and plaster and thatch, Bruges had appeared like a flat-bottomed toy, with its interlocking paved streets lined with red brick-patterned houses; its small-bridged canals ringing with the laughter of skaters. It was February, and cold.

Standing in the slush of the forecourt were groups of people: his outside staff, gathered to see him arrive. Their faces showed a kind of clouded vivacity. He had come back and his wife was not here, but was pregnant. He had come back, and Mistress Lucia was dead. Then he saw Lucia’s son running over the yard – Diniz Vasquez, bronze of skin, dark and sturdy as his mother had been fragile and fair. A good man, who would run the Bruges office one day. One day, if it mattered.

He dismounted, and said what was fitting. Diniz looked up and said, ‘I heard you tried to save her. Thank you.’ His face was full of uneven colour, but he was not weeping.

Nicholas said, ‘She should have lived to welcome her grandchild. How is it with Tilde?’

Diniz dropped one of his hands and half turned. ‘She would like to see you; but not if you are busy. Have you time?’

‘For Tilde? What does Tobie say?’

‘Not much,’ Diniz said. ‘To rest and to wait. If you really have time, then – come and speak to her.’

Tilde lay in the chamber that had once been her mother’s and his. The mound under the bedclothes was not as great as it should have been, and her sunk eyes were apprehensive, her brown hair coiled dull at her shoulders. Nicholas sat and took her hand in both of his. He was, after all, her step-father.

He said, ‘In business, one makes a range of predictions, and then one plans for the worst. What has Tobie told you?’

‘Nothing!’ said Diniz.

Nicholas did not turn. ‘Go away, Diniz,’ he said. The girl’s hand tightened in his. After a moment, Nicholas heard the door close.

He said, ‘It is hard for men at such times. What did Tobie say?’ He paused and then said, ‘Come on. I’ve seen babies born.’

Her eyes, looking at his, suddenly brimmed. He released a hand and gave her his kerchief. She spoke, scrubbing it into wet corners. ‘He says – he didn’t want to say – I know its heartbeat is weak. I have to rest. I have to try to keep it.’

Nicholas took the cloth from her, tidied her cheeks, and took her hand again. ‘You probably will. Are you very tired?’

Her face was narrow and pallid in illness, as her brother’s had been. Only Catherine had their mother’s red-brown hair and bright colour. Tilde said, ‘The doctor says that is natural. He says I am not to worry: there will be others.’

His hands parted from hers. He said, ‘That is what I wanted to hear. Of course, you want to give Diniz this baby. But there are many pearls on a string.’

‘You have a child coming,’ she said.

‘
Inshallah
. If God wills,’ he continued immediately. ‘If not, I have you and Catherine. I haven’t seen Gelis yet. Would you like her to come and stay with you, if she can?’

He saw, as he expected, a mixture of feelings. She said, ‘If she can. But it might be unsafe. No, don’t ask her. Have you seen Catherine yet?’

‘Is she visible? I thought she had too many suitors. Which is she going to marry?’

‘You have to tell her,’ said Tilde. ‘She will do whatever you say.’
She smiled at him shakily and then her brows, which had smoothed, drew strictly together. She said, ‘Have you been sick, cousin Nicholas? I should be about my duties, to see you have food.’

‘When your child has come, I shall demand it,’ he said. Who had taught her to call him cousin Nicholas? He added, ‘I’m not sick, and I shall eat when you do. Will you allow me to share your meals sometimes?’

She agreed, her eyes bright. He thought it might even be possible. At best, it would give him a respite from Godscalc and Tobie. All the time he had been speaking, a distant tapping had been increasing in volume. As he ended, there was a thud outside the door, a rattling latch, and Godscalc himself walked slowly in, followed by Tobias Beventini, physician.

Nicholas rose, with unconcealed distaste. ‘Oh, I know,’ he said. ‘A pretty girl in bed somewhere, and who are the two most likely to find excuses to badger her?’

He addressed that to Tobie, who was shrewd enough, but whose initial perceptions would be medical. He wondered what they had been told, and if they had learned about Henry. A glance at Godscalc, fierce and silent, his weight on his stick, answered that question, and others. The vigorous German hulk of a man who had sought Prester John at his side had returned this blanched cripple, with one donation to God he was still determined to make. Nicholas turned to the priest and said, ‘Father? You should sit.’ The tone of his voice said three other things, as he meant.

Tobie said, ‘What happened? Never mind. We heard you were with her. Are you cheering her up?’

He had just realised, Nicholas saw, that by joining him here he had debarred himself from all the sensitive topics. Gregorio had talked to them, he deduced, but not Julius, or he would sense anger and not just anxiety.

He said, ‘Of course I’m not cheering her up: I want some advice about Scotland, and she’s got a better brain than either of you. Unless she keeps it in her stomach, and you think facts and figures will upset it?’

Tobie sat on the opposite bed-step and looked at her, and at Nicholas. He said, ‘What’s new? You affect everyone’s stomach. Go ahead.’

Nicholas delivered his talk. It was, in effect, a summary of his doings in Scotland. Julius knew it all, and Gregorio had the gist, but Tilde herself would take pride in telling Diniz her husband, and Catherine.

So far as it went, the account was perfectly accurate and, because
indeed she had a good business head, he added to it specifics of costs and prices and outlay, ending with accurate figures of the profit to date, and impressive estimates of the income still to accrue, once he had returned to complete the whole project. He knew Gregorio, and could counter his arguments without having heard them.

In between, he clowned his way through a few true anecdotes and some not so true, and made Tilde smile and then break into real laughter. She asked questions: he answered them. Then he received, without appearing to, the unspoken message from Tobie and, rising, brought it all to an end. Hugging him, she whispered a message for Gelis. He realised that she had taken him to be afraid of, or revolted by pregnancy, and hence to have avoided his wife and herself. Now she knew differently. Soon she would begin to wonder why he
had
stayed away.