Gemini by Dorothy Dunnett Page B

the death of Charles of Burgundy was a severe inconvenience, and reduced his own standing as kinsman. Unlike Sandy, James had not travelled in Flanders or even in England. Princes in conflict praised his offers to mediate, but were not generous with their invitations, unless he promised to come with an army. And his Parliament had always stopped that.
    The elder by only two years, the King lacked the haphazard taste for adventure that his brother displayed, but dreamed intense dreams of leading armies, and attracting the envy of chivalrous Europe with his well-placed artillery, and his timely advice, and the great marriages that his children would make. Scotland, at present a place of thatched houses and hens in the street, would become a second Lombardy. Nicholas thought, automatically answering the pre-arranged questions, that James and his brother would probably never understand one another, even though on the surface they seemed so alike. The King was slighter in frame, with a long, reddened nose less attractive than Sandy’s, and short, full pink lips. But the auburn hair of the Stewarts was the same, and the curiously innocent appetites. James had tried, once, to seduce Gelis in front of Little Bell.
    As if on cue, the King began talking of Gelis. ‘And your lady wife. I trust that, if you intend staying, your lady wife will come to ornament our Court? She is here?’
    Nicholas took a short, calming breath. The picture in the King’s mind was not necessarily an echo of what was in his, but the naïveté of the question was unfortunate: Whitelaw’s face, below the grey hair, was pained. Nicholas smiled and spoke mildly. ‘No, my lord and great Prince, but I hope to bring her one day. She also feels for your loss, and asked me to add her condolences to mine.’
    The King gazed at him as if he had forgotten. Then irritation returned. He said, ‘The Duke’s death. The lady is kind. I suppose, then, you’ll have brought a shipload of expensive black doublets to sell me? Velvet cloaks? Fancy pourpoints? I am sure you think I can afford them.’
    Nicholas said, ‘Mourning may take many forms, my lord King. The interment is over. All the world knows the grief you carry in your heart. A Mass in the spring would surely suffice, at the time of the usual change in the wardrobe. Your grace’s own merchants know what serves best.’
    The King looked surprised. On earlier trips, Nicholas de Fleury would have jumped at the chance to press costly goods on them all. Forgetting his stance on economy, the King said, ‘Now here is a surprise!The good sire de Fleury cannot aspire these days to a nobleman’s cargo, but has fallen on hard times, perhaps? Of what sort is this cargo—some salt and a few sacks of alum, or a few barrels of the cheaper sorts of wine? If that is all, he cannot expect to trade here.’
    A man was shouting outside the door, and there came the sound of faint scuffling. The King started, and then said something petulant to his door-keepers, who retreated to the posts they had started to leave. Albany swore. Continuing his undisturbed solo: ‘Your grace, I have no expectations,’ said Nicholas musically. ‘I came to fulfil some orders and, since you were pleased to send for me, to tell you my news. The lady my wife is the trader.’
    The door burst open, revealing two men-at-arms and an usher attempting to restrain John of Mar. John of Mar shook them off and, marching forward, slapped Nicholas viciously across the side of his face. Nicholas jerked and recovered, breathing deeply, standing repressively where he had been. His gaze locked with Mar’s.
    ‘They could afford pepper,’ snapped the King’s brother over his shoulder. His entire face was as red as his rash. Where James’s hair hung in loose waves, John’s was crimped like a thunderstruck wedder. He spat at Nicholas. ‘You could afford pepper, couldn’t you, you obsequious brute? You weren’t smirking and making reverences this morning when