Trelawney stood in the doorway of the room Nicholas used as an office, twisting his cap.
“Come in, Tim. This is the third time you have exceeded your orders. What have you got to say for yourself?”
“Well sir, I’ve been doing it myself, sir, I didn’t want anyone else knowing…”
“I’ve no time for riddles, man. Doing what?”
“Watching the lad, Henry. I did what you said, sir, made enquiries about your baggage. I’m sorry, sir. There was only him and one of the servants went near your room, and the servant was sent by the King, sir, a good old man, I didn’t reckon it would be him – and he wasn’t in there long enough.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You weren’t rightly yourself, sir – and since then you’ve been busy. I kept my eye on him, sir.”
“I see. He was following me. Sit down.” Nicholas poured him some of his breakfast ale. “I should have seen this coming. I must thank you, Tim. And you were welcome, I can’t deny. You fought well.” He went to sit on the window seat and sat nursing his knee. “You kept an eye on him, you say. What do you suppose is wrong? He was wild to get away from Rokesby.”
“He’s mad for the army, sir. I reckon that’d knock the sh— er, nonsense out of him. And put him where he can’t do you no harm.”
“Any harm,” said Nick automatically. “Very well, you may be right. Leave it to me now. His sword master speaks well of him. My thanks, Tim, I’m going to miss you.”
“You’re turning me off, my lord?”
“On the contrary. Master Wells needs a second mate on the Swan and I thought you might like it.”
Trelawney’s expression said everything. The two young men sent for another breakfast and shared a bottle of wine, Tim going over the night’s proceedings all over again. He went off at last to pack his bags in a feverish state of divided loyalty. Nicholas sent for the captain of the Scottish Archers.
Walter Erskine was a tall spare man of middle years, his clipped accent was pure Edinburgh.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lord Rokesby. What can I do for you? Is it the lad you’ll be wishing to speak of?” Nicholas poured wine for them both.
“He acquitted himself well last night, Captain, he did you credit. There is a dilemma. I shall be leaving soon and thought to take him with me and find a place for him, but it seems to me he is well suited here. He is young yet. Would there be an opening for him with the Archers? I am willing to back him.”
“I like the lad. He shapes well. Commissions cost money, my lord, and his keep while he’s training. If that is your idea, I’m willing to take him. He’s no’ Scots, but I knew his father. The men like him. He tries.”
“We are agreed, then, if he wishes it. Will you speak to him? Perhaps he should feel he has earned it.”
“Aye, well, I’ll do that… There’s another wee matter, my lord.” He sat turning his cup. “Ye’re a Melville, I’m told.”
“Aye. I say this to you, my lord, and speak free – you don’t get an Order of Merit for nothing.” He looked up. “A Scottish king of England would be fine thing, now.”
“Not everyone would agree with you, captain.”
“I know that fine. Well, now, I have a cousin in the Archers that guard the Lady Arabella – you know of the lady? Daughter to the Earl of Lennox?”
“I’ve heard talk.”
“Aye, well. She’s a fine lass, for all she’s been brought up in England. It’s this marriage with Billy Seymour we don’t like. Gives her a strong claim, d’ye see, and there’s those of us who’d like to see wee Jamie put an end to the fighting.”
And a Scottish king of England, thought Nick.
Erskine was saying, “That little fracas last night, now. I’ll not be poking my nose in, you understand, but with d’Aubigny dead it’s left the way clear for the Lennox – through the lady.”
“I’m going back to London, captain. It will be dealt with. My thanks for your help – it will be noted.”
“Leave the boy to me, my lord. He will be looked to.”
The boy stood straight-backed and muscular, and offered his hand.
“I am sorry, sir. I was wrong.”
Nick took it and sat with him on the settle. “Your appointment to the Archers has come through. Are you sure that is what you want?”
“Yes, and I am to thank you.”
“Can you tell me what it was all about, Henry?”
The boy unbuckled his pouch and emptied out all the jewels and buttons.
“I am sorry,” he said again. “But – you went away and didn’t come back and she made my father wretched with her lovers.”
There was an icy silence, then, “Be careful, Henry. I am willing to hear why you did this, but—”
“He explained, he said he understood and didn’t mind, but I minded. And then he died and you’d gone again, and Jack—”
Nicholas got up and stared unseeing out of the window. “Jack has had Mistress Melville and you had no one. I see. I am the one who is sorry. Henry…”
“They call me Hal in the mess, sir,” he said with a shamefaced grin.
“Good. It sorts better with Shawcross. I don’t offer you my name, Hal, you neither want it, nor need it, but you have two families now, mine and the Scottish Archers. You have my protection whenever you want it. Your father was a loyal friend to my father and to me. He would have been proud of you.”
When the boy had gone, Nicholas sat for a long time unmoving. Presently he called for his horse and rode out towards the fields and woods and little streams of Fontainebleu. He followed a baby torrent to where it fed into a lake, dismounted and turned Shadow loose to graze. He had himself in hand by now and walked along the margin of the lake more in command of his thoughts. So, Kate had taken lovers in the time he had thought her chaste and waiting. “Penelope weaving her web,” she had written. Not so. But why should she not? As he had been shown often enough, women had appetites as men had. Why should he feel betrayed?
“I was false,” he said aloud. Shadow lifted her head and pricked her ears. “But I kept faith, in my way.” Kate had offered herself to him at the time of the fire and he had kept faith with himself. Had she taken her revenge for that by denying him before their wedding? With hindsight, he could see he had built a false image of her – as a young woman she had taken time and trouble to mould the boy he had been, teaching him the gentler arts of the body for the pleasure of them both. Small wonder that at fifteen he had tumbled into romantic love with her. She was experienced even then, he thought. He had a child born of that dream— a happy confident child, Mistress Melville had seen to that. She, no doubt, had seen this coming, living as she did behind the scenes.
“You were right, Kate,” he said. “We are changed – we live in different worlds.” He hated to admit it, but Robert Cecil had been right too.
“No regrets,” he said to Shadow. “We have Jack and she showed me how to love. I do not think I harmed her.” He remembered now small things that had disturbed and puzzled him, things Hugh had said and implied, things he had seen. How Mistress Melville had almost sole care of their child, for one thing. Callow egotistical fool, he thought. I took too much for granted. We had so little time. It had not been easy for her, and now Kate, pragmatic as always, had made her choice. As Marlowe had said, it was not a tragedy, no one had died, hurt feelings and hurt pride would mend and he would see that Jack did not suffer.
“Enough,” he said and got up to call Shadow. “What an ass am I. Enough of this womanish soul-searching. It is done, and cannot be undone. Kate is safe and so is Hal. Me, I shall take my chances and safeguard my son and the future of the enterprise. And I shall put on Kit’s Hamlet and play Laertes. The sighing lover was never the part for me.”
Shadow had come to the lake to drink and now shook her head, showering him with water-drops. He laughed suddenly, feeling somehow lighter, a burden lifted. It felt like the beginning of something, not an end. No more pangs of dispriz’d love. Marriage to Rosalyne? If I want to keep myself from the Tower and see James onto the throne, so be it. Can’t throw it all away now. And where is the sacrifice – I fell in love with her once… Memories of that night in her arms came to mind as so often in his dreams, and he laughed again. She had taken him by storm.
“I should be grateful. And if she turns shrew after all – I can tame her.”
And with that tantalising thought he swung into the saddle and rode back to the city.
Once back at his lodging, he sent for food and wine and sat down to make his report on the d’Aubigny affair. He suggested that a watch should be set on the Lady Arabella Stuart and her correspondence with a certain Lord Seymour. The listening campaign had borne fruit. The instigator, d’Aubigny, was dead and, like Faulds, Nick hoped that was the end of it. He encrypted his letters, sanded them, burned the originals and went to bid farewell to Angelica, as much his friend as his lover.
They lay close, their entwined limbs lax and spangled. Nicholas was conscious of her breast heavy against him, her breath on his shoulder, her fingers stroking the length of his arm. She spoke suddenly, teasing. “This is the arm of a swordsman, Niccolo. You joust and you draw a longbow. Where did you learn all these pretty arts of the bedchamber?”
Startled, he said, “‘It is extempore, lady, of my mother wit…’”
“No speeches from plays, if you please. Tell me.” He lay silent a long while, thinking.
“I see now,” he said slowly. “I think I had a hard task mistress as a boy. ‘You must do this in such a way and so and so—’” He broke off with a half laugh. “She was flogging a willing horse. But there was pleasure and I learned – I thought I was in love.” He hesitated. “But there is more, Angelica. Women to me are wondrous creatures, they bear us in pain, and die for us a little each day. The least of you, who has more hair than wit, has some wisdom and kindness. An infinite variety. And I pray you, mistress, do not infer from this that my tally of lovers is a long one. You may count it on the fingers of one hand – almost.”
“And what is it you seek, Niccolo?”
“That divine spark – a meeting of mind and heart and body – I don’t know. Unless it is a world where men – and women too – can speak their minds without fear. If it must be fought for, so be it. Ah, I speak a great deal of nonsense. I have a friend, a poet, he sees things clearly. His words are for all to hear. If they would listen.”
“And you go back to your quest. Niccolo, we have loved and talked – go back and bring up your boy as you would see him grow, strong, with a mind of his own.”
“That would be something. Come, mia cara, no tears. We met again as lovers, a delight I had not looked for, and now we must kiss and part.”
“This is wise, Niccolo. The time has come for you to marry and you must make a wise choice. Your Queen may know better than you. You need a wife who will stand at your side and play her part. If you can find love, so much the better. Is she beautiful, this Rosalyne?”
“Night to your day, Angelica, dark and bewitching. I must count myself lucky.”
“We make our own luck, Niccolo,” said she, an echo of Kit Marlowe yet again.
Nicholas and his entourage left Paris three days later for Dieppe and London and the world of politics and intrigue.