Niccolo Rising (58 page)

Felix was trying today to keep off beer, in order to give a proper impression. The White Bear Society, whose great joust opened the post-Easter tournament, was extremely exclusive, restricting its members to noblemen and the upper bourgeoisie. Drapers and mercers and furriers just managed to get in and, of course, real estate owners. Guild members were not approved of, although the Brotherhood made exceptions for the larger brokers and innkeepers. As a son of a broker, Felix just qualified. He didn’t talk about dyeing or fulling. It was a little alarming, therefore, to walk into this handsome building by the canal bridge and greet men he had seen in his mother’s company, and accept their invitation to take a cup of wine.

It came to him that, if he were to come often, he would need more money. He needed more money as it was, if he were going to practise every day the way he needed to practise for the jousting. He had the armour all right, and some of the weapons. But he needed more lances, and he should have a spare shield. And what mattered most of all, of course, were the horses.

He should have two, and heavy ones. There was one in the stable
which had belonged to his father, although his father had hardly seen any fighting and used it more to ride up and down and impress people when it was his turn to be captain of one of the companies on the walls. He had meant to get a loan of another. One of the de Walles had half offered. But a lot of the families he knew were going in for the thing themselves. The Breydels and the Metteneyes and the Bradericx and the Halewyns and the Themsekes. It went down from father to son, attempting the joust and trying to carry off the horn or the lance or the Bear. In the great days, the best of the Burgundian Court would come to Bruges to take part. People like Jacques de Lalain and the Bastard of Burgundy.

A tremor ran through Felix but he refused, valiantly, the offer of another cup. He had to get a better horse. And another shield. He couldn’t fight great knights, could he, with rubbish? He plunged, avidly, into discussions about the tournaments, and absorbed all the information he could about how and where to practise beforehand. He should have come with an experienced member of the confrérie like Anselm Adorne, even though Adorne had treated him like a child in his house, that time Claes had tipped the gun into the water, and brought the girl’s hat ashore, and broken the man’s wooden leg.

He saw Jan Adorne signalling in the doorway and thought that he would do just as well. As fifteen he was very likely too young to joust, but he must have been to the Poorterslogie often with his father. Felix waved his cup, summoning him. His sleeve, waving too, just missed tipping a flask over. He had dressed really well for today, with ribbons all down his arms, and his doublet fully padded under his cloak, which the tailor said, rightly, did justice to his chest. Thinking of the crowd, he had put on a very tall hat, rather than one of his wide ones. He wished only that his collar was not buttoned quite so firmly under his chin. It made it hard to look down, and keep his sleeves from interfering with people sitting on the banquettes.

Jan, signalling again, had still not yet entered. Annoyed, Felix pushed his way nearer and saw the reason. There was a crowd of them. Bonkle was with him, and Sersanders and Lorenzo Strozzi, among others. It was wonderful how Lorenzo Strozzi always managed to get away from his father’s cousin’s business. Or maybe the bell had gone for the midday meal. No. He had had his midday meal. It must be later. He got to the door and said, “Well, I’m not coming out, I’m busy. What do you want?”

“Felix,” said Jan.

That was all he said. The others, round about him, said nothing either. Their faces were peculiar. Well, none of his friends were noted for their good looks. But their expressions were funny. As if they had something to tell, and weren’t sure whether it was a great joke or a great disaster. For a moment he was worried, and then one of the younger hangers-on at the back gave a great fizzing snort like a boiling fish-kettle,
and doubled up with his hands on his crotch. Some mucus landed on Felix’s buttons, and he picked it off distastefully.

Nothing wrong anywhere, obviously, if it was as funny as all that. It looked to Felix like the start of a practical joke. Against him. He said, “If you’ve nothing to say, I’m going indoors. More fool you, Jan, bringing a rabble like this to your father’s club. Goodbye.”

He had meant to stride in, but one of the town 6chevins, patiently rounding the group, arrived at the door just before him and he had to hang back. As the door opened, he realised, to his fury, that Jan Adorne was shouting again. It was intolerable. Stiff with anger, Felix turned for the last time and spat at his friends. “Go away! Away! Go away! I don’t want to see you!”

“Felix!” shrieked Jan Adorne. “Claes the apprentice has married your mother!”

The door closed without Felix noticing. “What?” he said.

Another boy immediately said it again, articulating helpfully, like a teacher. “Your mother’s got married to Claes.”

“Claes the apprentice,” said a voice from the back.

The helpful boy said, “In Jan’s house. This morning.”

This, then, was the practical joke. Felix felt his face swell. Beyond his group of so-called friends a carter had slowed his horse, grinning; and two cloth-merchants striding arguing out of the Tonlieu turned and looked. Behind, the club door had opened yet again and this time stayed open, while inside, heads turned.

Transported with fury, Felix began to walk forward, pushing the shuffling group of his tormentors before him. He said, his face scarlet, his voice low, “
I’ll
give you Claes and my mother.
I’ll
teach you to come to my club and make a disturbance in front of my friends. When
I’ve
finished with you all, you’ll wish you’d never been born. My mother will see your father, Jan Adorne!”

Before his advance, they had fallen back as far as they could. They stood in a huddle on the other side of the narrow street, looking at him. Behind him one of the really rich seigneurs climbed the club steps with a companion and, laughing a little, walked inside, but left the door open. The companion remained, holding the door, and was joined by two others. Lorenzo Strozzi said, “Well, you ought to go and speak to Jan’s father. He’d tell you. It’s true.”

They’d played jokes on each other before. Getting into scrapes and out of them was normal, and so were storms of annoyance and even pangs of fear. But between boys and among boys, not in front of the Poorterslogie. The monstrosity of the social problem was already, as he struggled to deal with it, paralysing Felix, not the most inventive of youths. At Lorenzo’s words, his stomach, glimpsing something quite unmanageable, began to flicker with random pain, like summer lightning. His conscious mind was merely goaded to fury. He pushed, spitting words at them.

This time, they stood their ground, although uncertainly. They let him flail them. Occasionally one would try to speak, and find Felix’s fist at his mouth. It was ridiculous. Lorenzo, first to collect himself, leaned forward and tried, with the best intentions, to grasp Felix’s arm. Felix hit Lorenzo’s hand, painfully. Lorenzo said angrily, “All right. If he doesn’t want to believe it, that’s his affair,” and walked off.

The smaller boys moved closer. John Bonkle, his face flushed said, “Oh, come on. This is just making it worse. You shouldn’t have told him here, Jan.”

Jan Adorne turned and said, “Well, I had to. He wouldn’t come out. He has to know, hasn’t he? Otherwise he’ll go off home and find –”

“– in bed …” said one of the younger boys, the one who had snorted.

“– Felix’s new father!” said another. “Claes!” They staggered, holding one another and laughing. Behind, at the entrance to the White Bear Society, a number of men standing quietly looked at one another, and the noise from inside the club was noticeably less. It was Anselm Sersanders who saw it and leaned forward and, this time successfully, took Felix by the elbow. He said, “The rest of you, get out. John, help me. Jan, you’d better come.”

Felix’s head, which had been very hot, suddenly felt very cold. He said, “What … It isn’t true?”

He was walking, with Jan Adorne on one side and Jan’s cousin Anselm and John Bonkle on the other. His doublet was gaping open, showing a stain on his shirt, and his hose, it turned out, felt clammy. There was a group of men talking on the threshold of the Poorterslogie behind him. His stomach rose. He said desperately, “I need a … It
isn’t
true?”

It was the very heart of the business section in Bruges, but they found him, ingeniously, a corner to be sick in, and worse, with a group of drunk lightermen to encourage him. Then they took him down one of the canal slopes and sat him at the edge of the water, dipping his kerchief for him. He was trembling. He said, “That was the foulest thing you’ve ever done. That was wicked. That was a dirty, unfair, rotten …” Tears were moving down his cheeks. He said, “You could have thought up some other story.” He saw them looking at one another. The boulder that had been in his stomach had moved into his throat. He said, “I’m going to the tavern. I don’t want to see you again.” Still they didn’t move, and neither did he. His body started to heave. Then he put his face in his hands and sobbed.

John Bonkle put a hand on his shoulder and pulled a face at Jan Adorne and said, “Go on. He’d better hear what you know.”

It was Henninc, his eyes on his mistress’s unusual clothes, who told her that jonkheere Felix had gone to the Poorterslogie. As yet, Henninc and the household knew nothing. Back from the Hôtel Jerusalem, Nicholas had taken the demoiselle directly indoors, and had remained there. The
staff could not be told before the son of the house. And the son of the house, Nicholas suggested wryly, might better learn it indoors rather than out.

Felix’s mother was silent, thinking of the news spreading from this morning’s witnesses. But they would go home, surely, first. And although it was not right that Felix should learn of this publicly, he would be prevented from pride from making a scene in a place like the White Bear Society. And would come directly home. Nicholas had wanted her to tell Felix beforehand, and it would have been wiser. He had not reproached her. She supposed he would never reproach her, any more than Henninc did. It was not his place to do so; although in business matters, when he forgot, he spoke to her as to an equal.

She had thought to put one matter behind her, and had asked Messer Gregorio to find and send Tilde and Catherine to her bedroom. She had rehearsed well beforehand how she was going to tell them, and gave them, simplified, the account Adorne knew, and the others. Because Claes was clever and they all liked him so much, she had asked him to help her run the company, so that he would stay with them always. But men and women who stayed together had to marry. Now Claes, whom they must learn to call Nicholas, was her new husband. But of course he would never replace their father. They must think of him as she did. As a friend.

Catherine had been put out. Now Claes would bring presents for her mother from Italy, and not for Catherine. She was reassured. Everything would be as it was before. If there were presents, of course everyone would have one. Simply, Claes would work in the house and not in the yard. And was to be called Nicholas. Catherine was satisfied.

Tilde, her face white, was different. She said, “None of our friends have mothers who married servants.”

Before Marian could speak, her younger daughter had interrupted with indignation. “Claes isn’t a servant! Nicholas.”

“What is he then?” said Tilde. “Have you told Felix?”

“As soon as he comes in,” said Marian. “Tilde, both you and Catherine are right. Nicholas is a servant, because he was born into that class. But has anyone you know married someone as clever as he is? You know he is very different from anyone else in the yard. Even Henninc.”

“Did you think of marrying Henninc?” said Tilde shrilly. “Why not marry Oudenin de Ville? He’s nearer your age. Are you going to have a baby?”

Horrified, Marian looked at her daughter. She didn’t know what she had expected. She hadn’t expected this. She heard Catherine say indignantly, “She’s our mother. She’s had all her babies.”

“Has she?” said Tilde, “Well, maybe our new father will supply all the babies, although I suppose we’ll never know whether they belong to him or to Felix.”

She stared her mother down. A sweet, quiet girl of thirteen. Marian said steadily, “What do you mean?”

Tilde said, “You
are
cut off from what’s happening. Don’t you know that they sell their mistresses to one another? Claes took Mabelie from Simon of Kilmirren. John Bonkle got her from Claes. And Felix bought her from John. That’s why he wanted the eight shillings parisis.”

That was when Nicholas opened the door. Marian stood up slowly. Tilde, already standing, turned her back on her mother and walked straight up to where he stood. Then she spat on his clothes and walked out.

Catherine’s face began to crumple. “Oh dear, temper,” said Nicholas, rubbing carefully with his kerchief. “Do you think that will stain?” He sat down, still rubbing. He said, “I don’t know. What do you think, Catherine? Will she get used to it? It’s very hard, skating with someone one minute and finding out the next that they’re going to skate with you every winter.”

Catherine hung on to her mother, but her face brightened. She said reprovingly, “She said you sold Mabelie to Felix.”

“I’m sure she didn’t,” said Nicholas, grinning. “I was disappointed in Mabelie. Do you know she preferred John Bonkle to me? And then one night Felix drank too much, and thought he could buy her from John. But you don’t buy nice girls like Mabelie. She’s still John’s particular friend. Do you have a particular friend?”

“I like you,” said Catherine.

“Well, that’s good,” said Nicholas. “But you’ve got to share me with Tilde and your mother. And you know Tilde’s upset. So we just have to keep very quiet, and be gentle with her until she gets used to it all. Now you stay with your mother. My lady?”

She took Catherine on her knee, their smiling cheeks together. I mustn’t forget. I mustn’t forget that he’s with me. I am not alone. She said, “Yes, Nicholas?”