The Unicorn Hunt by Dorothy Dunnett

first, among a thousand delicate tasks, he had to make this visit to Haddington. He thought he would make it soon, before Simon came to town. He supposed he should inform Julius now.
    Julius was drinking claret, while waiting to be told what to think. Nicholas poured himself a cup of water and, when the builders’ dirt rose to the surface, threw it, without speaking, at the opposite wall.
    Seventeen miles to the east of Edinburgh the priory of Haddington, the fourth largest town in the kingdom of Scotland, lay by its river in autumnal farmlands packed with fat Cistercian sheep, grazed by handsome Cistercian cattle, ploughed into soft, rich furrows for healthy Cistercian grain and thoroughly planted with fruit trees and vegetables. The mill-wheels groaned; the bells chimed; the dogs barked; the carts rumbled away to the tan-pits, the weavers, the markets; and the Prioress and her twenty white-gowned nuns were to be seen as often outside the precinct walls among the vast army of lay workers and servants as inside at their devotions. The priory of Haddington was not only a wealthy landed estate, it was rural lodging, salon and nursery for eminent ladies.
    Katelijne Sersanders approved. She had not quite believed that she would escape the kind of convent her cousins inhabited, wrapped in stillness and piety. Haddington, on the contrary, could afford the luxurious appointments of a court because it was a court: Margaret was not the first royal child to be reared there. The nuns were of gentle birth and hand-picked from sister houses. There was one from Waverley, England; and one from Cîteaux itself. And providing companionship for the élite of the kingdom were other ladies and children who, for one reason or another, had retired (oralmost retired) from the world, and could afford to pay for their keep, or were important enough to have it paid for them.
    The priory performed other duties as well. The high officers of the kingdom and the burghs had been known to gather in its capacious Great Chamber. Envoys and couriers lodged there; the King would come to see his young kindred while hunting; the finest tutors were paid to visit and give of their wisdom to the royal infants in tutelage. There was therefore no shortage of entertainment or sport or, of course, work.
    Katelijne Sersanders, royal attendant, had a buoyant if occasionally menacing relationship with the lady Margaret, aged eight, but shared her tasks with several others, from the body-nurse Mariota to the well-bred nun Alisia, who taught the child her letters and manners, a little Latin and French, and some simple techniques of embroidery.
    On the whole, Katelijne preferred the two Sinclair cousins, so unlike each other. Mistress Phemie Dunbar was an unmarried lady of wry demeanour, privately devoted to poetry, and skilled in the art of settling disputes without seeming to try. Her mother’s niece Dame Betha Sinclair had brought up one princess already, and was the widowed mother of three extremely docile young girls who sometimes flinched when she passed them, chiefly because of the volume of her voice. On matters of deportment, Mistress Phemie and Dame Betha were mentors unparalleled, both being the daughters of earls.
    Least of all, Katelijne enjoyed the days when the Prioress herself chose to teach, although the lady Elizabeth was a powerful woman, trading in her own right with Bruges, and equally ready, if she had to, to man and command the fortalice she was building as a precaution. As a precaution against England, their presently amiable neighbour over the Border.
    Most of all, Katelijne relished her lessons with the musician, Will Roger. It was best when Margaret wasn’t present, and there were only one or two boys and herself, with her maidservant Emmelot chaperoning them, asleep (despite the noise) in the corner. It was after one such hilarious afternoon that she glanced out to the courtyard, Master Willie chatting beside her, and saw what new arrival had