Lymond reading notes 7 – Game of Kings – The Play for Jonathan Crouch

Dalkeith and George Douglas

Dorothy uses the spreading news and humour about the events of Hume to follow it to Dalkeith and the home of Sir George Douglas where he receives it thoughtfully – a word which is repeated twice more as he climbs to his study to meet a messenger, supposedly bringing a message from the English Protector.

The man is wearing a close cap which completely covers his hair – immediately raising suspicions among readers. His manner and speech soon amplify that suspicion and we realise this is Lymond in disguise.

‘Today the palace, tomorrow the oubliette and the elegiac distich.’

An oubliette is a secret room in a dungeon. An elegiac distich is a funeral lament. This attracts Douglas’ full attention.

‘Je suis oiseau: voyez mes ailes…Je suis souris; vivent les rats.’

‘I am a bird, see my wings. I am a mouse: long live the rats.’

This is part of a fable – The Bat and the Two Weasels:

The bat is twice captured by different weasels, but convinces one weasel that he’s a bird rather than a rat, and the other one that he’s a mouse rather than a bird. Both let him go for opposite reasons.

The moral of the story: Look and see which way the wind blows before you commit yourself.

Lymond reads out part of a dispatch from Lord Grey to the Protector, which mentions Douglas and that he has pledged to help put Queen Mary in English hands, and he then implies there is more in a postscript which he has left with friends to ensure his safety, and Douglas immediately and calmly supposes this to be an attempt at blackmail. After some verbal sparring Lymond says that the postscript and a copy of it does indeed exist:

‘I’m King of the Fidlers and swear ‘tis a truth.’

This is from a ballad about Robin Hood, who is an interesting character to invoke in the circumstances regarding Lymond.

Lymond offers the full dispatch for a nominal sum, which turns out to be Jonathan Crouch.

Douglas wants to make sure that Mary of Guise doesn’t hear about the dispatch, and attempts to bribe him, first with a ruby ring, and then by suggesting he could make money from the flow of information if they were to cooperate.

‘Fools make news, and wise men carry it. You could become a rich man.’

‘I am a rich man,’ said his visitor.

Which is an interesting thing to say given his Scottish lands are confiscated. He may have funds overseas or he may just be saying it to dismiss the bribe or suggested plan.

Sir George then has to admit that he no longer has Crouch but offers to tell who does and to engineer a way to enter the house where he is being kept.

 ‘Oh Douglas, oh Douglas, Tender and true…’

A very appropriate line from The Buke of Howlat, though it refers to an earlier Douglas when they were supporters of Robert the Bruce.

Sir George gives him Andrew Hunter’s name and says he will send a secretary to tell him of the enquiry about Crouch, as he had agreed, but that it would be easy to slip an extra person to the party.

Feeling a degree of kinship with his sharp-witted opponent he suggests they drink claret, to which Lymond agrees, but adds that he’s left a barrel of beer for him “a little stirred up” – a clear hint of where it has come from and also a hint as to his identity.

Ballaggan and Catherine Hunter

Catherine, Andrew’s mother is described as ”the spirit of Ballaggan Keep – imperious, impervious, implacable, brooding over its fastness like a tribal mascot”.

We find that Andrew had a “brilliant” older brother who died not long after their father, and it’s clear that Catherine favoured him.

We get a description of the contents of the house:

Spanish tiles on the floor (even Midculter uses rushes), Aldine folios, rugs from Turkey and the Levant. The beds were wrought and gilded, and hung with heavy taffetas; chests and tables in marble and scented woods. It is lavishly decorated.

Aldine folios are from the Aldine Press of Venice – a famous Renaissance printer whose publications were highly desirable. Amongst other things they introduced the use of italics.

Clearly these are more than the estate can support:

Lamentably aware that – even if gold mines sprang beneath his feet, like Olwen’s trefoils – his mother’s fancy would still outpace him, Sir Andrew was sometimes reduced to a state of nervous irritation very close to rebellion. That he invariably spared her either complaint or reproach labelled him a soft mark among his fellow knights and earned him a solid revenue of womanly sympathy.

Dorothy spends quite a bit of time on Catherine Hunter, which makes one wonder why. What role could a bed-ridden old woman play in this swashbuckling story?

Crouch, and Dorothy’s humour

Crouch is immediately described in a memorable section, beloved of many readers:

With Mr Crouch came his tongue, his teeth, his lips, his hard and soft palate, his maxillary muscles, larynx, epiglottis and lungs: all the apparatus which enabled him, ne plus ultra, to talk. Like the enchanted garden of Jannes, tenanted by daemons, the keep of Ballaggan encased the ceaseless drone of Mr Crouch’s voice. He droned through September until it and his captors were exhausted; then pounced on October with undimmed vigour and worried the blameless days for a fortnight.

This is quickly followed by a delightful second description that gives a perfect visual impression.

Mr Crouch, wittily obese like a middle-aged titmouse, sat enthroned on his stomach, giving tongue. Incidents of his boyhood surged to cataclysmic peaks of pointlessness. Episodes from his career in the Princess Mary’s household explored tedium to its petrified core.

Crouch is thus made a figure of fun but it’s done gently, and he’s also described as a kind man with a wife and 5 children (all girls) – who of course he promises to talk about!

So it seems unlikely that he is the one of the three that Lymond thinks may have betrayed him.

In the subsequent talk Andrew Hunter is also seen quite sympathetically – we start to feel sorry for him with Crouch’s wittering, and his mother constant carping criticism. Why do we think Dorothy does this?

Yet she also slips in subtle hints about his character via Catherine – that he’s never been injured in battle for instance.

What are we to make of him?

We discover that Crouch does successfully return to his wife via a mention of him telling her of the encounter – another hint that he is not the guilty party.

Hunter then produces a gift for his mother, though she takes her time opening it:

A vast, hexagonal brooch set in ebony and diamonds shouted into the sunshine in a cacophony of light.

Crouch is impressed – it’s the most expensive jewel he’s ever seen – and remarks that the letters written on it in diamonds must stand for Henri and Diane de Poitiers. (Though why it’s not still in her possession is not explained.)

Catherine is not impressed:

 ‘A remarkable piece of vulgarity,’ she said. ‘I fear, Andrew, that a stronger woman might have been able to do more than I to educate your taste a little. It is a great grief to me that I cannot help you more. However, there is no need for you to waste your purchase. I am sure there is some good burgess’s daughter whom you have a kindness for, who would be perfectly satisfied with it.

which, amongst other things, infers that Andrew has no fiancé and no likely consort from the nobility. This is unusual for an estate owner with a title.

As Andrew goes downstairs to welcome arriving visitors, Crouch suggests the brooch will have been expensive and not easy to resell. Catherine responds with a classic line:

‘The price of aesthetic education, Mr Crouch,’ she said, ‘is never small.’

Mr Crouch (for once) did not feel competent to answer.

The (for once) is a lovely touch that’s bound to raise a smile.

The Fight

Andrew returns to find Crouch and Catherine tied up, and before he can take it in he’s hit from behind by a black-masked man, who then applies a wrestler’s lock to his knee, and says:

‘The Common Thick-knee,’ he said breathlessly, ‘is a bird … capable of running at great speed.’ He increased his leverage, grinning. ‘Now here, Dandy mine, we have a specimen of the Uncommon –’

alerting us, if we hadn’t already guessed, that this is Lymond. Hunter, out of sheer anger at the joke, fights back. We get some unusual descriptions slipped in during the struggle:

“…a fine stool splintered, its prowling leopards bifurcated, and a row of medicine bottles fell from the bedside table with a tympanitic crash.

Bifurcated and tympanitic are not exactly typical words to find in the middle of a fight scene!

Hunter seems to get on top and his opponent momentarily seems to go limp, but it’s a ruse and he kicks Hunter in a tender area before hitting him with a fire iron and then throwing him across the room and hitting his head off the floor. The rich Spanish tiles are referred to in a sarcastic aside:

‘Who … falls upon rushes, falls soft; beware of … vain pride in terrestrial treasure, Sir Andrew. And … doused lights … and fireirons … and wrestling in slippers.’

before Hunter loses consciousness, leaving Lymond to escape with Crouch.

While some may query the level of violence used against Andrew Hunter, the fact that Lymond is alone and needs to get out, with Crouch doubtless slowing things down, means that he has to incapacitate Hunter otherwise he will alert his men and will be able to track Lymond down. So I think it can be forgiven in the circumstances.

Lymond reading notes 6 – Game of Kings – The Play for Jonathan Crouch

1. Capture of Some Advancing Pieces

When talking to new readers (or indeed failed readers) on social media, we often reference this chapter – telling them that once they get to around 100 pages and meet a Spanish Captain then they’ll change their mind on everything that has confused them up till now. If you get this far then you’ll probably fall in love with both Lymond and the writing.

In some ways this chapter is much more straightforward than the earlier ones – lots of action – but in other ways it’s a delightful melange of intrigue and misdirection. Only this time it’s not so much us that’s being misdirected, it’s the other characters.

We start in Will Scott’s POV. He’s happy in his new outlaw life and has a new ambition –“ …to cast a shadow bigger, grander and more devastating than Lymond’s.” This rather sets the tone for what is to come and we may already suspect that he’s getting too big for his boots.

We get a review in his head of the characters of Lymond’s men, finishing with Mat and recalling a conversation they’d had about why Lymond had returned and how Mat put up with him. Then we hear more about Johnnie Bullo as well, before a description of how Lymond has formed the group and how he keeps them in line. This calm introduction belies the chaos to come.

Lymond returns, and we discover he’s been to the Ostrich – an inn just over the border towards Carlisle. It appears he’s been dealing with messengers, no doubt gathering intelligence, but that there was also another encounter where he “rescued” a nobleman called John Maxwell. In fact it was a setup where some of his own men pretended to attack Maxwell and were then fought off by the other half of his men – thus putting Maxwell in his debt and establishing a relationship which will develop further in the future.

‘The Master of Maxwell,’ said Lymond, ‘is an important personage entirely surrounded by English. D’you play chess?’

‘Then you should recognise an opening for smothered mate.’

Will and Mat tell him that the men are restless. After initially appearing not to care, he laughs and asks for suggestions on whose house they could raid. Mat suggests a few reasonable targets but Will has greater ambitions and mentions Hume Castle. Lymond dissuades him by describing the new fortifications and that they would be outnumbered 4 to 1.

They call a meeting of the whole band at which Lymond first criticises the men and warns them about future conduct, before then asking for volunteers for a raid, which he’s clearly already planned, on a supply train from Roxburgh to Hume carrying a month’s supply of beer amongst other things.

Turkey shook his head. ‘Listen. He’s had it planned for days.’ He sighed.

‘Man, man: he can play them like a chanter.’

2. Sudden Danger for a Passed Pawn

They intercept the wagons by using hill ponies, all stallions, to turn the train’s mares skittish before riding in themselves and subduing the escort. The prisoners include a Spanish captain. The train is split as agreed, but instead of taking the unwanted ones near to Melrose as instructed, Will Scott takes them to Hume.

At Hume, Lord Grey is in charge, but is not happy – he was injured in the mouth by a billhook at the Battle of Pinkie and as a result is lisping heavily; all his ess’s coming out as th’s. (This injury is historical, and Dorothy makes wonderful use of it.)

It is clear they are very short of supplies and are suffering from soldiers deserting because of it. In the middle of a tirade about this problem, where the lisp trips him up constantly, he utters the immortal line:

Hell and perdithion!’

‘Ith there no word in the Englith language wanting an Eth?’

Then Will Scott arrives, in the guise of Mr Taylor, having brought some of the supply wagons. He deals effectively with Grey’s questions and then tells him he has a verbal message for him from London – for his ears only. This is a trick to get Grey alone and capture him, although Grey insists that Dudley, a cousin of the Earl of Warwick, remains.

At that moment one of the wagons explodes as planned, and as Grey and Dudley are distracted Will attacks them. Dudley is stunned but Grey is an experienced fighter and uses a wrestling trick that Will doesn’t know to break free and call for help – though ‘Help! Guard! Athathinth!’ wasn’t perhaps an entirely suitable choice of words!

Nevertheless, having lost the element of surprise, Will is overwhelmed and somewhat beaten up, and his men arrested. Grey and Dudley then attempt to get Will to talk, during which he takes more punishment, though adrenaline softens the pain initially. He even impudently mimics Grey’s lisp and gets a belt buckle across the mouth for it.

Grey discusses the situation of the lost stores – food, ammunition, money, and beer – and sends for replacements and to discover what he can about the theft. He tells Will that he and his men will be executed tomorrow as spies as there isn’t enough food to go around. Will tells him his men are mercenaries and will fight for him, but Grey reminds him that there is now no money to pay them.

Will is locked up and realises that he’s blundered badly and will be responsible for the death of his men, and that if Grey knew who he was he’d be used as leverage against his father, and is resigned to dying.

He’s relied on a single trick and been unable to convert it, and has no plan B or any idea of how to escape. His earlier confidence and ambition is revealed to be rather misplaced and he appears rather immature and inexperienced in some important ways.

Rescue arrives in unexpected form

Two carts are retrieved by a search party, with the English troops who were ambushed, stripped and tied. Dudley finds there is some beer and some ammunition and reports to Grey, in the middle of which a visitor bursts into the room, shouting vehemently in Spanish.

The door burst open, the tapestries flapped, and a human tornado, enveloped in a whorl of depot-stamped canvas and trailed by protesting soldiers, erupted into the room.

His expensive clothes are ruined or stolen and he’s been tarred and feathered on his lower legs. “and even Lord Grey had to admit the magnificence of his rage.”

They get him sat down with a bowl of hot water to melt the tar, and some mulled wine, and suggest he speaks to Myles, who speaks Spanish. At which point we get the unforgettable line:

The caballero was displeased. ‘But,’ he said with some hauteur, ‘I speak the Scottish perfecto.’

His announces himself as:

‘Don Luis Fernando de Cordoba y Avila, leader of the captured supply train’

refers to his illustrious relatives, mentions the Emperor with little sign of reverence, and then his career in fighting. He utters the proverb:

‘Un hidalgo no debe a otro que a Dios, y al Rei nada.’

‘A nobleman owes nothing to anyone but God, and nothing to the King’

Which is a pretty strong statement. No doubt it is intended to amplify his own importance but it would be rather controversial, if not downright dangerous, if heard by a monarch.

Myles goes to translate but Grey says ‘I can gueth.’

Whereupon we get another immortal line:

‘De veras,’ said Don Luis politely. ‘My Lordship has the true Spanish lisp of Castile. His Spanish sin dude is as much good as the mine.’

By now most of us are probably either doubled up with laughter or have our jaws dropping at the sheer effrontery of what is happening.

Every line around this point is perfectly written to expand on the flamboyance of this amazing character. If we’ve had time to think at all in the whirlwind of action and dialogue then there can be only one explanation of his identity, though you could easily be forgiven for not grasping it immediately on first read. It is all too easy to be swept along and just enjoy the ride.

But surely, in the midst of laughing, we now greatly extend our admiration for both character and author if we had any doubts previously.

Surprisingly we now find him revealing who Will Scott is, which seems a risky strategy:

‘This terrible Señor Huile! Lead me to him!’

‘Señor … Wait a moment,’ said Grey sharply.

Don Luis paused in the midst of a characteristic rush to the door.

Grey said, ‘You don’t by any chanth know how the leader wath called?’

‘But of course!’ said Don Luis simply. ‘Do you not? It is Don Huile del Escocia.’

‘Don …’ Dudley suddenly experienced a terrible nostalgia for the King’s English, unadorned. ‘He can’t be called that. He’s a Scotsman.’

…

‘And the patronimico,’ continued Don Luis with undiminished helpfulness.

‘It is del Escocia, of Scot.’

‘Thcot!’ said Grey. His face suddenly lightened. ‘Wait a moment. Thcott! That’th Buccleuch’th name. Huile – It’th the Thpanith pronunthiathion, idiot, not the Englith. What thoundth like Huile … Will! Will Thcott! Buccleuch’th oldetht son!’

‘Idiota?’ said Don Luis stiffly, picking out the insult unerringly from the maze of multisyllables. His feet, a tarry mound, were ringed with pools of water from the cloak, and his eyes were narrowed at Grey. ‘Idiota?’

Was ever a scene so perfectly created with such a mixture of melodrama and humour? It is further amplified as Mr Myles tries to use his Spanish knowledge to calm Don Luis, but mistakenly uses the word ‘embarazar’ – which means to get pregnant.

Don Luis, now regarding Lord Grey with unconcealed curiosity.

We can only imagine how much Dorothy must have enjoyed dropping that one in.

Shortly after as they try to arrange new clothing for him:

There was a pause. Then the Spanish gentleman said, very distinctly, ‘I do not hear aright. I trust one does not ask me to wear clothes of the common soldier with, no doubt, the louse?’

Will is brought up later, once clothes have been supplied by Lord Grey himself, and Don Luis, staying true to character, walks over to him and looks him in the eye with his cornflower blue eyes, so that Will (and we) realises for sure who he really is, and slaps or punches him in the mouth, while producing a Spanish saying:

‘Aunque manso tu sabuesso, no le muerdas en el beco.’

‘Even if your hound is tame, don’t bite it on the muzzle.’

Or alternatively

Though your bloodhound be gentle, don’t bite him on the lip.

To which Will replies

‘Hay un otro, Señor Luis. Ruin señor cria ruin servidor.’

“There’s another one, Mr. Luis. A vile master breeds a vile servant.”

Will realises that they now know his name. But before he can consider the implications of that Don Luis ‘observes’ that Will is about to faint and Will takes the hint and falls.

Instead of taking him back to his cell, Don Luis then strongly suggests that he and his men immediately take Will and his men to Berwick, thus relieving the issue of feeding both his men and the prisoners, and after some discussion this is agreed, Everyone is finding Don Luis’ presence rather tiring, which is no doubt why Lymond is doing it!

Don Luis bowed. Woodward bowed. Myles bowed. Grey bowed.

‘I depart,’ said Don Luis magnificently. ‘For the hospitality, for the food, for the beer, for the horses, for the clothing, a million embracings. My dear lord; my dear sir; my dear gentlemen.’ Everybody bowed again. ‘Adiós!’ said Don Luis, and left the room.

A magnificent exit!  Zorro himself could hardly have done better.

After they’ve gone and Grey and Dudley are discussing the affair over a glass of wine, another of the wagons blows up, and on investigation the other one with the beer is found to contain only brackish water. A note is found that translates as ‘All is not gold that glisters’ – a final flamboyant flourish.

On the way back Will discovers to his initial disbelief that Lymond had given the men a choice of staying with him or going with Will – predicting that he would go to Hume against orders.
Meeting up with Mat they pause, and we get:

‘S’wounds,’ said Mat. He eyed Scott’s face. ‘It looks to me as if someone has sat on our William.’

While Lymond says:

‘Barbarossa! We are covered with admiration. An actor manqué, my dear, to convince them so thoroughly that you expected to perish directly. You have had,’ he said inquiringly, ‘a little accident to the mouth?’

which the men hear and take at face value. Will realises that Lymond has predicted his foolishness, told his men of the plan, then has rescued him at considerable risk, while taking the opportunity to punish him, and then humiliated him by allowing his men to think him a hero while he knows he’s been thoroughly outmanoeuvred and can’t tell anyone the truth.

We’ve been given excitement, humour, a further insight into the depth and complexity of Lymond’s thinking, and crucially an additional insight into his love of flamboyant theatrics. We are seeing a complex multi layered character develop and it’s being done in a way that makes you realise that nothing is ever quite what it seems!

And, if we hadn’t already realised, that our author has a wicked sense of humour!

– – –

One additional point of history

I read in the comments of a blog post some years ago that a reader had been researching events of the period, and it turned out that there had indeed been a Spanish captain fighting for the English in that area at the time. It seems certain that Dorothy had found that fact in her own research and had turned it adroitly for her own purposes!

A note about Dorothy’s language skills

At one point Alastair had to go to America for an extended business trip, so Dorothy decided to take the opportunity to go to Spain for six weeks and learn the language, which she seems to have done quite successfully. I dearly wish I had her aptitude for learning languages!

And another little anecdote

Last year I had been discussing this scene on social media on my tablet or phone. A couple of weeks later I was writing something quite unrelated on it and started typing the word “Scottish”, at which point to my delight the autocomplete function offered me “Scottish perfecto”!

That would have amused Dorothy no end!

Lymond reading notes 5 – Game of Kings – The Play for Jonathan Crouch

1. Mishap to a Queening Pawn

Now there’s an opening line to make you stop and think!

On Sunday, the day after the affair at Lake of Menteith, Lord Culter was also taking aquatic exercise of a kind which all but turned his epithalamics into elegies.

An epithalamium is a nuptial song or poem in honour of a newly married couple. Richard is of course not long married to Mariotta. An elegy is a funeral song. I wonder what percentage of readers had to look up the former to make sure they understood it?!

Before explaining this sentence we get a deft description of what Richard has been doing – first harrying the English under Wharton, and then employing his political skill to persuading many of the Border families, who had been threatened or bribed by Wharton, back onto the Scottish side. It’s done smoothly, without breaking the rhythm of the story, but gives us further insight into Richard’s character and abilities.

Returning to Midculter he remembers he has an escort to undertake and journeys across the Lowther Hills to the meeting place at Morton. Here we meet the next new character in the story – Agnes Herries.

Agnes’ family is extremely wealthy and arrived in Scotland in the time of David I. She is the heiress at only 13 years old after her father’s death and her mother’s remarriage, and is therefore of considerable political significance. Sadly she is not the prettiest girl, and even the supportive and tactful Sybilla, with whom she has been staying in order to be groomed, says she has “regrettable taste”. Agnes has been promised in marriage since childhood to the son of the Governor of Scotland, which she is not particularly happy about, since she has dreams of romantic love which seem to occupy most of her thoughts!

You might think that this would make her an unattractive character, but in Dorothy’s hands she is in fact quite delightful. Her switching of heroes in her little romantic fantasies with which she escapes the bad weather – it is pouring with rain – has a pluckiness about it which is rather endearing.

They are met by Andew Hunter with some of his men from Ballaggan, who gives Richard some news of his family and suggests they go to Ballaggan to dry off, though that means crossing the river, which is rather high.

Richard is doubtful but Hunter rides into it midstream and then says he’ll return and lead them over.

From Agnes’ perspective we get a humorous but alarming description of her being held on Richard’s horse and being annoyed that he was talking to the animal, and then, as the horse loses its footing, them toppling into the surging water of the Nith.

Then horse, rider and heiress fell, stirrups free, and in a bruising splash of colliding bodies, Agnes Herries hit the water. Wrenched from periastral dreams she became Lady Herries, just thirteen years old, and screamed and screamed with choking, soundless hysteria as the current spun her in rough fingers and shot her, buoyed up by petticoats, straight down the Nith.

I love the way Dorothy slips in “periastral” in the midst of near tragedy.

Richard, with great effort, saves them both from drowning and drags her to the riverbank, when we get a glimpse of his sense of humour:

‘My God, we need practice at that. Shall we do it again?’

Perhaps he and Lymond are not so dissimilar after all.

Anyone who hasn’t seen it may be interested in my article on tracing Richard and Agnes’ journey and the location of Ballaggan.

https://www.dorothydunnett.co.uk/blog/book-discussion/in-search-of-ballaggan.php

2. A Knight Wins an Exchange

They are taken to safety, not at Ballaggan, but at the nearer Drumlanrig, where a number of the Douglas family are introduced – Sir James Douglas, Sir George Douglas, and Archibald Douglas the Earl of Angus. We’ve met Sir George Douglas briefly at Stirling, and we’ll be seeing him again in the future.

We get a brief summary of what had happened after the fall in the river:

For they were in a Douglas household, instead of Hunter’s elegant, exhausted estate of Ballaggan. Alone and without help, Richard had brought Agnes Herries ashore: his own men were upstream and Andrew Hunter, far ahead, had been deaf to his shouts. But afterwards, warned by the commotion, he had raced to their aid, wrapped the girl in his own cloak and carried both swimmers to Drumlanrig,

The descriptions are in separate sub-chapters, but did you notice that Hunter had said he would lead them over, but is then “far ahead”? Curious.

Dorothy’s descriptions of the greeting and hospitality give the feeling that the Douglas’s concern and congratulations for Richard’s saving of Agnes is not entirely genuine – Archie is “free if trite with his compliments” while we get this about George:

“Sly and splendid as a half-tamed leopard, Sir George had smiled…”

In front of the fire, with Richard apparently asleep, Sir George is aware that Andrew Hunter wishes to ask him something, and they discuss Crouch. Hunter tells him that a cousin is a prisoner in Carlisle, but he can’t afford to ransom him. If perhaps he had a prisoner he could swap for him it might be possible, and he has heard that Sir George has one, could he perhaps buy him? Sir George generously agrees and Hunter goes off to find pen and paper.

The silence lengthened. Then Sir George Douglas said, ‘Why so silent, Lord Culter? Don’t you approve of such transactions?’ Culter opened his eyes, and the faintest smile crossed his lips. ‘Sir, when two friends discuss money, the third friend should invariably be asleep.’

The next morning, over a substantial breakfast, (I love the phrase “Lady Herries, arranged in antique pose at the breakfast table”) the recovered Agnes talks with Richard and Hunter about the trip to Stirling, and the papingo shoot, and the fair. Hunter tells Richard his family are worried about him taking part in the shooting and what might happen if Lymond is there.

When Richard asks Agnes if she’ll come and see him shoot, we get a curious thought from Andrew Hunter; or is the first part actually from the narrator?

This was self-sacrifice with a vengeance. Sir Andrew threw his lordship a commiserating grin, and felt it stiffen on his lips at the look in the other man’s eyes. Hot water under cold ice, then, he thought. He wasn’t surprised.

Does self-sacrifice relate to the potential of being assassinated? (Although Lymond had issued a challenge, not made a threat.) Or does it refer to tolerating Agnes. And why did Hunter’s grin stiffen, yet he then says he’s not surprised? Does hot water and cold ice refer to Richard being prompted to respond and exert his authority on the decision to compete, or does it mean he has stronger emotions under a coldly determined exterior? Always so many layers to what Dorothy is telling us.

Also, Hunter seems to be playing up the threat a little more than necessary – both with Mariotta at Menteith, and now with Richard – which seems slightly odd.

After they’ve left we see the Douglases talking, and it’s clear that they have some sympathies with the English side and they are in fact playing both sides against each other. It’s risky – they could gain or lose everything, but they seem to have ambitions for themselves rather than for either country.

Lymond comes up in the conversation and it’s clear that they can’t tell which side he’s really on, though George seems to be envious of his intelligence network.

Margaret Douglas, Countess of Lennox, who was mentioned at Annan, also comes up, along with her claims to the thrones and a further hint that something went on between her and Lymond. We hear about her row with her uncle, Henry VIII, shortly before he died, and get the delightful:

‘Yes. Well. She’s highly strung.’
‘Highly strung! God, Archie, that wasn’t what you called her mother.’

We also hear a little more about why the invasion wasn’t pushed further:

‘Oh, yes.’ Sir George smiled. ‘He’d only food for a month, and he didn’t get the local support he’d expected – notably from the Douglases, Archie: now d’you wonder that I’ve been so forthcoming with him? Then a really nasty political mess flared up in London: be thankful, dear, that you have a prudent brother.

And a little later:

He looked consideringly at the Earl. ‘If I were you, Archie, I should wait until the really bad weather, and then suggest that your precious Lennox comes north with a raiding party. They’ll never do it, but it’ll assure the English of your good will. And then come the spring, why not ask them to send Margaret too? A joint command … that would stiffen Lennox’s back for him!’

It’s clear that of the three it is George who has the brains, and also that he enjoys watching others collide and compete. They mention Lord Grey:

‘He’s been in France for years: a clammy, stiff-backed old pike. The billhook, I’ll bargain, came out lichened over.’ He laughed again. ‘The first encounter between the old lad and Lord Wharton I shall see or die. They’ll be heaving each other’s guts out of the window.’

 ‘Well,’ said the Earl of Angus crossly, ‘what’s so funny about that? … You’re a weird sort of devil, George,’ said his brother with the flatness of long usage.

All of which neatly sets us up for a number of forthcoming encounters.

Lymond reading notes 4 – Game of Kings – The Play for Jonathan Crouch

Stirling

Arran the Governor, awaiting the final, destined disaster of Somerset’s attack, saw Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin in lapidary capitals before him and was sick with nerves.

Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin
“numbered, numbered, weighed, and divided”

This refers to the spirit writing on the wall of Belshazzar’s palace. It’s from the book of Daniel and is the origin of the phrase – The writing on the wall – meaning impending doom.

“Fighting had left Wat Scott of Buccleuch unaltered: bonnet crammed with Buccleuch bees…”

He takes Tom’s news of Will being with Lymond surprisingly calmly. In fact there’s a suggestion that he’s quite pleased to see him doing something with conviction.

We also learn that neither Tom or Wat have much time for George Douglas.

The news comes that the Protector’s army is on the march, but not as everyone in Stirling feared, towards them, but south, back to England. It’s a miraculous let-off for Scotland.

Relieved of the need to defend the town Tom travels to the Lake of Menteith, where the royal family has been moved for safety.

It is commonly said to be the only lake in Scotland, where we mostly call them lochs, but in fact in this case Lake comes from Laich, meaning an area of low flat ground, often a wetland, and indeed the Lake is shallow. So shallow in fact that in very cold weather it freezes over and is used for outdoor curling.

We get a lovely description of lights and music floating across the water from the Priory, echoing the opening description of the Nor Loch.

There the young Queen, her mother, Sybilla, Mariotta, and Christian are hiding on the islands of Inch Talla and Inchmahome.

Christian pumps Tom for information about Crouch, then to his surprise declares the matter closed – perhaps assisted by Sybilla, who steps on his toe, apparently by accident. Sybilla never does anything by accident – a bit like her author!

‘My dear man,’ said Sybilla next day, placidly stitching before Earl John’s big fire. ‘Admit you’ve never had to live with eight children on an island, and every one with the instincts of a full-grown lemming.’

We hear that Mariotta has been a bundle of nerves since her encounter with Lymond at Midculter.

Andrew Hunter is there too, and Mariotta asks him what men – like Richard – talk about.

He was taken aback, but he answered her. ‘What does Richard discuss with other men? Horses, of course. And pigs. And the state of the barley, and the new cocks, and the hawking,  and what the Estates are up to, and the wrestlers, and any new shiploads he’s expecting, and the rates of exchange, and taxes, and poaching, and pistols, and the price of roofing, and his deerhound litter, and Milanese armour, and the lambing … Richard’s interests,’ said Sir Andrew, with a hint of defensiveness in the soft voice, ‘are pretty wide.’

‘But never dull. I wonder,’ said Mariotta, her eyes expressionless, ‘what Lymond makes of light conversation?’

Hunter sat up. ‘Lymond’s conversation doesn’t give me a moment’s alarm. It’s his actions that hurt. Richard’s bent on this challenge at the Wapenshaw and, my God! if he goes, it’ll be suicide.’

Do I detect a touch of sarcasm in that “But never dull.”? From all this we can surmise that despite the marriage between Richard and Mariotta being a superficially successful match, there are tensions, and one of them seems to be that they don’t seem to talk about anything substantial. We get the impression that Richard doesn’t talk of estate matters or politics to her, perhaps regarding that as men’s concerns. Which makes you wonder what else he doesn’t talk about, and what else is left to talk about! Maybe she got more conversation from Lymond in the stairwell at Midculter than she’s had from Richard since they were married!

A stushie develops

The next day Marie de Guise is in a rage, but it takes us a while to discover why.

The Dowager Lady Culter, who was also seated, wisely said nothing, partly out of diplomacy and partly from sheer respect for her vocal chords: a very small child with tousled red hair standing before her continued to hammer on her knee in a detached sort of way, screaming gibberish at the top of her voice. ‘Hurble-purple, hurble-purple, hurble-purple!’ chanted the child.

Thus are we introduced to Mary Queen of Scots, in a way unique to Dorothy.

It takes the unflappable Sybilla to unravel the cause of the upset and her assessment also explains what has taken place to the reader – an interesting writing technique.

Mary has been taken to the gardens at the edge of the lake, by boat, by her maid Elspet, who leaves her playing for a while to meet her boyfriend. What happened next is as yet unclear and we’re told that Mary was accosted and then the maid returns and bundles her into the boat in a panic. There are accusations that Mary might have been kidnapped but that appears unlikely – a maid returning is hardly likely to be able to prevent a man from taking a 4-year-old if that was the intent.

Sybilla downplays it and suggests they ask Mary:

‘Marie! Come and tell Maman what the ill-doing man did?’

‘What ill-doing man?’ asked the red-haired child,..’

‘He wasn’t a malfaisant. I liked him. Can I –’

‘Mary, was he a monk?’ said Sybilla gently, mindful of one of the unlikelier aspects of Elspet’s story (‘But all the monks are at Sext’).

‘He was a nice monk,’ said the child, with a single inflection neatly robbing the statement of all value.

All of which alerts us to the fact that all is not what it seems. And there’s a further clue:

‘He said the rhyme, and he knew my name.’

Sybilla expertly diverts attention from further speculation and sums up. So Mary finally gets to say her rhyme:

‘Hurble purple hath a red girdle

A stone in his belly,

A stake through his arse

And yet hurble purple is never the worse.

And demands to know what it is.

But it appears that Sybilla is familiar with the verse and rather deflates Mary by giving the answer. Which leaves the reader to speculate on the meaning behind it all.

Back at the gardens

There is a switch of scene and we are with Christian, saying in French “How do you know him, when he doesn’t know him?” Of course I recognised who it was. Credit me with ears, at least.’

It becomes clear that she’s with Lymond and that she recognised his voice when she heard the fuss when Elspet returned and grabbed Mary and fled back to the island. The mysterious monk was him.

They are in the middle of the maze, surrounded by hedges. Christian asks how Mary had found him and we get a delightful story of how he fell asleep and awoke to find Mary sitting on his chest.

‘She said, “M. l’abbé” (you’ll have gathered I’m dressed like a magpie) – “M. l’abbé, you ’ave greatly insufficient of tonsure.” And I said, “Madame la reine d’Ecosse, you are greatly in excess of tonnage.”

After which exchange of pleasantries …’

‘She got off?’

‘Not at all. She bounced like a cannon ball and said that Dédé –’ ‘Her pony.’ ‘–That Dédé had long yellow teeth; and did I know –’

‘That,’ said Christian in chorus, ‘you can tell a person’s age from their teeth. That’s a favourite one.’

This interchange and the rest of the tale demonstrates that the innocent charming Lymond we saw when he had lost his memory, persists now that it has returned – with Christian and Mary at least. The contrast with how he dealt with Will Scott or his behaviour at Annan could hardly be greater. They clearly enjoy each other’s company and are completely relaxed.

He chides her for trusting him without knowing who he is and giving him access to the young queen’s hiding place, before stopping and berating himself for being rude and ungrateful to her. She changes the subject to his recovery – he explains that he’s much better apart from falling asleep a lot, as when Mary found him.

They discuss who else is with the queen and that Tom had told Buccleuch about Will being with Lymond. He then asks about Crouch and she tells him he’s with George Douglas. Thanking her he then tries to tell her who he is.

‘No!’ she exclaimed. ‘I don’t want to know!

There was, for the first time, a weary distaste in his voice. ‘But you require to know – you must see that. This secret – the Queen’s hiding place –’

‘Have you betrayed it? Will you betray it?’

‘No.’

‘Then leave me ignorant,’ said Christian. ‘What would make matters easier for your conscience might make them insupportable for mine. I prefer to be selfish. God knows I’ve been wrong – politically, legally, conventionally and every other way – in judgements before. But these always seemed to me the more irrelevant aspects of human decency … You are at least Scottish, I think?’

‘Yes.’

‘– And in trouble. Well, I’m human,’ said Christian. ‘I don’t want conscience money in the form of secrets: not just now, thank you. But the day you genuinely want help, I’ll be proud to have your confidence. Till then, show your thanks, if you wish to, by letting me have news of you sometimes.’

His silence shows how much this impresses him and they discuss whether she would know Johnnie Bullo’s voice:

‘Good,’ he said. ‘Yes, I shall keep in touch. Not as often as I should like, but certainly more than I ought by all the tenets you quoted.’ They were almost out of the shelter of the box hedges, and he stopped and took her hand, as if examining it. ‘What in God’s name are you going by?’ he said. ‘Instinct? Intuition?’

‘Common sense. Which describes your case as fortunae telum, non culpae.’

(trans. A weapon of fortune, not of guilt.)

We can see a man who is astonished and grateful to find such a degree of trust – perhaps suggesting that he has had so little of it for many years – and full of admiration for her. Christian’s Latin quote also suggests a deeper knowledge of him, his situation, and her belief in his innocence.

He answered, bleakly, in the same language. ‘Heu! The darts which make me suffer are my own. Common sense can be a poor guide and an uncertain surgeon. Better – much better – be foolish, like me. God clip you close,’ he said, and was gone.

That final ‘God clip you close’ strikes me as being said with real sincerity and concern.

We have been told something of his character, quite at contrast with the first views we had of him, and had hints of his backstory without it ever being explicitly mentioned.

And if we pause to consider it we can already tell that this author possesses storytelling skills above the level of most.