We’ve been looking in the last few scene analysis posts at some later parts of the series – e.g. Philippa’s homecoming at the start of Ringed Castle and Lymond falling in love for what may be the first and only time towards the end of the same book.
This time however I want go back almost to the beginning, and explore the encounters with someone who could so easily have been a first love had circumstances been different, and in the hands of a lesser author probably would have been – Christian Stewart.
There are a few scenes that we’ll look at – separated by action and movement of the characters – which tell us a lot about both Lymond and Christian, and incidentally are a source of mystery to me as to why so many first time readers remain so unsure of Lymond for so long.
First meeting – in misleading circumstances
We’ve been introduced to Christian on the battlements of Boghall with Richard and Wat Scott, but the second time we meet her is after Lymond and Richard have met and Lymond has placed the doubt in Richard’s mind that sends him correctly to face Wharton and Lennox and deter them from completing the pincer movement that could have led to the defeat of the whole country.
Simon Bogle discovers Lymond unconscious in the bog and takes him back to Christian, who is in charge at Boghall Castle now that Lord Fleming is dead and Jenny is with the royal party at Stirling. But of course we don’t know that it’s Lymond at this point – it could easily be Will Scott, who also appears to have been knocked out in the same skirmish when Erskine rescues Richard. An interesting little ploy of Dorothy’s – we are in Christian’s viewpoint and she is blind, so we are effectively as well, until the subtle clues are gradually presented. In fact the following scenes are presented through sounds, spoken words or Christiam’s thoughts and very little is described. Once you realise how she’s doing it, it’s a cunning and delightful technique.
Christian’s first action is to use her sense of touch to learn as much as she can about the unconscious figure, and it tells her a great deal – that he’s young, and very well dressed (apart from the English cloak). Then there’s an interesting little slice of dialogue:
“If I were married or promised to that young gentleman I’d sell the lead off the roof to ransom him back. Unless he’s a Spaniard, do you think?”
“Not with that hair, m’lady.”
Now Sym doesn’t actually say he’s blond, or indeed red-headed, and the reader may jump to either conclusion depending on how they’ve interpreted matters so far – cunning indeed by our author. If we’ve thought about it – either now or later – we’re also left to guess whether he says it off-scene. If Christian does know he’s blond then would that be enough to raise the idea in her mind of his real identity? It’s only later that we are introduced to the idea that with her heightened sense of hearing and auditory memory she might know Lymond’s voice from years before. But at this point she hasn’t yet heard it, and we are probably much too busy to think about her life in the world of sound and what that implies.
The discussion with Sym also gives us some little hints at Christian’s sharp intelligence, sense of humour, and ability with words:
“Hugh’s bad temper takes practical forms,” said Christian thoughtfully. “Ransom or no ransom, your gentleman will find himself in multiple array on the wall spikes if Hugh sets eyes on him.”
Sym devoted some thought to this. “Of course, we can’t write for ransom anyway until he wakes up and says who he is.”
“And by that time, Hugh might be feeling more like himself.”
“I find the resemblance to himself at the present moment quite startling,” said Christian. “But never mind. Go on.”
We’ll soon get much more of this as she verbally crosses swords with the amnesiac Lymond, albeit gently.
Later, he awakens:
“God: my skull’s split.”
It was a cultured voice, with no inflection which would have seemed out of place at any point north of the Tyne. Like the jewelled aiglettes it announced consequence, character and money.
So still no clue – Lymond or Will?
He ate, and much intrigued, Christian waited.
On first read we can’t tell if this is a very subtle hint that she already knows, but on later reads…. maybe.
And she uses her incisive mind to good effect immediately:
At the end, he spoke again. “I was not, I hope, wearing a nightshirt when discovered?”
An artless gentleman. Christian followed the lead. “Your clothes are drying, sir. Your weapons were impounded when we found you were English.”
and finds an interesting response:
“English! Lucifer, Lord of Hell!” (Here was passion.) “Do I look like an Englishman?”
So she then follows up with her little-used trump card:
“I,” said Christian with wicked simplicity, “am blind. How should I know?”
But his response is simple and perfectly phrased to avoid pity or embarassment:
“Oh, are you? I’m sorry. You hide it extremely well. Then what,” he asked anxiously, “made your friends think I was English?”
At this point on my first read I was already pretty sure that this was Lymond – I felt that Will would have had more of a sustained emotional reaction. Even when not quite fully in his senses this suggests Lymond’s control, which we’ve already had hints of.
The next section has him venturing into poetic areas, which Christian falls in with effortlessly. Then Sym asks his name and we, and Christian, realise that he’s feeling confused and somewhat woozy, and then that he has no memory of who he is. Sensitively, she allows him to rest, but Dorothy keeps us on our toes by putting Will’s word into his mouth:
“This officer, but doubt, is callit Deid. . .”
Second discussion
The following day she visits him again, discovering that he is up and feeling better, but still suffering from amnesia. They discuss the risks of her staying at Boghall before turning to his identity and what will happen if his memory doesn’t return before she goes to Stirling. They lapse into poetry and she matches one of his quotes to his delight. Their conversation is relaxed but still shrewd, showing their respective intelligence and awareness of undercurrents.
“Your French is excellent, of course,” said Christian. “And you disliked being called English.”
“Thank you.”
“Implying Scottish rather than English affinities-“
“I hoped you’d notice that.”
“-In which case,” said Christian reasonably, “do you not owe it to yourself to appear in public? Someone here might even recognize you.”
“A shrewd move, decidedly,” said the prisoner with interest. “If I disagree, I am undoubtedly lying about my loss of memory. On the other hand, it might be genuine, and my belief that I am Scots might be unfounded; in which case your friend Hugh, according to Sym, will be apt to give free play to his prejudices, and your hopes of a ransom will vanish.”.
and later
She smiled, and threw his own quotation back at him. “Deceit deceiveth and shall be deceived. You have an incorruptible voice and a lawyer’s tongue. One thing I commend in you: you refused to add to the sins of the poets. A false pedigree is always worse than none at all.”
“Avoiding your traps, O virtuous lady, O mixt and subtle Christian. But, as you see, I am honest and good, and not ane word could lie.”
I wonder how Henry Lauder, who we’ll meet much later in the book, would react to hearing Lymond described as having “a lawyer’s tongue”?!
Shortly after this Dorothy uses an interesting word:
Betrayed into archness, Christian caught her temper and said evenly, “I can’t, of course, answer for what will happen to you if I leave before your memory comes back. But meanwhile, until it does, you may have grace to stay anonymous, if you wish.”
Archness – the quality of being deliberately or affectedly playful and teasing. Some definitions suggest it verges on rudeness. Is Christian annoyed at herself for being rude, or perhaps for being a little flirtatious? On first read we don’t suspect that she knows who he is, but on second and later we suspect that she does – is she toying with him, or is she perhaps attracted to him?
Memory’s a fickle thing
In the afternoon she returns to the room to find Lymond giving Sym a fencing lesson! Dispatching the lad with admonitions, which she also applies to Lymond, they exit into her secluded private garden and we get a lovely description of the scents of the flowers in language taken from a musical setting – neatly combining Christian’s two chief senses and paving the way for Lymond to introduce his own main passion, which matches hers.
Nothing moved but great rumours of perfume swelling and fading, sforzando and diminuendo; an orchestration of woodwind in the warm air. Silence, broken by three golden notes of a lute: her own, she remembered, left on the bottom step. She said, “If you play, please go on. Music’s my joy and my obsession.”
He starts to play, and then to sing and moves through a variety of styles and composers, delighting Christian. However she remembers she has a trick to try to prompt his memory and asks about Jonathan Crouch – who Lymond has mentioned in his sleep. He starts to answer then realises he’s remembered more than he knew. He’s shaken but not annoyed, but it doesn’t immediately trigger any further memories.
He starts to play The Frogge would a wooing ride… and in the second section stops suddenly as it blasts apart his amnesia by reminding him of his teasing of Richard. (This was the point at which I decided on that first read that I needed to intensify my concentration on this fascinating and devious author, lest I miss other connections that she might be laying.)
He starts to play The Frogge would a wooing ride… and in the second section stops suddenly as it blasts apart his amnesia by reminding him of his teasing of Richard. (This was the point at which I decided on that first read that I needed to intensify my concentration on this fascinating and devious author, lest I miss other connections that she might be laying.)
Immediately he confesses to Christian that he has persuaded Sym to show him how to escape, but throws himself on her mercy by saying that he’ll only use it with her permission. Finishing with an Italian couplet which translates as:
If it’s a yes, I’ll write a rhyme;
If it’s a no, we’ll be friends as before.
There followed a pause, during which Christian came to the annoyed conclusion that she had once more been outmanoeuvred. Possessing the key, he had flung himself on her mercy. Why? It occurred to her that when referring to the enslavement of Sym, he had refrained with the utmost tact from drawing a parallel. He had left her to do that. To betray him now would suggest the vindictiveness of a disappointed woman, and she might well, in his opinion, shrink from that.
“a disappointed woman”. Again it seems to hint at a slightly romantic edge to her feelings. It seems, that even without his memory, and without her being able to see his handsome beauty, that he retains that magnetism that follows him through his life. I’m not suggesting that she’s in love with him but she does seem to be entranced by his honesty and his manner.
And Dorothy drops another little hint at the end as Tom Erskine arrives, and having sent Lymond off with Sym we get:
Christian Stewart lifted her skirts and began climbing the stairs thoughtfully.
“Damn the man!” said she, as she went; and it was not at all clear which man she meant.
Later, she goes with Sym to the cave where Lymond has already been found by Johnnie Bullo, and she offers to find out about Jonathan Crouch. He gallantly declines but she plans to try anyway. His use of Shaharazad’s name in respect of her is another little hint that she picks up on irritably.
The Lady by the Lake
They next meet in the gardens of the Lake of Menteith, by which time we’ve been entertained by the tale of the young Mary having had an encounter in the same place, with a mysterious monk, which has caused her mother considerable concern. Sybilla, the soul of wisdom, has established that there was no ill-intent surrounding it, and we hear that Mary liked the man she met, and we find that Mary’s rhyme, which she has been desperate to tell, is well known to Sybilla. If we’re paying attention then that is a big clue as to what she is able to infer.
Christian has been nearby, having sent Lymond a message to meet her there, and after Mary is removed screaming by her maid, she greets him, to his mild surprise. Her excellent sense of hearing has immediately recognised his voice even from a distance. She asks how Mary had come across him, and we have a delightful description of her waking him up by sitting on his chest and telling him he has “greatly insufficient of tonsure”, to which he replies ‘Madame la reine d’Ecosse, you are greatly in excess of tonnage.’ followed by a series of conversations, games, and songs which demonstrate just how good he is with children – something that will surprise Sybilla later in the series.
They discuss how she got the message to him and how poor the guard is on the land around the lake, and he starts on a bit of a mild tirade about how she shouldn’t be trusting him, a stranger, with royal secrets and putting herself in danger, before stopping and apologising. She merely changes the subject and asks him about his head. They appear ever more relaxed – each concerned for the other more than themselves.
They discuss Will and that Wat has been told that he is with Lymond. Then realising how long they’ve been talking and that she may be missed at the priory, he rises and asks about Crouch, to be told that he is a prisoner of George Douglas.
Making his mind up he announces that he will reveal his identity to her.
“Yes, of course it helps. Very much.” He appeared to be in a difficulty. “Yes . . . I have been postponing . . . Lady Christian, when we last met you were unthinkably kind and generous-for no kind of thanks that I remember making. I swore to myself not to involve you further. Then when I got your message I was irresponsible enough to come here after all. But at least you shan’t be in the dark. You shall hear-now-who I am, and if you want to call the guard, I shan’t try to escape this time.”
“No!” she exclaimed. “I don’t want to know!”
Here, on the second read, was when I decided she already knew, but felt it was better for both of them that the deception was maintained. Plausible denyability we would call it nowadays.
After being assured that he is indeed Scots she tells him she’ll be glad to have his confidence if he needs help in the future, and asks that he keep in touch when he can.
One wonders if in fact she has always suspected that the accusations of Lymond being a traitor were false. She’s well-connected, socially and politically, is close to Sybilla and Wat, and listens to everything, and may well have drawn her own conclusions.
I’ll leave the story there for now – their later meetings are set a little further on and would make this article far longer – but let’s look at what it’s told us so far.
She is shown to be quick-witted, kind, and quite willing to take risks based on her judgement; which she seems to have far more of than most. She clearly trusts him and wants to help him. Perhaps we already have a small suspicion that she craves a degree of excitement in her life that her blindness has denied her. But then she’s a Stewart with red hair, so a streak of romanticism would hardly be a surprise.
He is shown to be gentle, refined, musically and poetically expert, and comfortable and skilled in conversing with both women and children. He’s refrained from escaping from Boghall and despite being in a desperate situation where he faces being executed if caught, he’s repeatedly put her needs first and attempted to refuse her help.
Given his situation (and the back-story we as yet have few inklings of) he has no thoughts of love, yet he acts with the upmost consideration and admiration for her – he clearly cares. (In the meantime we readers of the male persuasion are of course already madly in love with her.)
You can imagine many authors who would be happy to have created such a pair, and be content to have them end up together after a few plot twists. And many readers who would have been equally satisfied with such an outcome. It’s quite easy to envisage a future love developing; given the right circumstances. This author however is made of sterner stuff and is painting on a much larger canvas. But we are still at the beginning of this saga and we’ll be shocked and anguished by a great many scenes before we reach the end. But let us enjoy the innocent interactions between them while we can.
A Question
One question for any readers who were still confused about Lymond’s character until the appearance of a certain Don Luis Fernando de Cordoba y Avila. Why were Lymond’s interactions with Christian and Mary not enough to convince you of his fundamentally good intent? Was there a particular aspect of Dorothy’s early misdirections that you couldn’t shake off?