What do Lymond and Marthe look like?

This one might be a bit controversial!

Anyone who’s read my Twitter/X contributions over the last few years (and increasingly Bluesky now that Musk has driven so many away from X) will probably have seen some of my responses when people post overly macho choices for our favourite “hero to end all heroes”, Francis Crawford of Lymond, (other Dunnett heroes are available).

We naturally all have our own ideas, our own internal vision of the various characters of the Lymond Chronicles, and the arguements over The Great Casting Game have been running for many years. Our thoughts vary considerably of course – we all react differently and our mental images vary accordingly – but I was always rather bemused when they differed markedly from the textual descriptions.

But things really started to get perlexing when folk started posting photos of rugged, strongly built men, often tall, who were completely at odds with what Dorothy was telling us. I’ve remarked many times on social media that if you can’t put a long blond wig on the chosen actor and have him make a convincing Marthe then they really don’t work for me.

You see they are almost identical twins, the comparisons are made often enough for there to be no doubt of that. Such as

“For Francis Crawford and Marthe were alike. Sometimes the physical resemblance between them was striking enough to be uncomfortable.”

Even their voices are similar enough that Philippa is fooled when she first hears Marthe before seeing her, and Marthe is described in glorious terms that make it clear that she’s very beautiful. Lymond is described thus too, so must surely have a delicate aspect to his own renowned beauty in order to be compared to her so often.

But that’s not the only reason for rejecting conventional hero actors. The ever-persuasive reach of Hollywood and the equally pervasive TV series on both sides of the Atlantic have made it almost impossible to imagine a hero who isn’t tall, muscular, and square jawed. If you mention someone is blond then thoughts these days will probably turn to the likes of Thor and a bleached Chris Hemsworth! You just don’t see small-medium heroes any more; with the possibe exception of Spiderman and Ant-Man. And inevitably some of the female readership tend to be swayed in this rugged direction. For years I read discussion groups where some insisted that Lymond must be reasonably tall, and most assumed that he was conventionally handsome.

But a careful reading of the actual descriptions Dorothy gives us of Lymond show us a very different picture! For fear of shattering countless cherished mental images I have avoided laying out all the evidence for long enough, but I can take only so many photos of rugged six foot plus men with bulging biceps before rising in protest. So finally, inspired by a discovery a few months ago, I’m taking the plunge.

First, the evidence.

Lymond Descriptions

Being the introductory book, Game of Kings naturally has a number of descriptions of him, as well as hints in how he moves, and the mental images are further coloured by the atmosphere around those descriptions.

“His hair soft as a nestling’s” sets the scene, while the use of “winnowing” suggests agility and lightness rather than any sense of brute force. But the phrase that really first sticks in the memory is:

“Lucent and delicate, Drama entered, mincing like a cat.”

and it’s followed up with:

“With careful and porcelain tread”

and

“scanned the dairy-maid skin, the gilded hair, the long hands, jewelled to display their beauty”

But what of height? Our first direct indication occurs in the guise of a Spanish captain:

“Don Luis de Cordoba uncrossed long, exquisite legs”

They may be exquisite but the length is a shapely illusion – for when he requests spare clothing that isn’t full of lice we get:

“It was true enough. They were all big men, far taller than Don Luis.”

As the story develops we get little suggestions like:

“With a soft elegance Lymond slid into the seat opposite”

and we even get this first hint of androgeny:

“The blue, feminine gaze moved to Gideon”

These little micro-descriptions continue to add up – he has exquisite wrists and hands

“With the musician’s hands”

“his expression angelical”

Until we get this first reference, which will be echoed in Pawn in Frankincense where it will describe Marthe:

“With the face of a Della Robbia angel”

So what does a Della Robbia angel look like. Here’s a couple.

Many, but not all, of the following photographs are clickable for larger versions.

Detail of a Della Robbia angel

Detail of a Della Robbia angel


Della Robbia angels are often figures who are of uncertain sex – beautiful with cherubic faces and long curling hair. It’s hard to tell whether they portray a pretty young boy or a pretty girl. Once again the use of this description is a hint of androgeny, or at least a universal delicate beauty that would be equally suitable for male or female.

I remember Dorothy telling of a visit to the house of the Earl of Crawford to see a manuscript for research. As she entered the library she found to her delight a Della Robbia angel on the wall.

To return to descriptions, cats are often used as motifs, echoing that first one at Midculter.

“stretching like a cat”

All of these descriptions suggest a light, almost delicate frame with elegance and supple beauty. Even in the most masculine activity of the book – the dramatic swordfight between the brothers, the two best swordsmen in Scotland, the descriptions of Francis suggest a light athleticism rather than a crude or heavy combat, though obviously a strong arm must also be present.

In Queens’ Play we get some more hints about height:

“Round, compact and shining with salt, a scrubby figure whisked up the loose foremast rope”

Round is from the leather-padded stomach disguise, but compact suggests an absence of height.

“‘Liam aboo!’ returned his ollave concisely from the yardarm, and like a soiled raindrop, slid down to the deck.
Tis a bard out of Banachadee. My little, weeshy ollave,”

“On the arch over the bridge, something moved. Plump, nimble, fluttering black, light as leaf on find, a man dropped from the pediment and clung firm among the upset, steaming urns on the bull elephant’s back.”

Nimble, light – again this has no suggestion of any great height.

When out of disguise and visiting Tom Erskine we return to the slim and cultured:

“Slender in black silk, the thinly textured fair skin neatly tailored over its bones.”

Much later when the Thady Boy disguise has been discarded we get Vervassal:

“beside this elegant person, fine as a fan stick carved under warm water, from pale hair to the pale, moving light of his rings.”

“Beneath the golden light the other man’s face was luminous as alabaster”

More feline grace:

“catlike young man”

He is extremely attractive to the French nobles, many of whom appear to be bi-sexual:

“Cest une belle, mais frigide. Une belle, vois-tu!” (It’s a beautiful one, but frigid. A beauty, you see!)

“Throughout the introductions, d’Enghien’s gaze did not leave him: moving slowly over the burnished head, the indolent face, the beguiling limbs.”

Beguiling! An interesting choice of words; the OED describes it as meaning “charming or enchanting, often in a deceptive way.”

In Disorderly Knights the androgenous aspect is raised again with rather more force, as we find him organising an ambush dressed as a girl! And he’s convincing! Not just from a cannon shot distance like his men, but convincing enough for Sir Ralph Bulmer to lift him up to his horse!

“A light hand on his arm stopped him short. Below, her floating gown filthy, the girl of the hilltop beseeched him, her eyes anxious cisterns of blue. For the merest second, Sir Ralph Bullmer studied her. Her hands were empty and her thin dress innocent of weapons.”

How many typical Hollywood heroes could pull off that trick? The only ones that come to mind as successfully playing female roles are Tony Curtis in Some Like it Hot and the lightly built Dustin Hoffman as Tootsy – both with a lot of makeup. But never in a thin flowing gown.

In Pawn it is Marthe who gets most of the great descriptions. But in Ringed Castle we start seeing him through Danny’s eyes after their first meeting in Russia.

“His eight officers, staring edgily back, saw a delicate-looking gentleman in a pretty paned and pinked tunic with the finest voile shirt bands and a link-belt of Italian enamel work. A man whose yellow hair, dry and light and unevenly tipped, eclipsed the sunlight behind him, and whose Attic profile and unoccupied, long-shafted hands caused a small moan of ecstasy to burst, very circumspectly, from Mr Hislop’s baby-pink lips.”

Surely we can now leave the rugged conventional leading men behind please.

We also get a better idea of height in RC. When Philippa first meets Chancellor at the Sidney’s house:

“…revealing a short, stocky man in his thirties, with untrimmed black hair and a beard”

Why this is important is revealed later, but first, what was the average height at that time? 5ft 7in for men and 5ft 2in for women seems to be the the consensus.
So what would “short” suggest. Perhaps 5ft 1in or 2in?

After Chancellor has travelled to Russia and he and Lymond meet and the party is ordered to retreat to a church for the night, we get:

“From a disadvantage of four inches and a quantity of stupefaction, Diccon Chancellor bowed.”

So that makes Lymond around 5ft 6in at most.

Also in RC, returned from Russia, he and Philippa meet again for the first time since Volos, and when they go to a room to talk in private she observes him – and Dorothy produces a memorable line:

“Against the dark panelling the clear, colourless skin and fair hair looked deceptively delicate, like a tutor she had once had who turned out to be a practising gelder.”

In Checkmate he masqerades as Hilary and we discover he sings as a counter-tenor.

Later we get

“this fair, slender man with the sculptured face and wide, watchful eyes, and the lyre marks of satire and also of arrogance about the long mouth.”

More than anything else he and Marthe are described as being nearly identical twins,  Her beauty is described eloquently – so his must be strikingly similar.

Heading for Russia, Danny surmises he will be gorgeous and that is confirmed by Adam and as we’ve heard, shortly after when when they meet in Moscow.

Some early ideas

All this, even allowing that I might not have picked up all of it on first or second read, was why when I first ventured into the The Great Casting Game my choices for Francis were David McCallum with his Ilya Kuriakin boyish good looks – not tall but no less a hero for that – and Jason Connery, who with long blond hair as Robin Hood, carried off the combination of handsome beauty while still being clearly masculine.

Many of the following photographs are clickable for larger versions.

David McCallum - who delighted fans as Ilya Kuriakin in The Man from UNCLE

David McCallum – who delighted fans as Ilya Kuriakin in The Man from UNCLE

Jason Connery as Robin of Sherwood

Jason Connery as Robin of Sherwood

Jason Connery as Robin of Sherwood

His father Sean would play Robin as a much older man in Robin and Marian

But the more often I read the books the more I started to put together these hints of an androgenous aspect to Lymonds looks, and the more I considered it the more it matched the reactions of people to him. The way both women and men are physically and sexually attracted to him, why Adam sketches him so often, partly why he commands such a presence – beauty was greatly revered – and why he was underestimated by both his supposed father and his elder brother as being an effete brat. For those who believe Jerott was attracted to him physically – a common opinion among gay and bi readers – it perhaps also explains how the attraction started in their teens.

The revelation

One day I was musing on Marthe and what she looked like. Perhaps subconsciously to begin with, my mind was tackling the problem from the other end. What if we work out what she looks like, find a model or actress that matches, and then try to work out what Lymond might look like from there? I started looking for photos of blond models – such are the sacrifices I make for my readership! 😉

And quite soon I came across this image that immediately shouted Marthe at me – if a modern version of her – beautiful, blond, wonderful cheek bones – but with a suggestion of firmness that showed her determined and individualistic nature.

Andreja Pejic

Andreja Pejic

I checked the name and easily found another – wow, even more gorgeous.

Odd that that was the word that sprang to mind… or maybe not.

Andreja Pejic

Andreja Pejic – Australian supermodel

“There was a little pause. Looking into that angelic, fair face Philippa saw the authority she had missed before: the small lines round the mouth; the winged curve of spirit on either side of the fine planes of the nose: the faint, single line between the arched brows.”

You can almost hear this cool elegant creature delivering Marthe’s cutting remarks.

Now I don’t follow high fashion or I might have already been aware, but I then read, with some considerable astonishment, that this captivating girl was in fact, a guy! A male model who had become famous for being so androgenous and so beautiful that he modelled both mens and womens clothes with equal success and was in high demand on the catwalks of Europe. His name was Andrej Pejic. He’d apparently been voted the 98th sexiest girl in the world in FHM magazine. I had to wonder where he’d have finished if the voters hadn’t known he was a boy!

I should say that while looking for more images and background information I soon discovered that, perhaps not surprisingly, he was now she – having had gender re-assignment surgery and changed her name to Andreja, and was now firmly established as a supermodel. Apparently he’d known since the age of 13 that he should have been a girl. I’ll leave you to guess or research which photos are pre-transition and which are post – they are remarkably consistent and certainly explain the demand for his/her services as a model both prior and post the transition. I wish her well; I know a few transgender people and know how much courage it takes to transition, and even to just try to live a normal life.

But back to Marthe and to Lymond.
It was around this point that a couple of voices from Russia whispered in my ear –

“Is he gorgeous dear Adam?”
“Undoubtedly gorgeous.”

It was all starting to come together. I was already convinced I had my Marthe. Though of course I had to go back and make sure!

Andreja dressed in white

Andreja – the long delicate hands

Andreja in white

Andreja in white

Yeah, I’m sure.

And the more I thought about it and remembered and looked up the descriptions I’ve quoted above, the more I felt this must surely be the sort of dramatic beauty that attracted most of the French court and caused that “small moan of ecstasy” from Danny. But this time enclosed in the definitely male persona of her brother.

Any more masculine and Marthe couldn’t be so beautiful and Sir Ralph might not have been convinced. Any more feminine and Lymond would never be able to command as he does, while Marthe would be reduced to exotic window dressing and lose some of her strength. It’s a fine line when dealing with near-identical siblings.

So considering just Marthe for the moment, this is what I feel she may, must, surely have looked like. I find these images compelling, quite apart from the intriguing androgenous aspect – unquestionable beauty, a sense of aloofness, strength and independence of mind. Those long slender hands – oh those hands! – echo the elegant musican’s hands we hear about so often with her brother. No wonder Jerott was so madly in love with her.

Lymond of course is more difficult.

There aren’t anything like as many photos showing Andrej in male guise other than the following young ones I’ve included here – perhaps it’s not surprising given the media attention was mostly on how convincing a girl he made pre-transition and how beautiful she was afterwards. He was 17 when scouted and before 20 was wowing audiences across Europe and working for Jean-Paul Gaultier. Now there’s a coincidentally similar name 😉

In this first one he’s strikingly handsome and definitely male, yet change the clothes, add a little subtle shading with makeup, and he’s not that different from the convincing feminine person we see in the modelling shots.

Andrej in casual clothes away from the catwalk

Andrej in casual clothes away from the catwalk

In this second one, posing for the camera, perhaps for Vogue, he’s still clearly male but the potential is also very evident. He’s still fairly young though.

Andrej modelling for the camera

Andrej modelling for the camera

So I can’t show you a photo and say ‘that’s Lymond as we know him in the books’, but  these younger photos of Andrej can perhaps give us an idea of Lymond as a teenager if we can get past the long hair.

Andrej transitioned at 24 so of course we can never know what he might have looked like as a mature man in masculine guise – how, as Marthe thinks in Lyon, he had grown into his looks – so it maybe doesn’t get us too much further to “seeing” Lymond in his later 20’s directly, but I do feel that if we can imagine the young Andrej a little more mature with shorter hair and clothes of the period then we are getting much closer.

The next time you hear someone suggest Tom Hiddleston or the like – send them over here.

There’s only one slight problem with all this. We’ve established that Lymond is around 5ft 6in. Andreja is 6ft tall.

But hey, you can’t have everything exactly right! Or as Lindsey Davis likes to say of her books – “It’s fiction, I made it up.” Though some readers will never believe that of Lymond!

But I hope I’ve given you cause to re-examine your mental picture of Lymond as Dorothy describes him. He’s a lot more complex and intriguing than any of us realised on that first read. Well into double figures I’m still learning new insights.

“Every line of him spoke, palimpsestwise, with two voices.”

To conclude with a little postscript, everyone seems to have a Taylor Swift pic these days, so here’s one of her with Andreja. As Danny might have said – Double Gorgeous!

Home, (or is it Away?) with Anselme Adorne

I’ve just recently returned to Slovenia from a visit back in Edinburgh for the first time in almost four years, having been unable to travel until now due to first, the Covid lockdowns, and then a severe rheumatic condition. It was a short visit of only 3½ weeks, and it felt odd in some ways coming “home” to my native city when home now is my beloved mountain village in Slovenia. So much that was familiar and yet now so different from a quiet semi-alpine life.

I timed the planning of this visit in the hope that I’d be able to attend the Dorothy Dunnett Society AGM weekend, and happily I was able to do so and meet up with some old friends who I hadn’t seen since 2019. It proved tiring – I’m still not fully recovered and my knees are weak and painful if I have to walk any distance or stand for long periods, and as a result I missed the Saturday morning lectures and had already decided against the gala dinner as being too ambitious – particularly as I also had a 4-way birthday lunch with some very old and dear friends on the Sunday.

It was lovely to see both sets of friends and I hope I’ll be able to travel more regularly now – potential knee replacement operations allowing. (Travel tip: don’t wear a knee support when going through airport security – it confuses their machines no end!)

The Saturday afternoon lecture was given by Dr Bryony Coombs on Anselm Adorne, whose 600th anniversary it is. Before going further I must congratulate her on today’s announcement that she has been elected a Fellow of the Royal Historical Society – very well deserved!

She is researching into his life and connections and here focused interestingly on his books, and the sort of material that would be read by a man in his position. All of which of course throws further light on the likely contents of Lymond’s library further down the line – a subject which I know fascinates many readers.

Dorothy’s research into Adorne is of course an invaluable source and I’m certain that Dr Coombs will build on that to illuminate him further and I’m sure she’ll be back to speak to us again in the future. I look forward to that very much. I’ve been attending the Zoom meetings of the research group set up to study him for this anniversary and greatly enjoyed hearing about the investigations that are going on.

I also had an almost forgotten bonus awaiting me at home – a number of copies of Whispering Gallery, the DDS magazine, which had arrived here during the first year or so of my Slovenian exile before I got them to send them directly to my new home – plus a few more that I had barely had a chance to read due to my father’s final illness and the funeral and estate processing that followed in 2020.

Reading through them all one night reinforced just what a marvel they are – so much better than any comparable magazine in literary or historical society circles; professional, glossy, superby laid out and illustrated. We’ve always had good editors who’ve built successively on the talents of the earlier ones, but Suzanne McNeil has been a revelation over the years that she’s been in post and seems able to attract some outstanding contributions on a regular basis. Even if you don’t wish to take any other part in the Society, the magazine is well worth the membership fee on it’s own, and I highly recommend it.

Sadly I didn’t have space in my case to bring them back with me but I hope to do that on my next visit – there is much I would like to read again in a less hurried fashion and consider more carefully.

But to return to Anselm Adorne, I leave you with a question worth considering. We know of course that Dorothy initially planned to include a fictitious daughter of his as the Katelinje character; before the astonishing discovery of a real neice who came to Scotland with him and her brother – and who in a mind-boggling and hitherto unsuspected coincidence – married into a real family who just happened to be called Crawford!! (That still blows my mind every time I think about it.)

All of which makes me wonder if she originally intended Adorne to be a direct ancestor of Lymond rather than the one-sidestep-removed that he ended up as. Would the original plan for the series have included more of him, and an even closer relationship with Nicholas? If so, I wonder how different the story might have been and how much re-writing she had to do to fit the historical discovery into it?

Taken on a journey to Blackfriars

A surprising number of years ago (2008 in fact) I started a series of articles discussing favourite quotations and scenes from the Lymond Chronicles. I had intended further similar articles but life got in the way and other articles were written instead.

A discussion a few weeks ago on social media prompted me to think about one of the most loved scenes in the entire series – the Anvil Scene. I suppose one of the reasons I hadn’t written about it before was just exactly that universal awareness and love – what is there to say about a scene that has been pored over on discussion groups so many times? Yet it reminded me of the techniques she had used in the scene discussed in the second article – “As a maiden lady, you would wear anyone down…” – so, as one correspondant had requested it, I thought I would discuss it now.

Like other occasions when she is about to hit us with a major relevation, Dororthy sets it up with delicacy and subtlety. We have had numerous tragic and dramatic scenes in The Ringed Castle – the shipwreck, the reunion with Richard followed by the later knocking unconscious, Berwick. And we’ve just had the intriguing meeting with John Dee followed by what seems an innocent invitation to dine with his friends, hosted by Mary Sydney. Instead we get the first unexpected reunion with Philippa since they parted, platonically married, after Instanbul. Their lives have been very different in the intervening time.

Casting an eye around the other people there he spots her. We get a surprisingly long initial reaction with a hint of first-person about it.

It was, of course, the girl he had left at Volos, remarkably tidied, in a square necked gown with a great many chains and medallions, and a brimless black beret and crespin, which was a little alarming when one remembered the brown hair, in Kate’s fashion, sticking to her neck and her cheeks. But she now had the best excuse, naturally, for indulging in all the fashions forbidden to the well-brought up single girl. He smiled at her suddenly, on this thought, because she was staring at him with Kate’s eyes, starkly distended, and because he was aware of how much he had changed, and of the two thousand miles of age and culture and experience which divided them now; and took her hand, and said,
‘I may hold you to your marriage if you continue to make such impressive improvements. Does that terrify you as it should?

Notice that little mention of Kate’s eyes. (Those of us who adore Kate will of course immediately recall them being described as “melting brown”.) It hints at an affection for Kate perhaps beyond mere friendship, and that will become a theme later on in Philippa’s mind, as well as being a subtle misdirection here. It’s such a small aside, easily forgotten in the sweep of the story, but these things matter when you’re dealing with a master wordsmith.

Philippa converses expertly at table, plays harpsichord with great expression, and later surprises him by revealing that she had intercepted letters to him before they reached Bartholomew Lychpole. He discovers she is studying with Ascham, a rare priviledge, which explains her capping his quotes in Latin, and she is now fluent in Italian.

When they talk further in private he finds she has a good grasp of complex politics but has become entangled in a situation that may put her in danger.

However they then argue over the papers and her investigations into his family. She accuses him of cowardice regarding Sybilla – how many people would have the courage to accuse him of anything, let alone that?

He finds her more stubborn than he could imagine and eventually threatens to close off contact with her and Kate if she doesn’t stop. It’s a dreadful threat, yet after Austin breaks in on them with a sword and fights the unarmed Lymond, it is she who holds her would-be protector for him to hit, and when she repeats her refusal, Lymond utters an unexpected line which is not easy to interpret –

‘I don’t think you have changed since you were ten years old,’ Lymond said. ‘How fortunate we all are, in some ways.’

Perhaps, despite his angry threats as he tries to protect his privacy, he sees her courage and intelligence, and is reassessing even in the midst of conflict.

Revealingly he then suffers from one of his worst headaches to date. It has clearly been a great strain.

There is then a gap. There’s a tense encounter with Margaret Lennox where she threatens Kate and Philippa’s lives. During it he tells her that Kuzum is not his son. For readers who were not sure which child was killed that is a major distraction.

Complex trade and military negotiations with many undertones take place with the Privy Council, and, further distracted in trying to make sense of it all, we tend to forget what else we’ve recently seen.
It’s followed by Danny’s report about the Courtney papers – more pieces of puzzle to put together, more distraction.

There is so much here to keep track of and think about. Game of Kings seems almost simple in comparison!

But then we are introduced to Sir Henry Sidney, who requests a meeting with Lymond at Lady Dormer’s house. It’s part of another social event and Philippa is again there and clearly is a favourite of Sir Henry. Lymond and Sir Henry talk of the Lennoxes and concern for Philippa and it’s clear that Chancellor had shared the threats to his own life. Sir Henry is concerned at the possibility of an assassin in the company ranks. He returns the Cicero which he has bought back at considerable cost, in thanks for trying to save Chancellor, and Lymond is clearly moved.

As the conversation turns to lighter matters – a theory of John Dee’s about faster-than-light mirrors showing your history – Philippa shows her sense of humour, social skills, and ability to joust verbally with Lymond, and more of her political acumen and awareness.

‘Philippa, when he returns from Spain, you will have to watch your conduct with Don Alfonso.’

‘I have to watch it already,’ said Philippa gloomily. ‘Don Alfonso is the first thing any mirror would pick out; like a cake with periwinkles on it. Have you noticed my hat?’

‘I have noticed,’ said Henry kindly, ‘that you are wearing a sock with a tassel in scarlet. I thought it better not to refer to it. Spanish?’

‘Spanish,’ said Philippa.

“The Count of Feria,’ said Lady Dormer, ‘has given my dear Jane a diamond.’

The company murmured its approbation. ‘And there you have it,’ said Philippa, turning her brown eyes owl-like to Lymond. ‘Jane Dormer gets diamonds and I receive socks.’

He turned and looked at her, his face perfectly blank. Then he said, ‘Where are you wearing the other one?’

Her eyes, staring at his, were equally expressionless. ‘I keep my dowry in it,’ she said.

He studied the smart little cap below which, for once, she had allowed her brown hair to hang loose. ‘Forgive my scepticism,’ he said, ‘but is it big enough?”

‘My head,’ said Philippa, ‘does not require a large hat. And a Somerville cranium brings its own dowry. Moscow does not have a monopoly of females with compounding assets.’

His blank face is clearly done with some effort – you can feel the enjoyment and the admiration sneaking up on him. That little mention of her hair hanging down, just slipped in, oh subtle Dorothy!

The conversation seems to dance from topic to topic.

‘No. The world is full of them,’ Lymond said. ‘But not usually borne in the head. Robert Best is as good as a play, isn’t he? What else has he told you?’

‘Why?’ said Philippa. ‘Shall I be shocked?’ She reflected. ‘Could I be shocked?’

‘After Suleiman’s harem? I should think it unlikely,’ Lymond said. ‘I was simply afraid you would explain it all too clearly to poor Robert Best. Your wedding night, sweet Philippa, is going to be a revelation to someone.’

‘When I wriggle up from the bottom of the bed? Do they do that in——‘

‘Lady Dormer,’ said Lymond, ‘is listening to you.’

‘She is watching me. She is listening to M. d’Harcourt. Why do you call him M. d’Harcourt? You called Jerott Jerott.’

‘I called Jerott a great deal worse than that. His name is Ludovic. You will like him. He doesn’t like eagles.’

‘Slata Baba? Did you call her Slata or Baba?’ Philippa said. ‘Or was she exempt, since she couldn’t presume on acquaintance?’

Francis Crawford turned to her and laid down his knife. ‘Philippa Somerville,’ he said. ‘Will you kindly take a new sight for your cannon? You see me beaten quite flat to the groundsilling. Try Mr Jenkinson. He may understand Persian love-poetry.’

Astonishingly he seems to be finding her hard to cope with. All the anger at her meddling seems to have entirely vanished. We of course, are entranced.

All of which leads us to the fateful trip to Blackfriars, and a delightful scene.

On the journey by boat there is further political and personal safety discussion with Philippa and then an earnest talk with Ludo, who after swearing loyalty, adds his name to the list of people who have told Lymond how remarkable she is. We wonder how often he needs to be told….

At Blackfriars, amongst the bizzare contents of the Office of the Queen’s Revels and Masques, they all relax and find plenty to remark on and indulge in word-play.

They know you,’ said Ludovic d’Harcourt.
‘She is the model,’ said Lymond, ‘for their dragons.

‘I don’t know how we’d have managed with those Turks, but for Mistress Philippa.’
‘Mistress Philippa is excellent at managing Turks,’ Lymond said.

But pilgrims? Mistress Philippa, could you manage pilgrims?’
She looked up at him, her brown eyes astonished. ‘I start with the Whifflers,’ said Philippa, ‘and work my way up.’
‘Whifflers?” said Ludovic d’Harcourt.

They march in front of the pilgrimage,’ offered Nicholas eagerly. ‘And clear the way with wood wands. The wands striking the air make a——
‘Whiffle,’ said Philippa gently.
To make people buffle,’ said Lymond, even more gently. Unlike hufflers.’
‘Who take umbrage too readily,’ said Philippa

You can almost feel Lymond smiling.

What will Mr Becher’s ducks do?’ ‘Form a harem,’ Philippa said. ‘Like Vladimir, who converted your Russia to Christianity. He had, I am reliably told, three thousand five hundred concubines.’
‘I should think,’ Lymond said, ‘Christianity was his only hope of survival.

More smiling I suspect.

But there is an unexpected reminder of the emotions of a past tragic encounter –

They all came to a halt. ‘Medioxes, stuffed with Hay, Half Death, Half Man,’ Philippa read.
‘Now I do know who that reminds me of,’ said Lymond feelingly.

But even that he seems able to shrug off.

As Lymond and Ludo mock swordfight Nicholas with wooden swords we get:

Philippa, lowering the (wooden) axe, said, ‘I have never in the whole of my life seen you laugh before.’

And we stop momentarily to think if we have. At Watt Scott’s joke on the Kerrs at the Wappenshaw. Can’t think of too many other times.

He is, in such an innocent setting, and amusing company, dropping his guard – perhaps for the first time since he was 16 years old, when another more worldy woman took advantage of his trust.

Dorothy then produces an insane masterstoke – Ludo discovers the manuscript of a play – Love and Life, by William Baldwyn – with all the characters names starting with L. Delighful farce ensues. Philippa pulls on a wig and declares herself Lechery, a Luscious Hore, and Lymond proceeds to dress in an orange costume as Lamuel the Lewd. He’s clearly enjoying himself.

They start to make up lines filled with Ls while Ludo and Nicholas can only watch in wonder. Lymond, used to being an actor with all the best lines, finds to his delight that his young wife is matching him. He’s compelled to say “Bravo” twice (twice!) before they compete to declaim the ending, where she triumphantly finishes the final line, started by Lymond,

‘Ah, Lamuel, lest your Life be Light Lament not for your Lost Delight Beshrew Loose Ladies in the Night OR LANGUISH LOCKED IN L!

to great applause – before the stand collapses.

We have been entertained and delighted and probably laughed out loud. Our own guard is down. Now we’re concerned, as Lymond is, for both the unconscious Philippa and Ludo with a head knock and a broken arm. Dorothy has charmed and (Languorously and Laboriously?) lulled us into forgetting to think about where she might be leading us.

In the boat, with Nicholas still bubbly and Lymond indulgent with him, relaxed feelings continue and the musings begin. After the hilarious preceding scene there is an almost dreamy feel as we head up the river. There’s time to Lymond to think. Not a luxury often available to a Voevoda.

And here Dorothy uses her most powerful trick – having hinted at it on that first meeting, we are now allowed fully into his mind; a place we have hardly ever been permitted before. Yet it is done so gently that we are hardly aware of it until the deed has been done.

Cradling Philippa’s head in his arms he reviews what has just happened and her witty wordplay. Recalls Kate and Gideon and their excellent qualities which he clearly admires and sees handed down to her. He remembers her bravery in running away to find him at St Mary’s when she realised her mistake in not passing on Tom’s warning, and then following him across the Mediterranean in search of the child. He considers her recently displayed musical skills – a subject dear to his heart – the fine expression as well as technical prowess.

Realising it must have taken considerable practice he calculates her age – with evident surprise – and reflects on her intellect, political acumen, kind heart, and that Ascham thought her worthy of teaching. How she was now exceeding even Kate’s achievements, with promise of much more to come.

No longer automatically thinking of her as the child she was, he starts to finally give himself time to see what Chancellor and Ludo and others are so admiring of, and suddenly, without warning, the veil is lifted and he sees her physical beauty as well, perhaps properly for the first time, and in an instant all these threads combine. Her lips…..

And deep within him, missing its accustomed tread, his heart paused, and gave one single stroke, as if on an anvil.

Clang!
It is done.

We shriek with delight, and gasp at the unexpectedness of our aloof, ice-cool hero, so recently a wounded emotionless shell, taken unawares by a sentiment that we perhaps doubted if he had within him. After all, you cannot love an eagle.

And if we have time to think, we gasp too at the audacity of our author. And yet she has been setting us up for this as only she can. It has moved imperceptibly from unthinkable, through highly unlikely, to intriguing, to the most natural thing in the world – and we scarcely noticed being led.

She’ll do it again, as I’ve discussed in previous articles, but despite knowing some of the tricks she employs we’ll fall for them again because they are far more than mere tricks. They are the sublime skills of a master storyteller. Literary sorcery, again.

And she’s set up not just the conclusion of this book, but tortured scenario of the tour-de-force that will be the final volume. Where nothing will come easily for our favourite characters.

Dorothy’s 100th birthday

Just a quick post to act as a reminder to anyone who follows this blog. Tomorrow, 25th August 2023, would have been Dorothy’s 100th birthday, and across the world, readers will pause and remember, and probably lift a glass to her memory.

I can’t really say anymore than I already have in numberous posts and articles across this site, including the previous post of the toast that I proposed by proxy at the Centenary Gathering in April. You all know how much I loved and respected her and adored her writing.

So wherever you are tomorrow, stop for a minute, and remember the great pleasure you’ve had from reading her magnificent books. Give thanks for her life and celebrate her birthday.

Thank you Dorothy, you’ll never be forgotten.