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.