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.

 

Lymond reading notes 3 – Game of Kings – The Play for Jonathan Crouch

In a chess context, blindfold play is literally playing without sight of the board. One or both players can be blindfold. If both players are playing blindfold then they sit facing away from each other and a third person plays their announced moves on a board and watches for any illegal moves.

You have to visualise the position in your head and keep track of what has been moved. Players who are very good at this can even play multiple games at once – known as blindfold simultaneous. The world record is playing 48 opponents simultaneously. In my youth I once managed 4 at once. It’s challenging and fun but very taxing.

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.

We now get a complete change of pace – something that we’ll see many times in Dorothy’s writing.

Simon Bogle discovers a body 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 blind as well, until the subtle clues are gradually presented. In fact the following scenes are presented through sounds, spoken words or Christian’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). Dorothy uses the phrase – “the shape of an unconscious boy”, which is a fleeting and easily missed hint about Lymond’s age – something we probably haven’t considered yet.

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.

An intriguing speculation is whether she and Lymond knew each other as children – which seems quite likely – and if they did whether Lymond ever allowed her to feel his face with her fingers and would she have enough of a sense of him to recognise him from that years later?

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.”

I rather think I fell in love with Christian with that line! It has a rhythm that seems very Scottish and a sense of wry humour that is the same.

We’ll soon get much more of this as she verbally crosses swords with the amnesiac Lymond, albeit gently.

Once Sym has him put to bed, with fire and food prepared for when he wakes up, we get a lovely little description from Christian’s blind perspective.

Flurried movements of the big fire, to her left. Silk, pricking her right hand as the bed curtains stirred in an eddy. A rustle from Sym’s feet in the rushes. A voice far below in the courtyard, crying something she could not quite catch. A creak from the bed. Another. A languid stir of the bedclothes.

It’s such an evocative little section, putting us in touch with her senses of touch and hearing. And intriguingly she’s then described as “gripped with laughter”, which raises interesting questions.

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?

As regards his accent and what clues it could give, it may be that Dorothy is fudging things a little here. The accent in Newcastle, which sits near the mouth of the Tyne, is very different than say an Edinburgh accent. Of course the richer and more cultured you are the more similar the accent may be, and Lymond speaks French, German, and Latin, and that may also tend to flatten any differences.

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 who he is, 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 embarrassment:

“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 after the brief outburst. 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 words into his mouth:

“This officer, but doubt, is callit Deid. . .”

Before falling asleep he produces the following:

“O lady: nor later. Deceit deceiveth and shall be deceived. It’s no good and I can’t prove it’s no good: I shall be as much use to you as the Nibelunglied. For I can recall nothing . . . nothing . . . not the remotest damned shred of my identity.”

The Nibelunglied is a German epic poem from the 13th century that basically ends with everyone killing everyone else. It inspired, amongst other things, Wagner’s famous Ring Cycle. Dorothy was a fan of Wagner so this is a fascinating little item of her experience dropped in.

On the question of whether he could be faking his amnesia, I never felt it likely – largely because of the way he reacts when his memory returns and the circumstances surrounding it. Also he acts in a more innocent way during the episode – as if the many cares and concerns he carries have been removed.

I was asked during the discussion about why I trusted Lymond not to be faking it. You can see part of my answer to that in a blog post called Love at First Sight, or not, https://www.dorothydunnett.co.uk/blog/book-discussion/love-at-first-sight-or-not.php
which fortunately has no real spoilers so is safe for first-time readers.

Second discussion

The following day Christian visits her mysterious guest again, discovering that he is up and feeling better, but still suffering from amnesia. Noticeably he immediately suggests she may want to return later as Sym isn’t there, so as to protect her from any suggestion of impropriety, but she dismisses it.

He has been talking to Simon and has learned a great deal.

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.

He remarks that “Most of the heroes and all the poets appear to have been there before me.” as regards his loss of memory, and drops into French, which translates as:

“The nightingale is my father, who sings on the branch, in the highest grove. The siren, she is my mother, who sings in the dirty sea, on the highest shore.”

“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.”

“a lawyer’s tongue” is an interesting choice of phrase – is that a compliment or the opposite?

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 probably don’t suspect that she knows who he is, but on second and later reads we may suspect that she does – is she toying with him, or is she perhaps attracted to him?

Memory’s a fickle thing

We get a short description of the strain on all of the inhabitants of Biggar due to the news filtering in from Pinkie and its aftermath, which neatly gives us the strategic situation in the Lothians, and the dangers if Wharton’s army on the West should match the advances of Grey in the East.

In the afternoon Christian 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.”

(We’ll get used to the wonderful quality of Dorothy’s descriptions but this one is a lovely early example – quite simple but deliciously apt.)

He starts to play, and then to sing, and moves through a variety of styles and composers, delighting Christian. Their shared love of music relaxes them and brings laughter as they discourse in song and melody and musical ideas. It is perhaps our first glimpse of Lymond being innocently happy.

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 the lyrics blast 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

‘Se’l ser un si, scrivero’n rima;
Se’l ser un no, amici come prima.’

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.
‘Amici come prima, indeed!’ repeated Christian viciously to herself, …

 “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.

There is another possibility – if she already knows who he is then ‘Amici come prima, indeed!’ could take on a deeper meaning if they were friends when younger.

Dorothy drops another little hint at potential feelings 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.

Talking to Tom, she, and us, get an update on what’s happening. He and Richard have confronted and attacked Wharton who has retreated back into England.

“Overconfidence, we think. They spread a rumour they meant to march north, and got a shock when Culter assumed the opposite and charged in. Made a mess of poor old Annan, but nothing to what Clydesdale missed, thank God. Although I don’t mind saying,” he added frankly, “that Culter took a chance I wouldn’t have touched with a billhook.”

Seen in the light of Lymond’s taunting of Richard and telling him the Protector’s forces are in Stirling we get a clue to his real character. Lymond’s misdirection and false information has worked and Richard, disbelieving him and assuming that he was trying to trick him, has changed his mind and done the right thing for the wrong reason, and saved Scotland from disaster. A strong hint that Lymond is on Scotland’s side.

Later, Christian 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 Shahrazad’s name in respect of her is another little hint that she picks up on irritably. Does it perhaps suggest that he feels she may be maintaining their relationship by trying to be useful to him, and he, knowing the dangers in his situation, is trying to deter her in order to protect her?

This chapter’s notes are partly based on part of my blog post at
https://www.dorothydunnett.co.uk/blog/book-discussion/close-encounters.php
which also includes some material from the following chapter.

Information on Boghall, including some engravings and sketches of what it looked like can be found at https://www.dorothydunnett.co.uk/visits-south.php

Lymond reading notes 2 – Game of Kings – The Play for Jonathan Crouch

1. The English Opening

“en passant” is a chess term which simply means “in passing”. In chess it applies to situations like that shown in the diagram

A white pawn is on the 5^th rank, and the black f-pawn moves forward 2 squares. White has the option, on the next move only, of capturing that pawn as if it had only moved forward 1 square.

The English Opening is a standard opening system characterised by the first move being to play the White c-pawn forward 2 squares. Both phrases are being used to refer to the action using chess terms.

Battle of Pinkie

This takes place on 10th Sept 1547 on the banks of the River Esk near Musselburgh, quite close to Edinburgh. The ground on the East coast is pretty easy and the English were supported by a large fleet offshore, so were able to advance well into Scotland with little opposition. They had better artillery and heavier cavalry while the Scots were largely composed of pikemen, and their cavalry were badly depleted in an early skirmish. The result was a disastrous defeat for the Scots.

One interesting historical item is that during the battle Lord Grey was wounded in the throat/mouth by a pike. This will be featured later in the book.

Characters Introduced

Johnnie Bullo and Turkey Mat.

Johnnie is a gypsy, and we’ll discover that he is a “king” of gypsies. Mat is an experienced mercenary and leads the group when Lymond is absent. They exchange news of the invasion and of encountering Bannister, the English messenger. Johnnie infers that Lymond may throw in his lot with the English. Then Lymond arrives with a prisoner, who it turns out is attempting to join them.

Lymond doesn’t like being discussed and he and Johnnie have a short interaction

“nor am I overfond of being discussed, my Johnnie.”

“You’ve quick ears, Lymond.”

“But yours, like Midas whispering in the hole, are closer to the ground.”

This is a reference to a legend around King Midas that his ears were turned into ass’s ears by the god Apollo, and the secret of that was whispered into a hole in the ground from which grew rushes that repeated the secret in their rustling.

Lymond questions his prisoner at length, with a fast-moving sequence of questions to find out why he wants to joins them, what his experience and abilities are, and what his moral standpoints are.

At one point Lymond asks him for some verse and he replies in Latin:

“Volavit volucer sine plumis
Sedit in arbore sine foliis
Venit homo absque manibus …”

This translates as – A bird flew without feathers, sat in a tree without leaves, a man came without hands.

Lymond tops this by replying in German. It is one of the famous Medieval Latin riddles for children known as the “Featherless Bird-Riddle” (one of the Enigmata Risibilia), which explains Lymond’s comment that he appeared to have left his studies at a tender age.

Eventually the newcomer is so exasperated that he follows Lymond’s suggestion to shoot an arrow at one of Lymond’s men, Oyster Charlie next to the cooking pot. This results in Lymond’s memorable line:

“Oyster is not dead; merely lightly boiled in the shell.”

We’ve seen that the newcomer is well educated, but it’s clear that Lymond is much more educated, and capable of using it very effectively.

Appearing to reject him Lymond says:

“We all have our religion. With Johnnie, it’s Paracelsus. Mat here follows Lydgate; and your father and Ascham fit very well together.”

Paracelsus, born Theophrastus von Hohenheim, was a Swiss physician, alchemist, lay theologian, and philosopher of the German Renaissance. He was a pioneer in several aspects of the medical revolution of the Renaissance, emphasizing the value of observation in combination with received wisdom.

John Lydgate of Bury was an English monk and poet, born in Lidgate, near Haverhill, Suffolk, England. Lydgate’s poetic output is prodigious.

Roger Ascham (c. 1515 – 30 December 1568) was an English scholar and didactic writer, famous for his prose style, his promotion of the vernacular, and his theories of education. He served in the administrations of Edward VI, Mary I, and Elizabeth I, having earlier acted as Elizabeth’s tutor in Greek and Latin between 1548 and 1550.
We’ll meet him in book 5.

2. Pins and Counterpins

Annan

Lymond takes Will with him to Annan, which is on the West side of Southern Scotland, which has been occupied and burned by the English forces. He is going there to find Jonathan Crouch and question him. They are disguised in English cloaks as messengers. Lymond calls himself Sheriff and asks Will what he will be called – “This officer but doubt is callit Deid.” Here deid means death rather than dead.

He harasses the gate guards with a mixture of natural command and sarcasm, then speaks to the captain. He learns Crouch has been captured, and we have the first mention that Crouch talks incessantly.

Bannister has not arrived and the captain wants them to see Wharton. Eventually Lymond agrees as the captain is getting suspicious, but clearly this was not in his plans. He had hoped to see Crouch and then get out.

At Lymond’s suggestion they meet Harry Wharton, and subdue him in a dark alley, forcing him to take them to Lord Wharton, and Lennox. Will meanwhile throws a knife at the returning captain and he collapses.

By this point Lymond is having to improvise. He will need a distraction to give them time to get away, and having Wharton’s son at knifepoint gives him leverage.

We get a brief description of Wharton and slightly more, laced with politics, of Lennox, including that he is married to Margaret Douglas (who as niece of Henry VIII has strong claims to both the English and Scottish thrones). Lennox recognises Lymond when he enters and is clearly upset.

They discuss Bannister and Lennox accuses him of selling him to the Scots, but Lymond responds:

“Not at all. What a reputation to have! Not all of us have your lordship’s gift for trusteeship.”

It is then explained that Lennox once appropriated French gold meant for Scotland and then defected to England with it.

Lennox tries to insult him and the hint appears that Lymond was once a galley slave. But Lymond’s response is more telling still –

“But then I was brought up in bad company. From oar to oar, you might say.”

Swiftly followed by

“And how,” pursued the Master suavely, “is the Pearl of Pearls?”

From which we can deduce that Lymond has some previous experience of Margaret! This enrages Lennox who draws his sword before Wharton stops him.

Lymond then feeds them false information about another victory in Linlithgow and taunts them with the prospect of a total English victory, which might see Lennox appointed king consort to rule Scotland, then, lifting his helmet from the fire where he had earlier thrown it, he threatens to drop it on Harry’s head. They negotiate about money and Will collects it and wraps it up.

Then he does indeed drop the now somewhat cooler but still hot helmet – it seems rather cruel but it is the only way he can create a distraction that will be long enough to make their escape feasible. And there are also some readers who suggest that it is a just revenge for the burning of Annan.

They escape successfully, to be met by their two of their own men.

“Friend Bannister has got himself ambushed and now, my frivol Fortune, the ambushers are walking into the net. I’ll trip upon trenchers; I’ll dance upon dishes-it is now perfect day.”

It is almost as if he expected this to happen and planned for it…

3. Capture of a King’s Pawn

It is Richard who has captured Bannister and is attempting to get him to talk. He has a dire choice to make – retreat to Stirling, or stay where he is to try to oppose Wharton if he advances up the West side in support of the English army now near Edinburgh. Unable to get Bannister to talk he is about to choose the former when his force is then surrounded by Turkey Mat’s men.

They release Bannister and are about to ride away when Lymond arrives. In a scene heavy with undercurrents, He taunts Richard, then enquiries about the family and whether Richard yet has a son.

Richard asks:

“Your services are at present with Wharton, I take it?”

Lymond’s voice was absent. “Well, he’s certainly paying me. Once our friend Bannister reaches Annan, the road north is going to be a little crowded, what’s more.”

This puts doubt in Richard’s mind about Bannister’s message, and he asks if the Protector is in Stirling, to which Lymond replies yes, and then amplifies that by asking about the Queens and women also being in Stirling and speculates if the Protector insists on “merchetis, and his princely free access to the bedchamber”.

Richard has to decide whether Lymond is telling the truth or not – Lymond is playing on that.

Finally, as Erskine’s force arrives and Lymond’s men scatter, Richard declares Lymond will suffer and the reply is

“All right: a challenge, Richard! I’ll meet you at the Popinjay in the next Stirling Wapenshaw, and we’ll try then who’s Master!”

That is the last thing Will Scott remembers.

– – –

A suggestion
In trying to understand what is going on, when inevitably we have only sparse information at this early stage, it may be useful to wonder why Lymond is in Scotland at all. He will be executed as a traitor if caught, so why not stay in Europe as a mercenary? Why make himself known to his family and their neighbours at Midculter? Why is he looking for Jonathan Crouch? What does he hope to achieve? And the question those lead to – is he guilty or innocent of the things he is reputed to have done?