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There are of course a vast number of favourite scenes in Dunnettworld which we all return to time and again, and I’ve written about a number of them already. But the bulk of the first chapter of The Ringed Castle, if you can call two thirds of a chapter a scene, has long been one of my most favourite.

Today I was discussing light-heartedly on Bluesky, with a friend who is on her second read of the series, the thoughts of how much Kate must have been beside herself with worry after Philippa ran off to find Lymond and join the search for his son across the Mediterranean. I remarked that his letter to Kate – “She is safe, and with me” is somewhat contradictory to say the least, given his mission to kill Gabriel and how he attracts danger even more than he attracts both accolites and would-be lovers alike. Kate knows that very well and can have been only barely reassured and then constantly worried when little else reached her over the next few months.

That led me to think about the reunion and that I hadn’t written about it yet – so here we are.

Background to the opening scenes

We readers have watched Philippa grow and learn prodigeously during the various travels, first with the main party, then with Archie to Zakynthos where she meets the dying Evangelista Donati and takes responsibility for the adorable Kuzum, then with Mikal and his fellow Geomalers, before arriving in Istanbul where she has to enter the harem in order to protect Kuzum. She has mastered languages, been tutored in many subjects, learned to handle politics, diplomacy and subterfuge in the presence of Guzel and Roxelana. She’s faced Gabriel trying to intimidate her, watched Khairedden be killed in dreadful circumstances, been married to Francis, and had the presence of mind to extract a promise from him not to resort to suicide.

Kate knows none of this – her memories are of a somewhat disshevelled young daughter, sharp-witted and courageous but unsophisticated and ungroomed, and who had only just learned to stop hating Lymond.

We’ve been through high drama after high drama – the appearance (in both senses) of Marthe, the discovery of Oonagh’s body, Lymond’s fight in the sea with Gabriel and rescue by Jerott, the chess game and its aftermath, the escape through the cisterns, the ambushes, the anguish of the opium withdrawl at Volos, the reconciliation with Marthe.

The start of Ringed Castle is therefore a complete change of pace and scene, and Dorothy leads us into it gently but with lots of subtle undercurrents.

Opening line and first encounters

The opening line is of course a marvellous piece of scene-setting as well as a most memorable sentence:

Not to every young girl is it given to enter the harem of the Sultan of Turkey and return to her homeland a virgin.

while the next paragraph concisely explains all that has happened since she parted with Lymond at Volos. Suddenly we’re back in the vales of Northern England, and running into some known faces. The encounter with Sir Thomas Wharton neatly hints at Philippa’s new abilities.

It was a chaste encounter, conducted with grim efficiency by Archie Abernethy, with Philippa brazenly helping him.

There is nothing childish in the way the “Somerville child” handles the meeting. Polite and friendly but giving nothing away beyond Archie’s bare minimum information. She handles Sir Thomas effectively and is only disturbed briefly by Austin Grey’s clumsy question about Flaw Valleys – which he quickly corrects, and redeems himself by riding ahead to bring the news to Midculter.

The News reaches Midculter

We switch scene to follow him to Scotland, where Sybilla welcomes him and deals with him with her usual aplomb, until Austin reveals not only that Philippa is coming but that she has Kuzum with her, and we see a little through her normal mask of reserve as she passes the news to the entering Kate. They’ve clearly become close friends and are supporting each other as best they can. It is joyous news.

The description of them poring over the letters, discussing their contents and implications, is beautifully done – highlighting all the many concerns that must have nagged constantly at Kate, while Sybilla reassures her – even with regards to the news about having been in the harem.

Sybilla said calmly, ‘It doesn’t matter. If she says she was untouched, she was untouched. And no one else need know anything of it.’

‘In Flaw Valleys?’ Kate said. They’ll ask her about the pattern on Suleiman’s nightshirt…”

It is Sybilla, who often seems to simultaneously know everything and nothing about the character of her beloved son, who grasps before Kate the immensity of what Philippa has done.

‘Well, at least she went,’ said Sybilla comfortably. ‘It says here he sent her straight home from Algiers as well, and she made Archie Abernethy turn back so that she could continue her hunt for the little one. I think we owe a great deal to your Philippa.

‘Grey hairs,’ Philippa’s mother suggested.

With the description – “Kate, daily tramping the battlements” – we feel the depth of her longing and anxiety to see her daughter.

The Arrival

And then we get the moment of revelation for Kate:

Straining her eyes as they turned in at the gates, Kate studied them vainly for Philippa. In the lead was a small bearded man bearing a bundle, and beside him a stylish person in a cloak and hood trimmed with lynx, at whom Kate cast a wistful glance, since she could not imagine her having much time for her bedraggled Philippa. Then, looking again at the smooth, polished face and the coils of intricately pleated shining brown hair, she saw that it was her bedraggled Philippa.

But her daughter is as apprehensive about her reception as Kate is anxious to see her. She’s had the whole journey from Greece to think about it.

Philippa reined in and looked down at her mother. Sitting like the Queen of Sheba, with her face green with fright she said, ‘Did you get my letters from Austin?

What a nervous first greeting after so long away! But Kate breaks the tension in her own inimitable fashion:

Clearing her throat, she said, ‘Kevin and Lucy were expecting a nose-veil and curly-toed slippers.’

At which Philippa begins to relax a little and they banter cautiously a bit more before Kate’s perfect question:

‘Are you going to come indoors on the horse, or can I help you . . . ?’

(A laugh aloud moment for me, it’s just sooo Kate.)
and Philippa drops down and they embrace in tears – and many of us are too!

Surprises galore

But Dorothy is not done yet with surprises – either for us or Kate, She first takes us aside with Sybilla and we get the unexpected revelation that Archie is an old friend. (Makes you think about how Lymond met his late brother and then him.) Then we get to watch her first encounter with the 2-year old Kuzum and hear Archie rather carefully answering her questions about him and about Lymond’s wherabouts – “a wee bit overcome by the weather” – then swiftly changing the subject to Philippa.

They rejoin the rest of the family and Sybilla remarks about how will they be able explain the change in Philippa. Kate and Philippa exchange remarks about meeting Sir Thomas and how he’s a gossip and Kate says they’ll have plenty of callers. At which point we’re reminded that Richard has always had an eye for beautiful women (e.g. Mariotta and Joleta) when he remarks “Mostly male”, which emphasises without needless description, if we need to grasp it, that the plain, flat-chested girl who left England is no more – she’s developed into a very attractive young woman.

But something else has clearly been on Philippa’s mind, and she takes the opportunuty to obliquely bring it up.

‘Isn’t it queer? Philippa said. Standing at the top of the steps, she caught Archie’s eye and then removed her gaze from him, unfocused. ‘It didn’t occur to me that people might gossip. It was Mr Crawford who warned me.’

Sybilla misses the significance at first but Kate is immediately alerted that there’s something else – just not quite enough!

Dorothy uses one of her favourite techniques to lull us a little by breaking off to describe the courtyard, Kevin and Lucy, the horses, and then more extensively Richard, who is smiling. Or maybe she’s really ramping up the tension to get the perfect timing…

Philippa said, ‘He suggested I should get married.’

Kate, perhaps thinking that, after all, that was all that was concerning her, tries to usher her inside.

Then the thunderbolt strikes from a clear blue sky…

‘So I did,’ Philippa said.

After the immediate “mind-cracking silence” Philippa hurriedly tries to explain further. Richard, who we’ve just heard a description of being constantly beset with problems caused by his younger brother, exclaims briefly, and it’s Sybilla, grasping the importance of detail who approaches Philippa reassuringly with the key question, while we noticably don’t hear anything from Kate.

‘Philippa. You are not to worry. We are all here and ready to help you. But tell us first, whom did you marry?’

‘Mr Crawford,’ said Philippa bleakly.

The second, much bigger thunderbolt!!

Kate said ‘Philippa!’ and it fell on the air like explosive.

We readers immediately remember a scene involving raspberries and blackberry pies, and a knife, and feel the shock that Kate must be feeling at that moment. That her young daughter is married, but maybe something more than that. Something that she hardly dared admit to herself.

Sybilla, understanding flooding in about her son’s moral code, is relieved, but then makes an uncharacteristic mistake in diplomacy by remarking:

‘Kate, you seem to be Francis’s mother-in-law.’

and for a moment it’s not clear whether Kate’s response is directed at Lymond or his mother.

Richard then shows his ability to put up with surprises, and his sense of hospitality, family, and regard for Kate (who, remember, he once, in a frenzy of anger and hatred at Lymond, had struck to the floor, but has long since been forgiven).

Richard Crawford had begun, slowly also, to laugh. ‘Francis! My God, the complications,’ he said. And then seeing Kate’s face, ‘But it’s all right,’ said Sybilla’s reliable son, and, putting his arm round her rigid shoulders, smiled at Philippa’s sensible mother. ‘Welcome to the clan. Philippa will stay with us for a bit, and we shall look after the legal side. The annulment will be no trouble at all.’

To her eternal credit Kate faces the situation and its repercussions with as much grace as she is immediately capable of while inside she is thinking ‘I am a widow, a widow with one married daughter.’ She even manages a trace of her usual wry humour.

And to Philippa, ‘I’m sure it’s all right. At least it’s a novelty,* her mother said flatly. ‘You’ll be the only divorced child-bride in Hexham.’

She has one more piece of news to assimilate though. When Richard wonders where Lymond is and who he’s with, Philippa responds with:

‘Kiaya Khatun,’ said Philippa patiently. ‘Head of the harem, and until recently Dragut Rais’s mistress. The Diane de Poitiers, as you might say, of the East.’

At which Kate, assailed on all sides by absurdity, is finally reduced to helpless laughter.

The whole section is masterly. Dorothy has neatly reminded readers of important parts of the plot of the preceding book without it in any way dragging or feeling like a regurgitation. She’s successfully reunited mother and daughter in a revealing and dramatic fashion. She’a connected grandmother with grandchild while revealing that she’s known Archie for a long time. She’s given us further insights into both Sybilla and Richard, and set Kate in a new reality which will eventually open other possibilities for her. She’s also set up the situation for Philippa to stay with Sybilla, further her education, and discover far more about her husband’s early life and library.

And it’s all done with a fluidity and a mixture of humour and tension and drama that means we’re already completely immersed in the book after a few pages and eager to learn more.

Not many authors can do all that, and make you shed a tear or two at the same time!

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Recently I was idly musing on the way that Dorothy could make a minor character into a vital part of the storyline far more effectively than most writers. Sometimes it’s done very subtly, you may not even like the character, but they turn out to have a pivotal role.

Take for instance our famously long-winded storyteller Jonathan Crouch – I wonder how many people found him tiresome and boring the first time they read Game of Kings. Even despite some of Dorothy’s descriptions of him, such as the memorable

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

However his kind heart is demonstrated well by his attempts to stand up for Dandy Hunter against his fearsome and bad-tempered mother. I love the little drops of humour that she slips in

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

The short fight between the black-masked Lymond and Hunter also bears re-reading for the way she inserts the most unlikely and extravagant description

“a fine stool splintered, its prowling leopards bifurcated”

yet without losing the pace and tension of the encounter.

The next time we see him is watching a game of cards at one of Lymond’s hideouts, there is an easily missed hint at Will Scott’s having improved due to Crouch’s coaching, and he begins to describe Buskin Palmer and his brother’s skills at cardplay when he’s interupted by the arriving Johnnie Bullo, who asks about his time in Princess Mary’s household, and puts some details on the reasons for Crouch’s current detention. Lymond arrives and we are swept into one of his monologues extolling the benefits of Crouch’s situation, and he won’t be allowed to leave until Harvey and Somerville have been interviewed. The cards are soon forgotten and then we have news of the delights of The Ostrich, where we will be completely diverted by many interesting and sometimes hilarious events.

That’s the last we see of Crouch – rather less than we tend to remember. But we will hear his name one more time.

Also in the Game of Kings we have another minor character, Henry Lauder – the Lord Advocate. We see a little more of him than of Crouch, and in a more dramatic situation, but he’s still a minor character. But again he plays a crucial role. A man totally immersed in the intricacies of the law, he loves a challenge and in Lymond he finds a formidable one such as he has never encountered before.

He bore no grudges: the exercise of his wits against a quick and able man was the finest excitement he knew.

An expert orator, he creates his case carefully and accurately while Lymond, weary with illness from his wounds at Hexham, explains the laberynthine complexity of his actions throughout the story and before. They are well-matched, and Lauder recognises it with admiration.

“That,” said Henry Lauder, closing his spectacles and throwing his pen in the wastepaper basket, “is a brain. If I were ten years younger and a lassie, I’d woo him myself.”

The more recent accusations against Lymond are gradually weakened, but the earlier ones; of the treason apparently demonstrated by the acceptance of a grand house from Henry VIII, of the storage of gunpowder which would kill Eloise, and the revealing of that gunpowder to the English – which are backed up by the forged letter – are forcefully marshalled by Lauder into a case that cannot be defeated by Lymond’s eloquence, especially when his dead sister’s honour is threatened and he protects it at all costs.

Dorothy weaves the court hearing with a very different scene – Will Scott is at the castle playing Tarocco for possession of the documents that will clear Lymond of treason. Playing, brilliantly, against a man called Palmer – Buskin’s brother Sir Thomas, and cousin of the now dead Samuel Harvey. At the climax, exhausted with fatigue he makes a bold and inspired play and wins. Sir Thomas, having lost but enjoyed the battle tremendously, and extolling his opponent’s skill, asks where he picked up his knowledge.

“I was taught by a fellow called Jonathan Crouch.”

Sir Thomas’s arms dropped like felled boughs. “An Englishman?”

“Yes.”

“With a wife called Ellen and a tongue with the perishing shakes?”

“Yes.”

“I taught that man to play tarocco!” yelled Sir Thomas.

“Yes, I know,” said Will Scott.

The connection is complete; the crucial role of a minor character perfectly fulfilled. Without him the story would be so much less satisfactory or convincing. How many writers, in their first book, would have thought of that?

And Lauder is mixed in to this as well. He accompanies Will to the Tolbooth where Lymond is being held, and Lymond gives the confession of Samuel Harvey into his safe-keeping against Will’s protest.

“You must trust somebody, Will, in spite of any repeated advice to the contrary you may hear.” He recognises that Lauder’s loyalty is to the truth and to Scotland.

As Lauder says later to Marie de Guise

“Modified regrets,” said the Lord Advocate. “I love Mr. Crawford like a son, but I wouldn’t have missed that examination.”

Lauder and Palmer are shown to be strikingly similar in a way. Both have now lost their respective games that day, but both enjoyed the battle above all else and are big enough men to accept both aspects and be happy about them.

Of course there is one other relatively “minor character” whose actions have led to this point – though I can hardly bear to call her that. Without Christian’s bravery and her hearing of Harvey’s confession, none of this would have possible. She has gone and there are still five more books to go, but no-one who has read her death scene will ever forget it or her.

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This page – which was the original address of this post prior to the server failure in early 2025 – is now a pointer to where the page now resides within the main site.

https://www.dorothydunnett.co.uk/what-do-lymond-and-marthe-look-like.php

I’ve done this so that the comments which had been submitted can still be read (they’re at the bottom of that page), since I can’t enter them into this post and the database backups didn’t include this post.

If, after reading the article, you would like to leave a new comment, please do it here.

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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?