Lymond reading notes 8 – Game of Kings – The Play for Jonathan Crouch
This is a chapter that has everything – action, intrigue, humour in many guises, undercurrents in many conversations, and considerable interest in exactly who knows what, how and when did they learn it, and what they can do with the knowledge. Compared to this the affair at Hume seems perfectly straightforward!
1. Play with a Rook Proves Dangerous
We open in Stirling in the premises of Patey Liddle, goldsmith, where Sybilla is having a miniature portrait painted by him. We get the remarkable information that he has no ears, and his stories of how he lost them are many and varied. We are told:
He was also a brilliant goldsmith; and the source to Lady Culter of much simple entertainment.
We may also wonder whether, given that he is likely to have many rich and/or noble customers through his shop, he may also be a source of information for her.
He runs downstairs to greet a customer – in fact two: Andrew Hunter and George Douglas. We discover at this point, as she assesses the portrait, Sybilla’s age – 60.
She overhears the conversation downstairs about how Hunter came by the bruises to his face. He tells Sir George the truth – which we find he had not told to the Culters who were led to believe he had fallen from his horse. He also mentions the names he overheard – Gideon Somerville and Samuel Harvey.
Regaling Richard and Christian with this information later, she casts doubt on what Richard had heard of Hunter having a cousin in England that he needed to ransom, and she comes up with:
‘What that man wants is to marry an heiress, although heaven knows I shouldn’t ask Medusa to share her castle with Catherine.’
She has clearly been trying to keep Richard occupied so he won’t attend the papingo shoot, though it’s not clear why that is, since it seems unlikely she believes him to be in any danger from Lymond. We learn that apart from one day visit at Inchtalla he had hardly spent a complete day in his wife’s company since the battle.
Buccleuch arrives aiming to get Richard, but Sybilla forestalls him and insists he stay for wine since he has come to her house and etiquette demands that she act as hostess and he must accept it. But after 3 glasses Hunter appears and says they are wanted at the shoot.
In the audience Agnes is saying slightly unwise things in a loud voice:
‘Well, I must say,’ said Lady Herries definitely, and loudly enough to turn several interested heads, ‘if I were married to Lady Culter, I shouldn’t let her spend the whole afternoon at the games alone.’
Tom diplomatically tries to make a joke of it
‘Thank you very much,’ said Tom Erskine, grinning at Mariotta, who sat on his other side.
But gets little support, while Dorothy gives us a striking visual image:
She smiled politely back, and Mr Erskine’s soul moaned within him. Reduced, singlehanded, to coping with so much potential gunpowder, he felt himself, like the bird which cleans crocodiles’ teeth, assailed by hideous doubts.
Mariotta is frustrated; perhaps not surprisingly since she’s barely seen her new husband in the last few weeks:
The girl was pretty, rich and wearing new clothes. Today, sitting under streaming banners, with peers and pageantry around her, the green grass in front and the castle soaring above, was her first public appearance in Stirling since her wedding. And it was Tom Erskine, not Richard, who sat beside her and supplied the endless introductions. It was all exactly as she had insisted and devastatingly flat.
She clearly wishes to make an impression, as the beautiful wife of one of the prominent nobles in the land, and he’s not there beside her.
Dorothy sets the scene by describing the separate sections that the various members of the social strata occupy. The peers, then the clergy, then the merchants, etc. Then the lowest – this being one of the first times she produces a list:
The fleshers and brewers and smiths and weavers and skinners and saddlers and salters and cappers and masons and cutlers and fletchers and plasterers and armourers and porters and water carriers, and the one-eyed man who had called at Bogle House selling fumigating pans. And country people on holiday, and beggars, and pickpockets (no doubt) and sorners and the wandering unemployed.
Now when I was taught English at school, we were told that lists should be avoided because they were long and boring and slowed down the story! In Dorothy’s hands they are transformed – they illustrate the scene, they inform the reader. And just sometimes, they serve as a distraction, to lull you into complacency so she can hit you with a big event or reveal.
We seem to be in Mariotta’s POV as the competitors file in. The suggestion that the noblemen were only doing this to “entertain the tenants”. The hint that something would usually happen to enliven the proceedings about half-way through.
Nevertheless, and not to be carping, the long file of athletic and purposeful bowmen looked very splendid, though not as splendid as if one’s own husband were there.
Blue and silver. She liked her own standard. The St Andrew’s Cross; the crest (argent, a phoenix azure), and the highly ambiguous motto, chosen (of course) by the First Baron, which always eluded her, Contra Vita – whatever it was.
As the thought crossed her mind, the motto itself appeared, almost within touching distance: CONTRA VITAM RECTI MORIEMUR. The Culter slughorn, carried by Richard’s servant. And walking behind it, looking neither to left nor to right, but perfectly self-possessed, unaffected and blasé, Lord Culter himself. Mariotta was aware of a dismayed flutter in the stomach.
I’ve heard various discussions about the correct meaning or accuracy of the Latin, but (no expert myself) I’m happy to go with Dorothy’s intentions, which were:
“Despite the (misleading) evidence of our lives, we die honest”
or
“We die honest, despite Life’s efforts to thwart us.”
Tom is glad to see Hunter arrive and asks him to look after the girls. We learn that Hunter is good enough at butt shooting but useless at perch.
‘The Kilwinning baillies used to hand down their suits of armour like chains of office for when Dandy was perch shooting at the steeple.’
Tom goes to see Christian at Bogle House, as he wants to see her before she has to return to Boghall to take over Jenny Fleming’s duties. She’s nervous – both for herself and Sybilla, and on hearing that Richard is to shoot, Tom almost turns around and goes back, but Christian detains him and asks him to take her and Sybilla to the fair until the shoot is over.
He sees that she’s on edge and says so. And unusually she snaps:
‘If you would tear your mind sometimes from backgammon and horses, you’d see something in the Crawfords that’d make your rattlepated friends look pretty thin. If I remembered my own mother, I don’t suppose I’d value her half as much as I do the Dowager. And Mariotta may not be what you fancy, but there’s breeding and spirit there too, if you’re minded to look for it –’ She broke off, her brow cleared; and with one of those competent mood changes that was one of her chief characteristics, gave him a friendly push. ‘Go on. Tell Sybilla we’re all off for a jolly day a-fairing. And don’t let her sidetrack you either.’
Which tells us quite a lot about Christian’s own character, some of the things she dislikes about men, and how much she adores Sybilla, as well as her ability to regain control of herself when necessary.
If we were desperate to find out what happens at the papingo shoot then we’re going to be delayed a while yet, as we are treated to a delightful trip through the fair.
The progress of Sybilla though a market was the progress of worker bee through a bower of intently propagating blossoms. Everything stuck.
She buys just about everything you can think of until Tom and Christian’s ability to carry it all is quite overwhelmed! A box of ox feet proves an unwise purchase. After refreshments in a tavern, during which we get a kaleidoscopic description of the sights and sounds of the fair – a perfect example of how Dorothy leads you into scenes in a way that is all-encompassing – they head for home. Then Christian is stopped by a gypsy fortune teller – Johnny Bullo of course. Sybilla engages him in conversation and asks him to come to Bogle House in the evening to entertain everyone there.
The next line:
The Dowager was enchanted. ‘So good of them. Have you any money, Tom dear? I seem to have spent all I had with me.’
is sure to raise a smile. Then they meet Dandy Hunter with bad news.
The scene switches back to the shoot as it occurred, where the betting on what might happen is brisk and fevered.
Agnes is once again airing unsuitable thoughts, first about the shoot and then about her own marriage arrangements:
‘It strikes me,’ said Lady Herries, reminded suddenly of a sore subject, ‘that a Ward of the Crown might as well be a by-blow for all the difference it makes. A girl Ward, that is. Who wants to marry John Hamilton? Not me. I’ve never seen the man, even.’
Warming to her theme despite Hunter’s attempts to distract her, she continues:
‘What I mean is,’ said the Ward of the Crown, frowning, ‘that people have no business to settle other people’s future for them when they’re five years old. It’s a typical man’s scheme,’ said Agnes ruthlessly. ‘It’s not for our own good; it’s no use saying it is. It’s to add to their rotten lands, or because they need to carry on the family name, or because it’ll bring them enough money or tenants or rights of lineage to stop a war, or start a war, or carry out their own uninteresting masculine affairs.’
For a 13 year old she has strong and informed views!
Perhaps fortunately the shooting starts.
A lesser author might give us a dry description of the event. Here we get snippets such as
The papingo squawked bad-temperedly and swore with an Aberdeen accent; the arrows arched and fell harmlessly, six yards to the left.
and
The next two were wide; the fifth caused a mild sensation by breaking his bow and nearly amputating himself with the shards; the sixth lost his thread and bungled both draws; and the seventh squirted off like a firecracker.
While we get more of Agnes’ romantic visions:
‘Oh!’ said Agnes, sparkling. ‘It’s very exciting, isn’t it?’ And she added, a little wistfully, ‘A woman would enjoy being married to a wonderful archer.’
We learn she’s to be married soon:
Lady Herries looked surprised. ‘Not specially. But I’ll have to get married this year, I expect; and if I’ve got to be sold like a packet of wool –’
Amongst some further discussion there are little gems like:
‘But I’ve got all the diamonds I want,’ said Agnes succinctly. ‘Like Mariotta. And the little Queen. So I don’t see there’s any point in marrying, unless it’s to get something you haven’t got already. And nine times out of ten, you needn’t marry for that, either,’ she added as an afterthought.
Hunter asks her, a little rudely you would think, about her lands and tenants – which are considerable, and we learn they are next to the Maxwell lands.
‘I should like,’ pronounced Lady Herries with a stately air, ‘a husband who put me before business or politics.’ ‘They don’t exist.’ ‘Oh, yes, they do,’ said Hunter unexpectedly.
He then launches into a polemic about chivalry, and men’s duty, and arranged marriages.
‘As far as I’m concerned,’ retorted her ladyship, ‘it can bury itself. They won’t get me to marry anyone I don’t want to, contract or no contract. Oh, look: there’s Menteith shooting.’
Menteith, shooting 19th almost hits the bird twice. Now it’s Richard’s turn, and the crowd goes deathly silent. Mariotta, panicking, finds that Hunter has gone.
Remarkably, after the long descriptions and sidelines, the actual climax is described in very few words.
Richard aims and fires, but another arrow comes from a distance and releases the bird by cutting the ties. As it flies upwards a further arrow hits home and it drops. Then a third arches into view and hits Richard at the foot of the pole, where he collapses.
Whatever we were expecting, this was a shock, neatly delivered
2. Check and Cross Check
The scene moves to Bogle House that evening. Richard is alive, if heavily bandaged. We learn that the third arrow had been less accurate and powerful and had hit his collarbone, via ear and cheek. Richard is well enough to survey the bow, three arrows, and a glove, all recovered by Hunter.
Sybilla expresses her dismay at finding Richard bloody and Mariotta fainting when she returned. Then rather oddly asks if anyone remembered to ask who got the prize. When Tom suggest it should really by Lymond’s but that he could hardly claim it, Mariotta says ‘He seems able to do almost anything he wants.’
Then the gypsies appear. While the others watch, Sybilla is in conversation with Bullo. Near the end she takes Wat Scott out and they talk – about bloodhounds!
She knows he has a pack and has surmised that Richard has asked him to use them to track down Lymond. She declares that she’ll stop it, and chides Wat for being out in public when he’s supposed to be too ill to speak to Lord Grey, who is in easy striking distance of his lands, and wants to find out about Will’s part in the Hume fiasco. Wat is in trouble and knows it – he’ll have to disown Will or risk being burned out. But if he does and Will is captured he’ll face treason charges like Lymond. He promises Sybilla that he won’t do what Richard wants, when they are disturbed by Christian opening the doors so the gypsies can leave.
Sybilla smoothly changes the topic of the conversation to her having spoken to Bullo about making the Philosopher’s Stone!
‘Well, I don’t know what you want the Philosopher’s Stone for,’ said Christian. ‘It seems to me that as a family you’re quite indecently rich already.’ ‘Oh, you never know,’ said the Dowager mysteriously. ‘Healing charms – elixirs of life – love potions –’
‘What I came to ask,’ said Christian, her face rather red, ‘was whether we might all go to the Fair– Agnes, Mariotta and myself, I mean.”
It’s unclear what causes her red face – was it mention of love potions or is she anxious to contact Johnny at the fair and thus see Lymond. Is she perhaps conflicted about not telling Sybilla she’s been in touch with him?
They go, with Tom, and after the others have left, Sybilla sits by the sleeping Richard.
Then she put it down and sat quite still for a long time, staring owlishly into space.
And it was into space that at last she spoke. ‘Oh, my darling!’ said Sybilla. ‘I do hope I’ve done the best thing.’
The question of course is who is she referring to? And what action of hers is she referring to.
How much has she been able to learn from Bullo about what Lymond is doing, and does she know from him that Christian has been in contact with him?
At the fair, Christian is feeling the strain of the day’s events and also the overstimulation of a rowdy crowd and an environment full of noise, bustle, and overpowering smells – all of which are wonderfully evoked.
They arrive at Johnny’s kiosk, and Agnes and Mariotta go in first – emerging unwilling to say anything about what they’ve told. Then he leads Christian in before leaving her alone.
The conversations that ensue are extremely complex – multi-layered and often seeming to be at cross-purposes. Even after many readings I’m by no means sure that I’ve fully understood them or their implications yet.
She’s tense – then comes Lymond’s voice – Mothlike in its lightness and rapid insistency, an unusual phrase but an effective one.
His quick description of their surroundings calms her and he recognises that she was frightened and asks what caused it. She tells him:
‘It’s been a bad sort of day – I’m sorry – and the Fair on top was a little too much.’
He responds:
‘Don’t, for your own sake, begin weaving fantasies of evil around me as well. I haven’t tried to kill anybody today, I give you my word.’
And she clearly believes him.
‘Well, if you had, I think you probably would have succeeded,’ said Christian. ‘Do you shoot?’
He confirms that he does – very well. Then says that poets use the quills to write odes.
‘Others don’t,’ she said quickly. ‘Others kill.’
There was a little silence. Then he said, ‘And that’s what you’re afraid of, isn’t it? Violence?’
It was true, and she acknowledged it. ‘Except that it isn’t trained and purposeful violence that terrifies me: it’s the negligent, casual kind.
And she lists various types.
‘Violence in nature is one thing,’ said Christian, ‘but among civilized mankind, what excuse is there?’
He is scathing about the English troops having anything to do with civilisation, and that religion is powerless to stop them. So she asks about private assassins:
He remarks that the day’s events were neither private nor successful. He alludes to the Old Man of the Mountains – a Crusader mistranslation of Sheikh al-Jabal, which means Mountain Chief and was the name of the leader of the Order of Assassins, who were alleged to use Hashish before carrying out their killings – thus his reference to “twanging his hemp instead of eating it.”
He also says:
… except that Culter, Jerome bless his childlike head, is such a remarkably dull and blameless creature himself.’
which suggests he has no ill-feeling towards his brother.
‘For a humanist,’ she said, ‘you’re very scathing on the subject of virtue. For one thing, you shouldn’t confuse stolidity and self-control.’
‘You admire self-control?’ he asked, and she took her chance. ‘I admire candour.’
He retorted instantly. ‘Oh, nothing better – in the right place. “It’s only right you should know” – I wonder how many that classic bêtise has driven to the river and the dagger and the pillow in a quiet corner. Truth’s nothing but falsehood with the edges sharpened up, and ill-tempered at that: no repair, no retraction, no possible going back once it’s out.
He appears to be warning her about either of them telling the full truth here – that a fudging of facts can be maintained, but that the truth is final and can’t be denied. Which, given his situation and with her reputation to protect, could mean serious problems for her. Perhaps he senses that she’s getting too close to him, and neither of them can afford that.
He then brings up an unexpected subject by saying:
If I told you I’d murdered my own sister you’d register appropriate feelings of hate and revulsion; and if you found later I hadn’t, I’d be sure of your interest and sympathy in twice the depth of your hate. Whereas, if you simply found proof positive that I had killed her …’
To which she interjects
‘… I might loathe you, but I’d respect your courage,’ she said candidly. ‘Besides, that sort of truth wouldn’t hurt me, would it? It might affect you, but then you’d deserve it.’
Which surprises him.
‘…Leave me some pride. Pretend at least that you wouldn’t collapse in a delirium of joy as I dance a vuelta on the widdy. In any case, I stick to my point. Not ninety-nine women out of a hundred really prefer that kind of honesty; and even if you are the hundredth, I’m the last to help you prove it to yourself.
A statement that will find an echo in book 6.
She tells him about Crouch having been released from Hunter, who had bought him from Douglas.
‘I see – wait,’ he said. ‘How do you know all this?’ ‘Because,’ said Christian, rising, ‘he was overheard giving George Douglas two English names mentioned by Crouch, and he more or less asked Douglas to help track them down in the hope they’d lead to the man who freed his prisoner. I thought you’d be interested … and now I must go. Oh!’ She sat down again, smiling. ‘Hadn’t you better tell my fortune first?’
To her glee, he sounded taken aback. ‘Oh, Johnnie looks after all that, although under certain circumstances I tell him what to say. Do you really want it done?’ She laughed. ‘Not really. It’d be more to the point, I think, if I could read yours.’ ‘Yes. Well, you’d qualify for M. Rabelais’s next Almanac if you could do that,’
Rabelais’s almanac, known as the Pantagrueline Prognostication, is a satirical parody of popular astrological almanacs and weather predictions published by French Renaissance writer François Rabelais.
It’s interesting that she doesn’t mention the two English names, and he doesn’t ask; which should tell her that he is the man who took Crouch from Hunter.
He proceeds, by the light of a single candle, to tell her fortune from her palm:
‘But I will say this … You’ll get the most out of life, never fear; and meet the sort of man you want, that too; and get your heart’s desire, I think, in the end – if you believe the results of Johnnie’s teaching. But what are we, after all? Charlatans, faiseurs d’horoscope …’
Perhaps another subtle suggestion that she should pursue her own happiness rather than becoming fixated on him.
She tells him of her plans to go to Midculter and then on to Boghall, then asks if there’s anything else she can do:
We seem to waste all our meetings talking nonsense, and all the time I feel …’
‘… The sands are running out?
Which suggests she’s concerned that time is short for him to find a way of proving his innocence.
‘There’s Johnnie coming now: he’ll see you out.’ He clasped her hand briefly. ‘I may not see you for a while, but perhaps I shall write.’
Which, given her blindness, surprises her as well as us, and raises intriguing possibilities. He reassures her that she’ll understand later, and she departs.
‘Have they gone?’ said Lymond. ‘Thank you, Johnnie. Your performance with the first two filled me with respect. For chastely phrased double-entendres you have no master.’
He praises the three girls, but Johnnie observes:
‘The wee one had a face like a pound of candles on a hot day.’
But Lymond corrects him:
‘The wee one, as you call her, has a face informed with beauty, wisdom and wit. In other words, my Johnnie, she’s thirteen, free and stinking rich.’
‘Oh. Then you’ve had a good day of it, I suppose.’
‘Then you suppose wrong,’ said Lymond shortly. ‘I’ve had a damned carking afternoon.
Which suggests the day did not go exactly as planned.
We then get a final section which suggests that Johnnie, although very intelligent, doesn’t always interpret Lymond correctly.
Bullo saw him to the doorway. ‘You’re off south tonight?’ ‘I am. There’s a gentleman I have to meet on the Carlisle road on Friday.’
‘And not to the gentleman’s profit, either,’ said Johnnie to himself with a grin,
This brings us to the end of part 1, and we now proceed on to the second man Lymond wants to find and question – Gideon Somerville.
We’ve moved on a long way in our understanding of Lymond, and may well have reassessed our opinions of him more than once. But there’s a lot more to come!