The Game Of Kings Part 36

For the second time in a few days, Richard Crawford had made a momentous decision purely on impulse. It made him feel uneasy,the prey of dark and atavistic caprice. But on thinking it over, more or less all night, he found that he regretted nothing.

The odd thing was that Lymond believed him without question. The next day, although catastrophically weak, he replied slowly and sensibly to Richard's necessary questions. Moved for the first time to imagine how it felt to exchange an oblivion so pa.s.sionately wanted for such an extremity of defencelessness, Culter dealt with him wisely.

As the days pa.s.sed, his sense of time perished. Lymond, however spent, was never less than scrupulous, unaffected, undemanding. Avoiding only the recent past, they ranged in their talk over the widest ~elds. Richard was impressed by his brother's grasp of affairs. He was well-informed, not at the level of amba.s.sadorial junketings and court lev&s, but as the product of shrewd observation over the battlefields and spyholds of half Europe.

He spoke without embarra.s.sment of such episodes in his life, but with discretion. Once, when Richard, seizing on a point, began to develop it with uncharacteristic excitement, Lymond himself interrupted with an anecdote so helplessly funny as well as so ribald that Culter was surprised into a shout of laughter and forgot, until afterward, the original issue.

Later, staring up into the night sky, Culter said, "If only you'd come to us after you left Lennox, instead of . . ." Instead of foundering in self-pity. He could hardly say that.

Lymond flushed. "Instead of surviving to bellow like a barghest?" It was his only reference to the other night, and Richard was caught without a rejoinder, but after the briefest pause, Lymond himself w~.nt on. "But I did come back. To my kinsmen I will truly, praying them to help me in my necessity. . . . I thought you knew. I came to Midculter from Dumbarton in '44-fully au prodigal son, puffing excuses like smoke from a chimney head-" A trace of the old mockery sharpened the light voice.

"What happened?" asked Richard quickly.

"I was shown the door. By our honoured father. He tried to enforce the suggestion with a whip..

There was a short silence. Then Culter said, "He must have told n.o.body. I wouldn't touch you: you know that. Until the-the Midculter affair..

"I know, you d.a.m.ned fool," said Lymond mildly. "That's why I had to attack Midculter..

Lord Culter sat up. After a moment he pushed a hand throughIhis flat brown hair and said bluntly, "What about the setting fire to the castle.

"Green boughs. Good G.o.d, Richard: I've mastered the art of making timber burn better than that by this time..

"And the silver?.

This time there was a little pause. Then Lymond said, "You're going to be annoyed about that. She didn't tell you, I expect, because she knows what a filthy bad actor you are. Mother got it all back the next day.~~Richard's stare was embarra.s.singly concentrated. "And Janet Beaton?.

"Oh. That," said Lymond bitterly. "That was because I had to drink the whole b.l.o.o.d.y night through to get enough courage to visit the castle at all. One more skirl and one of my pets was going to slit the lady's larynx for her. So I did something first. Unfortunately, I was too d.a.m.ned drunk to do it properly. That and the pa.s.sage with Mariotta: the kind of lunatic blunders that always blemish the high romantic in grim reality. . . Come, my friend, my brother most enteere; for thee I offered my blood in sacrifice; and all that. Except that it was Janet Beaton's blood..

Richard said mildly, "It wasn't anyone else's blood at Hexham," and saw his brother redden again. "The climax to a series of sordid private fights. Don't get excited. Erskine got the idea he was carrying out the Third Crusade, but all he carried out was me, the lord be thankit. G.o.d, I've whined for ten minutes. Bury me at Leibethra, where the nightingale sings..

As Lymond grew stronger, his brother forced the pace of their discussions and once, out of an obscure train of thought, said, "Francis. Did you ever tell Will Scott how old you actually are?.

Lymond looked blank. "No. Should I?" and Richard grinned. "Probably not. You appear to be immeasurable in his view, like G.o.d and the Devil..

"A year with Will Scott would make a dayfly feel like Enoch," said the Master. "Whose side is he on now?.

"Yours, by all accounts," said Richard dryly. "Buccleuch got him accepted back at Court and Will has taken to advertising your peculiar talents from the four walls in a voice like a Gadwall duck..

"Don't be deceived," said Lymond with equal dryness. "That's only remorse because he bit me and I didn't bite back. He'll settle in time into a decent, douce Buccleuch..

If Richard thought it unlikely, after a year of Lymond's company, he said nothing; and was not to know that his brother was watching him. A moment later the Master said equably, "n.o.body's going to hold you to a promise that needs this amount of nursing, Richard. I don't want my life at the price of anyone's outraged instincts. It has a rudimentary value in that you were moved to preserve it, but don't let's labour the point..

He was not, clearly, interested in a superficial rea.s.surance; also, his reading was correct. If he produced facts a yard a day like a guinea-worm, Richard didn't want them. He had promised to free Lymond, and he had no desire to regret it. He said at length, "My instincts are very accommodating..

"All right, but remember, although you've bought the rights of fuel, feal and divot, I shan't be lying here like an upset sheep forever..

Richard said, "You think I'll discard in the perpendicular what I favour in the p.r.o.ne?.

"Not if you talk like that: you'll want an audience at any price..

Culter laughed, and it was the end of that particular discussion.

But although Richard forgot it, Lymond apparently did not. Next day he put his theory to the test, dispa.s.sionately and with the kind of calculated resolution that still startled his brother. Richard knew nothing until he came back from his traps to find the clearing empty and his horse gone, and one of the saddlepacks with it.

One by one, his first conjectures were discarded. No one had captured Lymond: there was no trace of struggle, and only their own footprints and the tracks of one horse in the soft gra.s.s. Nor could it be some flamboyant gesture to relieve him of his decision: horseless, Richard had little chance of reaching Scotland alive.

He looked again at the tracks. They were very recent, and not hurried. Lymond was unable, of course, to ride fast. With sudden decision Culter stooped again, and s.n.a.t.c.hing bow and quiver followed the mare's hoofmarks out of the clearing. They led him along the banks of the stream, then up a shallow cliff to open gra.s.s. He picked them up, running lightly, as they swung out in a wide circle, and alternately studied the ground and the gentle, tree-scattered slopes in front of him. There was no trace of Bryony there. Driving back every apoplectic emotion which might distract him, he concentrated on the ground.

The hoofprints brought him, in a gentle arc, back to his own clearing. He stopped when he realized it, breathing tightly and fast,and waited, resting, his free hand smoothing back his hair. When he had control both of his breathing and of the curious conflict within himself, he went on.

Lymond, lying face down beside the gently cropping Bryony, turned his head and produced a sick, placating grin. Richard exploded.

'This b.l.o.o.d.y mania for juggling with other people's guts. You lunatic, if I'd overtaken you back there, I'd have killed you..

"I thought," said the Master pacifically, "that it was time to get used to the saddle again. We ought to start north..

"Quite. And that was only part of what you thought," said Lord Culter. He tied up the mare and stalked back again with a cup of water, which he dumped at his brother's elbow. "You like to be sure of your relationships-who doesn't? But no one else does it by making themselves into a clearing nut for other people's emotions. If my sentiments are in a muddle," said Richard angrily, "I d.a.m.ned well prefer them to stay in a muddle, without any interference from you.

Propping himself on one elbow, Lymond lifted the cup, spilled it badly and set it down again without drinking. He said, "It seems I can now stick on a horse. Therefore we can get back north, beginning tonight if possible. And since, as soon as we move into Scotland, my company will compromise you, we ought to have some issues clear..

He stopped. Richard said nothing; and his brother went on grimly. "You offered me a reprieve knowing only hail the story. You mentioned Mariotta, and what I told you about her was true. You haven't mentioned Eloise..

Richard sat down, removed the fallen cup, and set it straight. Then he said, "Look. I don't share your pa.s.sion for self-immolation. I don't want to hear about Eloise, and I don't want issues made any clearer than they now are. Whatever your conscience has on it, I intend to take you back to Scotland and see you aboard ship. If you can ride, we leave tonight..

"G.o.d,~~ said Francis with amiable rudeness, between his hands. "What price now the mighty Lar?.

A day later, with Lymond mounted and Richard walking at his side, the two men began the slow journey north.

Dinner in Lord Grey's house was served at two o'clock, and he had invited company: Sir Thomas Palmer, his fortifications expert from London, and Gideon Somerville and his young wife Kate.

Katherine, neat as a peach and spruce in grey satin, was not impressed by Berwick, by the meal, or by Willie Grey. With a thoughtful brown eye she watched the salt cellar whisking past her nose-"There you are: Bowes, Brende and Palmer with the horse, leaving tonight and lying at Coldingham"-the ale jug: "Holcroft with the foot, leaving tomorrow and joining the two of you with the horse at Pease Burn"-and the salt cellar again: "Monday, early, Palmer makes contact with Haddington and they give cover while all of you put fresh men into the fort and come back..

Some of the salt had spilt. Kate threw it over her left shoulder and remarked, "How simple it sounds in English! Just imagine Sir James drawing diagrams on the walls to convey his orders in Haddington. A quick course of Udall would work wonders with this army..

Gold wire twinkled. "Why Udall?" asked Palmer.

"Or any other nimble Latinist you can think of. Don't you think they need a lingua franca, poor things?" said Kate. "And if your two thousand Germans are coming by sea, and Lord Shrewsbury with eleven thousand Englishmen from all the shires are exchanging dialects at York, and the Swiss and the Spanish and the Germans want to communicate from Haddington, throwing in a few Italian engineers for luck, you'll have a dear little Babel all of your own..

Lord Grey's face was gloomy. "So will the Scots," he said. "By all accounts. If Henry sends forty thousand more Frenchmen and the King of Denmark throws in-.

"All the more reason for linguistic action. Buchanan against Eton. You've been to Haddington, Sir Thomas?" asked Kate.

Palmer grinned. "We all went the day they held Parliament, and popped a good few bags of powder in while they were busy. Bowes took young Wharton under his wing: he did rather well. Between Lord Grey here and his father he was a bit low to begin with..

"Incompetent young fellow," said Grey vaguely; and remembered something. "By the way, sincere apologies: Gideon having to bring you that girl who escaped. Nasty business, but unavoidable. Lady Lennox could do nothing with her, I believe..

Katherine said, "You never caught up with the other, did you.

The man who killed the messenger at Hexham?" and Grey stared moodily at Palmer. "That d.a.m.ned fool Wharton. The father's worse than the son. Five minutes after the shot he sends a man to collect the body- No body. The fellow had an accomplice. One? The kind of guard my Lord Wharton had on that church, he might have had ten..

Palmer said cheerfully, "Enterprising fellow. Was that the one who tweaked Ned Dudley's nose at Hume?" Warned by the silence that he had only hail the story he added quickly, "Look out for him if you like, my lord. Never know what you'll come across, jogging post back and forth through the country like this..

"I should be obliged if you would," said Lord Grey. "But the task on hand is to get all these men safely into the fort at Haddington tomorrow. Monday the what?-the sixteenth. That's our job..

The point was made. Sir Thomas, b.u.t.ter-tooth veiled, seized a pigeon and said no more until the end of the meal.

Afterward, Gideon took Kate up to the castle ramparts, and with the Tweed running tousled and low beneath them, they studied the green fields to the north, where Palmer's men would travel that night.

Gideon said, "It's a dangerous subject, Kate. Better forget it. Whatever happened, we'll never know now..

"It doesn't matter what happened," said Kate. She turned and looked across the river where the gra.s.s, identical, flower-ridden and boisterous, was English gra.s.s.

She said angrily, "I don't like this war. I don't like the cold-blooded scheming at the beginning and the carnage at the end and the grumbling and the jealousies and the pettishness in the middle. I hate the lack of gallantry and grace; the self-seeking; the destruction of valuable people and things. I believe in danger and endeavour as a form of tempering but I reject it if this is the only shape it can take..

There was a brightness in the flat, clean plane between her short nose and the cornea and brown cheek. Gideon, who had hardly ever seen his wife in tears, was moved and disturbed, his intuitive mind groping for the reason and the right reply. He said, gripping her shoulders, "Philippa will be all right. She'll learn. We can explain to her..

Katherine turned instantly and impulsively and put her own warm hands on Gideon's. "Don't mind me. I want to put right the world's sorrows in a night, and it might take a night and a day. But three stout people like us can afford to bide our time..

"If need be," said Gideon. He looked tired, she thought; but he smiled at her. "Trust me..

* * *That night, the fine mid-July weather broke at last; clouds piling spinel-red in the west surged over all the sky by morning and brought small showers, with a minor, tugging wind.

Palmer, cheerful red face under a perfectly polished helmet and enormous shoulders tucked into steel mesh, was not the man to bother if the skies spouted venom like Loki's serpent. He and Bowes made their scheduled rendezvous with the foot soldiers on Monday morning and marched north to Haddington. At Linton Bridge, five miles away, he sent word to Sir James Wilford, captain of Haddington, that a fresh army was waiting to relieve the English garrison.

Forty Spanish hors.e.m.e.n from the fort came back with Wilford's answer. It was too dangerous. Although he needed the men, he distrusted the present quiet, and advised Sir Thomas to postpone his plan.

Palmer read it, swore lightheartedly, and took the Spaniards with him to have a closer look at the French and Scottish camps. It continued to be quiet until they reached the slopes north of Haddington. Then, against the bald, uncompromising sky, Bowes spotted movement. The lilies of France, whipping in the wind, were pouring downhill toward them in the van of a hundred and fifty armed hors.e.m.e.n.

Peace and sylvan propriety exploded. Gamboa wheeled and shot off with the hackb.u.t.ters to hold the French; Palmer and Bowes interweaving behind him got the horse and foot into position and stopped, halted by trumpets. Long-sighted, Palmer saw new colours flying toward him, this time from Haddington. His face crimsoned with delight.

"Ellerkar, by G.o.d! Ellerkar and d.a.m.ned nearly half a thousand light horse from the fort. . . . Now let's pick off the smirks with your goose feathers, boys!.

Ellerkar was not called on to charge. The French had no wish to argue with four hundred fresh hors.e.m.e.n. Disentangling at speed, they shot up the hill and out of sight, leaving the English and Spanish to greet each other, re-form, and set off in jubilation for Haddington, led by Palmer and Bowes.

None of them reached it. The French simply waited behind the nearest hill until the tail of the force was riding past them, and then slid down and cut them off. Then, having taken some smart bites at Ellerkar, they retreated hastily but in order around the hill, with the whole combined English force at their heels. Sir Thomas, furious at the destruction in his rear, had almost closed with them when the cutting edge of the little manoeuvre became horribly clear.

Round the shoulder of the hill on which the French were retreating was a solid quadrant of French foot soldiers and hackb.u.t.ters, patiently waiting; patently armoured in a ready-made aura of rude success.

Driven headlong by their own impetus, Palmer and Bowes skidded and smashed into this impenetrable front. The Spanish leader Gamboa, coming up behind, was drowned in the recoil. Holcroft's footmen, faced with nose-to-nose fighting against an opponent of the first quality, wavered, crumbled and fled. For half an hour the fighting continued, and then Palmer's men broke too.

There was nothing to be done. Pursued by Gallic language and Gallic joy, English and Spanish streamed from the valley of the Tyne, and the French hors.e.m.e.n hunted them all afternoon like a coursing. Behind them, the Protector's army left eight hundred English and Spanish dead or captured, the major part of their horse, and a Haddington not only lacking the new forces intended for it, but disastrously bled of Ellerkar, Gamboa and the hors.e.m.e.n who had issued to help.

Thus, read the subsequent dispatch to the Protector: Thus with victory in our hand, this mischance has altered things. Our princ.i.p.al hors.e.m.e.n and chief footmen are consumed; our powder wasted. Wherefore it is not good to venture anything by land, except by a royal force.

Eventually, the royal force did come. Like Palmer's, it was tough and cnthusiastic. Unlike Palmer's, although it made mistakes, it was not routed. But neither did it prevail.

* * *Sir Thomas Palmer, riding hard, nearly reached the bridge at East Linton. With three of his own men and a Spaniard at his heels, he had broken loose from two skirmishes, and it was just beginning to seem possible that he had shaken off pursuit, when out of the ground before him rose a small, wicked, steel-bound phalanx of hors.e.m.e.n.

They were Scots. He didn't know the emblem, but he could recognize defeat: he let them encircle the five of them and waited in silence as the leader trotted forward. Grey, healthy whiskers sprouted from a pugnacious, sweaty face. "Dod," said the victor, peering at Sir Thomas. "Don't tell me: it's on the nether side of my back teeth. Palmer! Am I right?.

"You are, sir, dammit," said Sir Thomas with a polite snarl.

The whiskers twitched. "Just so. Man, you're a devil for getting yourself hud by the neb. Ye were nippit in France as well, were ye not?.

Sir Thomas got redder.

"And had to pay your own way out?.

Sir Thomas swore, politely.

"I'm Wat Scott of Buccleuch," said his captor courteously. "Just so as your friends'll know where to send the siller to. Man: you'll like Edinburgh. It's a fine town to be in jail in..

Buccleuch detached half of his men to march Palmer and his companions to Edinburgh, and continued his ride with the rest, whistling.

Sir Wat was pleased with life; so pleased that he ignored the signs of ffight all about him, and wished luck to the horse bands, both French and Scottish, who appeared and vanished like flying ants all through the bl.u.s.tering afternoon. After a while, disturbances became less frequent, and he was alone with his own dozen men, crossing rough moorland with no cover and chastened by a small, chilly wind.

Ahead on his right, a bird rose suddenly, vivid black and white, piping above the rustle of foxtail and club rush, and a moment later he saw two hors.e.m.e.n treading slowly where it had been, their faces to the north. He stopped and watched.

One of the figures, cloaked and hooded, he could make nothing of. The other, coatless, solid, unmistakable, was Richard Crawford of Culter.

Buccleuch rode over circ.u.mspectly, leaving his men behind without explanation, and brushing a thoughtful hand through his whiskers as he went. Culter turned, and deserting the other rider, trotted gently to meet him, his face brown and watchful above a dirty and ruinous white shirt. He spoke immediately they were within hearing. "Well, Wat. Still intent on appearing at the wrong time in the right place..

He sounded temperately amused, but Wat's experienced eye read the tilt of his right arm with accuracy. He cleared his throat. "Glad tosee you, my boy. d.a.m.ned good job you all did at Hexham. Arran likes you again: that ought to make you cheery. They're going to make the fool a Duke: did ye hear?.

"No. Erskine got back, then?.

"Dod, aye. He said you were taking your own time at his back, but we were beginning to think they'd jumped on you. The plan went off fine: just fine." He paused again. The second horse was cropping gra.s.s, hocks nearest, and the rider, head bent, was sitting badly.

Culter didn't move, so Wat said bluntly, "Are ye for Edinburgh?.

Richard shook his head.

"Oh." A curious look came over Buccleuch's face. He rubbed his nose, spat inelegantly and .said, "It's a sharp wind for July. I won't say you're wrong, either. That brat of mine's a fool, but he's not bad company now, at that." He caught the guarded grey eye and cleared his throat again. "Well. I'm for the south. I hope you have a quiet trip. There's a d.a.m.ned wheen of hors.e.m.e.n clipping about today. Some stramash up the way, I believe..

"Thank you," said Lord Culter, and hesitated. "Your men . . .

"None of their business. Dod, Sybilla will be desperate glad to see you.~~Richard said suddenly, "Tell her . . ." and broke off and swore, angry alarm displacing the subdued and wary mask. Buccleuch, wheeling, had his own hand on his sword an instant later and then pushed it back, gesturing ferociously at Culter. "Ride, man, ride!.

On the hill behind, a party of Scots came whooping toward them. A second later, and they called Culter's name. Richard, his horse already moving, twisted, saw the c.o.c.k pennants and cursed again. "The c.o.c.kburns of Skirling. Devil take it. Wat: can you hold them while we run?.

They were too close. Buccleuch saw Culter's choice only too clearly: either to hand over his companion, or to label himself accomplice by trying an ineffectual escape.

As once before, Buccleuch filled the notorious lungs, and bellowed. Long before Richard reached him, Lymond turned and saw what was happening. He straightened and shook the hood from his face, exposing wffled fair hair and Culter's stained jacket below. Then he gathered his horse and stampeded artlessly across the moor, regardless of the slick, united hoofbeats of Sir William c.o.c.kburn's troop overtaking, surrounding and closing in on him. He made no resistance.

Buccleuch, riding after with Culter, arrived to find himself the b.u.t.t of a number of bad jokes and some friendly wrangling over whether he had forfeited his prisoner by allowing him to escape. Since Richard had relapsed into utter silence, Sir Wat dealt with it brusquely, neither admitting nor denying the credit Lymond seemed to have given him; and after a bit they stopped pestering him with questions and offered pleasantly enough to travel back to Edinburgh together.

After his own men had joined him, Buccleuch asked to look at the prisoner and was directed to the rear, where Lymond was lashed flat to a horse-stretcher. He was not conscious.