Checkmate - Dorothy Dunnett [341]
Lymond said, ‘I wish to command neither the King’s army, monseigneur, nor that of the Queen Dowager your sister. My mother, as you have seen, is no longer young, and I have been many years from home. She has asked me to come back and I have agreed.’
‘To do what? To spend a lifetime at your sewing?’ said the Duke of Guise. ‘Your mother already has your excellent brother, M. de Culter here, to look after her concerns. What career is there for a nobleman and a man of honour except war?’
‘But the war is ending,’ Lymond said. ‘A peace between Spain and France will encompass both England and Scotland, I am sure. And if I am to hunt, saving His Majesty’s incomparable presence, the hunting is as fine in Scotland as in France.’
‘On that score,’ said the Duke de Guise, ‘monsieur, I beg to differ. Perhaps your wish is to return to your wife and son, although I believe both are in England, not Scotland. Even so, I cannot see what loyalty you would place before His Majesty, what comparison you can make between a nation of sixteen million persons and a country which holds in all its lands no more than the population of Paris. Is that to be henceforth your kingdom?’
‘I exchanged Russia for France,’ Lymond said.
‘And for what will you in time abandon Scotland?’ said the Cardinal gently. ‘For Fort Coligny in the new world, perhaps, with M. de Villegagnon?’
‘Enough,’ said the King. His colour, naturally pale, was high above the brushed black beard; under the freshly placed hat with its impeccable tilt. ‘We do not cajole. You have chosen to inform us publicly that you are leaving. I shall therefore dismiss you publicly. As you say, there are many valiant men, lovers of France, who are worthy of the Marshal’s bâton you are laying down. To one of these, it will be given. As to the Royal Order …’
He paused. ‘This is not confined, as you know, to knights of France. Your own King bore it once. I wish you to know that you have not served a mean king, although your service has been ended meanly. The Order you may keep, in token of the victories you have won for France, and in the expectation that one day, realizing what you have cast aside, you will return to her. Replace the sash, M. de Sevigny. It is still yours. Your presence in this palace, however, is no longer required.’
He had moved back, away from his retinue. It was surprising therefore that, at the last moment, he held out his ringed hand and that Francis Crawford, after hesitating for a moment, walked forward and, kneeling again, was permitted to kiss it.
They all saw the King’s lips move. But not even the brothers de Guise, nearest to their master, heard the words that he spoke.
‘Adieu, mon compère. Dieu vous doint bonne vie et longue.’
Then Lymond rose and, retreating slowly, performed in silence the triple obeisance due to royalty before he turned and walked swiftly at last from the room, with Richard moving beside him.
They were stopped twice in the antechamber: once by the Prince of Condé, waspishly upbraiding, who ended, his face suddenly clearing, with the remark, ‘Well at least, mon cher, if we no longer have your sweet company, I can have Madame Marguerite de St André’s undivided attention.’
The second time it was the comte de La Rochefoucauld who slipped from the royal chamber and, pausing beside his former colleague in war, placed a thin packet in his hand. ‘Our friend at Onzain wished me to give this to you,’ he said. ‘I would advise you to read it in privacy.’ Then, raising his voice he said, ‘I fear you have disappointed us, M. le comte. Give our greetings to your sour land and all its sour inhabitants.’
Richard’s hand tightened on his belt but Lymond drew him aside and walked on.
Richard said, ‘Of course you knew, when you made that promise to Sybilla, that this was what it would mean?’
‘So