Checkmate - Dorothy Dunnett [355]
‘When did the wind change? It’s been south-south-west for thirty-six hours, but you’ve adjusted the foremast and the staysail twice already this morning. Are we a training ship?’
‘No,’ said the master.
‘… my lord,’ said Lymond.
‘No, my lord,’ said the master. ‘Only honest seamen who serve their trade faithfully. She’s an old vessel, and seen a few fights. You have to gentle her.’
‘Thank you,’ said Lymond. ‘I should prefer sailing her. Do I have your permission?’
The master gazed at him. ‘I can’t see my owners liking that, my lord. I’m sorry. But perhaps you or the other gentleman would like to take the helm for a little?’
‘Would you like to take the helm for a little, Richard?’ Lymond said. It was as inconsequential as any of his conversation had been, on the rare occasions during the voyage when he had sought company. Once, in his sleep, he had spoken Philippa’s name, but never at any other time.
‘Not unless you want to swim to Leith,’ Richard said.
‘Or, like the Turks’ diabolical iron galley, ride under the water for ever. It would pose, one should say, certain problems of steering.’ He raised his voice just a little, and threw it aft, ‘M. le timonier? Pouge un peu, s’il vous plaît. Et puis il faut larguer les voiles. Master?’
The master had gone very red. ‘My lord, there can only be one who commands on a ship.’
‘That is correct. And you have kindly handed me your authority for a day,’ Lymond said. ‘Go and sleep. I shall give you your ship back at nightfall.’
His jaw jutting, the master turned on Lord Culter. ‘I will stand security for him,’ said Richard gravely. ‘If he chips the shaft of an oar, I shall pay for it.’
He was not at all sure that it was wise, but it seemed to be what Francis wanted, and that he should want anything was of moment. He was aware that the master, although overborne, was still there, on the long rambade, watching. Then Lymond walked to the poop, and, turning, his hands clasped lightly behind him, said, ‘Ecoutez, tout le monde and talked on in short, carrying phrases, while the stern post arched to the sky and plunged again into the sea just behind him.
The men near Richard were grinning, but he did not know the common language of galleys, and so missed the cause of it. He could tell the orders, however, from the pitch of his brother’s voice and watched, holding hard to the rail as lines of men came and went, in a rush of bare feet. Above his head, soles dangling, they were doing something to the brails on a yardarm. The sea hissed and the coast, grey in the drizzle, began, quickening, to unroll towards them.
The ship was trim in an hour, and then there was nothing to do. Richard said, ‘Chancellor. I had forgotten the voyage from Russia.’
‘Had you?’ Lymond said. He had come in for food, his skin with colour in it, and his hair blowing and damp. ‘Oh, yes. Russia, and all the Levantine seas and Malta. And of course, my years at the oar.’
‘You prefer the sea to the land?’ Richard said. The possibility had never struck him.
‘Sometimes,’ Lymond said. He had eaten, but with no obvious appetite. ‘I don’t like to see things done badly on either. At the moment, I am tired of journeys. It is time I arrived somewhere.’
‘And when you do?’ Richard said. ‘I’ve tried not to force you to talk of the future, but your men are in Scotland ahead of you and that means that you have to find them employment. And this time, you cannot be neutral. You have to make up your mind whether you are going to support or oppose France. You have to make up your mind whether you are going to support or oppose the new religion. And even if you and your officers try not to commit yourselves, your men will, when and if you start recruiting them.’
He tried, and failed, to collect Lymond’s eyes. He added, a little brusquely, ‘I wanted you to come back to Scotland for Sybilla’s sake; not to defend any cause of mine.’
‘I know,’ Lymond said. ‘But my calling is war: even if I wanted to retire to the farm or the cloister, do you think I should be allowed to?