Disorderly Knights - Dorothy Dunnett [240]
‘Sir Graham Malett’s?’ said Lymond with interest. ‘There’s public-spiritedness for you. Except that into whose hands might it not fall when he dies?’
‘Sir Graham Malett has no wish to command St Mary’s,’ said M. d’Oisel a little stiffly.
‘Oh?’ Lymond was quick. ‘So you’ve asked him?’
The Queen Mother broke in. ‘It was hardly necessary. He has made plain his views over many weeks.’
‘Then,’ said Lymond quietly, ‘may I be given the privilege of one day in which to do the same? St Mary’s has achieved more, I believe, than you know. It is documented. I should like to be given time in which to present the facts to your Grace.’
The glassy, heavily metalled rings flashed; the pearls on her cap jerked, as the Queen Mother slowly shook her head. ‘I have the only facts of significance. However well-intentioned, however successful, this army in private hands is a danger. It must be disbanded. And you, sir, will remain in our charge until it has done so.’
Watching Lymond, Margaret Erskine wondered what was happening behind that façade. If he did not disperse his company, it would be done for him, and all this great and formidable achievement would go for nothing. With his mercenaries scattered, and the confidence of his officers lost following this foolish indictment, he would never team them again.
And there was more behind it than that. He would know, as she did, that there was trouble ahead under French rule—or what would virtually become French rule if Mary of Guise was made Regent, and her daughter Mary’s future husband was proclaimed King of both Scotland and France. She would then need all the armed support she could get. She had wanted Lymond to build her a personal army. She would not risk the presence of an army which might unite and even support the powerful families of Scotland against her. Thank God, thought Margaret bitterly, that Gabriel is what he is. But even Gabriel could not move against the pressure of national expediency.
And while she was thinking so, a whispered consultation at the doors turned into an announcement; a sharp question by the Queen Dowager and a comment by M. d’Oisel; and there, entering the room in his dark, cheap clothes, his burnished head bent, his expression grimly determined, was Graham Malett himself.
He glanced, once, at Lymond; and then in a moment was on one knee at his side. ‘Forgive me, your Grace. If I offend you, punish me. But in the name of truth and in the light of my vows, and in token of the loving friendship in which I hold this man, I must speak. Francis—’
‘Sir Graham!’ The Queen Dowager’s voice, when she chose, could grate like flaked metal. ‘Afterwards, in private, we shall speak of this.’
Graham Malett rose and said, without answering her, ‘Francis. They have ordered you to disband?’
‘Yes.’ Curiously, Lymond scanned the intent face at his side.
‘There is another chance—’
‘Sir Graham!’
Again, Gabriel ignored the Dowager. And such was his sheer force of personality that of all the entourage in the room, no one stepped forward to remove him. Instead, he went on rapidly. ‘I didn’t mean to tell you. But this is no time for hurt pride. At the request of the King of France, an expeditionary force is to be raised of Scots to fight on the continent. I have been asked, and have refused, to depose you and lead St Mary’s there myself. The alternative was to disband the company. There is a third choice. Prove to her Grace in the next month without a shadow of doubt that St Mary’s is great, as you and I know that it is, and then lead them to France under the Queen Dowager’s banner. On your conduct there, she can decide whether or not Scotland would be the better for your return. If she still cannot bring herself to believe that nothing but good will come of this idea of yours, then at least you will be free and with your army, and able to go where