Game of Kings - Dorothy Dunnett [15]
Johnnie Bullo regarded his fingers. “If I were yourself, I would perhaps give him his head. He looks a meek enough child.”
“So did Heliogabalus at an early age,” said Lymond. “And Attila and Torquemada and Nero and the man who invented the boot. The only thing they had in common was a cherubic adolescence. And red hair, of course, makes it worse.”
He considered, while the boy watched him steadily; then said, “Infant, I can’t resist it. I’m going to put you to the proof; and if you impress us with your worth, then quicquid libet, licet; as was remarked on another, unsavoury occasion. Are you willing to be wooed, sweet Marigold?”
Redhead was not charmed. “I’m willing to give you reasonable proof of my talents, of course.”
“Proof of your talents! … Oh, little Peg-a-Ramsey, we are going to do well together. Come along then. Gif thou should sing well ever in thy life, here is in fay the time, and eke the space. Your name?”
“You can call me Will.”
“—Sir,” said Lymond affectionately. “Surname and parentage?”
“My own affair.” A rustle among the onlookers gave credit to this piece of bravura; Lymond was undisturbed. “Never fear. We’re all runts and bastards of one sort or another. Do you swim? Hunt? Wrestle? I see. Can you use a crossbow? Your longest shot? Can you count? Read and write? Ah, the sting of sarcasm—Have we a scholar here? Then produce us a specimen,” said Lymond. “What about some modest quatrains? Frae vulgar prose to flowand Latin. Deafen us, enchant us, educate us, boy.”
There was a pause. The examinee, dazed by mental gymnastics at top speed, at first boggled. Then he had a pleasing idea. Lowering his lashes over a malicious sparkle he recited obligingly.
“Volavit volucer sine plumis
Sedit in arbore sine foliis
Venit homo absque manibus …”
Flat incomprehension informed every face. He halted.
There was an uneasy and deferential pause. Then Lymond gave a short laugh and capped him in German:
“… un freet den Vogel fedderlos
Van den Boem blattlos …
“You appear,” said the Master, “to have left your studies at a very tender age? Don’t trouble to explain: tell me this instead. What about Pharaoh’s chickens appealed to you? Why did you decide to join me?”
“Why … ?” repeated Redhead, needing time to think.
“Word of three letters,” said Lymond. “Come along, for God’s sake: no need to let me have it all my own way. What was it? Rape, incest, theft, treason, arson, wetting the bed at night …”
“… Or burning my mother alive,” said the other sarcastically.
“Oh, be original at least.” The Master was undisturbed. “Why are you here?”
Silence. Then the boy said slowly, “Because I admire you.”
An appreciative titter ran round the audience. “You shock me,” said Lymond. “Explain, please.”
“All right,” said the boy. “You’ve chosen a life of vice, and have been consistent and reliable and thorough and successful in carrying it out.”
Lymond considered this with every appearance of seriousness. “I see. Thus the baseness of my morals is redeemed by the stature of my manners? You admire consistency?”
“Yes, I do.”
“But prefer consistency in evil to consistency in good?”
“The choice is hypothetical.”
“Lord; is it? What an exciting past you must have.”
“I despise mediocrity,” stated the young man firmly.
“And you would also despise me if I practised evil but professed purity?”
“Yes. I should.”
“I see. What you are really saying, of course, is that you dislike hypocrisy, and people who can’t stand by their principles. I find it so helpful,” continued Lymond, “when some of my gentlemen have well-defined codes of conduct. It makes them more predictable. What security have I got for your loyalty?”
Redhead chanced his arm, solemnly. “Your appraisal of me, sir.”
“Touching; but I’d prefer your appraisal of yourself. Do your principles admit an oath of fealty?”
“If you want it. I won’t betray you, any of you; you can have my word on that. And I’ll do anything you want, within reason. I don’t mind,” said Redhead recklessly, “what crimes I commit, as long as they’ve got a sensible purpose. Wanton