Game of Kings - Dorothy Dunnett [181]
“Where are they worse off than they are now? And in the future, they can expect the Queen’s children to rule France and Scotland between them. Another royal line will put in an appearance and the two countries will probably fall apart again with little harm done. That’s French diplomacy.
“The alternative is English force: reprisals and raids and counter-raids and broken promises, as you say. Of course you must try to secure this alliance. You might have achieved it in the last reign but for Henry. It was he who fostered the cult of the honest emotion, and you’re still paying for the mistake.”
He paused, his hand straying unconsciously to his bandaged shoulder. “Chess can be just about as brutalizing; I grant you that. You know about the Border raids last year, back and forth: you burn me and I’ll dismember you. The one the Scots made in March, for instance—Lord Wharton made two reports on it; one for the Protector, and one with all the damage exaggerated to be passed to the King of France. The purpose was to justify your invasion in September. Were you at the battle of Pinkie?”
“No.”
“I was. It was as precise an exhibition of honest emotion as you’re likely to see. It won’t be the last. I told you religion was on your side, and that’s the bloodiest emotion I know. If this develops into a religious war, then God help us.”
Gideon, intensely interested, noticed that his own affairs had no place in Lymond’s mind, and that he had dropped entirely most of his irritating mannerisms. The Englishman scratched his chin with his clasped thumbs. “What’s your solution? Why not let the children marry?”
Lymond said slowly, “I haven’t got a solution. But I’ll give you a few objections, if you like. The Queen’s five and the King’s nine. If Mary’s brought up in London, as Somerset is stipulating, she’ll either lose or be accused of losing interest in Scotland long before she gets to marrying age. And that small excuse is enough to touch off a religious and baronial war up here that might make the Protector’s efforts look silly. It only needs some fool to crown himself, and the whole process of expostulation and invasion begins again.”
“But,” said Gideon, “if she goes to France, won’t the same thing happen?”
“Not quite. There’d be less religious friction. And Mary of Guise would have the power and the standing to keep the throne warm for a little time, at least.”
Gideon said thoughtfully, “The alternative, I suppose, is to let you keep the Queen peacefully until she’s of marriageable age. And then—”
“—To arrange a marriage with Edward as a good conduct prize on both sides. That’s the unemotional solution. France would hate it; so would the Douglases. Would Somerset agree to such a wait?”
Their eyes met.
Gideon shook his head slowly and wryly. “It isn’t any use getting intelligent about it. His Grace’s own position is damned shaky. He needs action, and success, right away. There’s always the Princess Mary, you see. He’s bound to try and get hold of your Queen.”
“In fact, stalemate.”
Gideon studied him, over the rim of his hands. “Why aren’t you at Edinburgh with your people?”
“They threw me out,” said Lymond calmly.
“Why?”
“Youth, women and bad company. Nothing sentimental about that either. Or rather, not women. One woman.”
Gideon said suddenly, “Could I make a guess? Someone connected with Samuel Harvey and Princess Mary’s household? Someone like Margaret Lennox?”
Lymond replied, “Very like,” and didn’t add to it.
After a moment, Gideon probed. “You wouldn’t care to … ?”
“No.”
Somerville got up. Looking at his feet, he walked to the door and back again, aware that the barrier of nationality had fallen between them, and the shutters closed again. He resumed his seat behind the desk. “About Harvey.”
Lymond crossed his legs. “You’re under no obligation in that respect. Similarly, I am in your power of disposal, even though the meeting was never held. That was the arrangement.”
“I have given this some thought,” said Gideon, rolling his pen between pink, clean fingers. “The convoy which