Game of Kings - Dorothy Dunnett [206]
Richard, flexing the fingers of his right hand, raised his eyebrows at Tom Erskine. “You heard? He’s going to fight,” he said gently.
Set below the music room, the hall at Flaw Valleys was lit by the same pattern of tall windows along one of its long sides; on the other, double doors at its centre made the only entrance. The shining wood floor had been cleared of furniture and the spectators stood behind rope at either end: Gideon to the right, with six of his own men, and Erskine and Culter’s men to the left. Within the arena, Lymond had resumed his stance by one of the window seats. Both Culter and Tom Erskine were missing.
Conversation was low. Gideon wondered what his wife was doing. He thought of the music he had heard that afternoon, and of his conversations with Lymond, and of something Lymond had said to Kate. “If it’s going to happen, it won’t happen here.” But how much, indeed, could flesh and blood stand?
A table was put in the centre of the room. On it, Gideon could see the four weapons, four slots of blue; and beside them a heavy book: a volume of the Four Gospels impressed with tarnished gold leaf, which had belonged to Kate’s mother. Culter came in and stood by it; then Erskine, and the doors were shut.
Erskine stood just in front of the carved oak. He was still without colour, but composed and firmly in authority. He looked at his audience to the right and left extremities of the room, to Lymond by the window and to Richard in front of him and said quietly, “You know the purpose of this gathering. We are about to hold trial by combat between these two men here before you, and I take to myself the authority to regulate and to take oath as if this were done in Scotland, in champ clos. Will you both abide by that?” He waited for their assent, and then in a grave, clear voice began to administer the oath.
“You, Richard, third Baron Crawford of Culter, laying your right hand upon this Book, must swear the truth of your complaint in all its points, from the first to the last charge in it, and that it is your intent to prove the contents to be true, so aid you God.”
“So aid me God.”
Culter’s voice was steady. Erskine proffered the book again. “Richard Crawford, third Baron Culter, laying your hand on the Book this second time, you must swear that you stand no otherwise appointed than by me, with a rapier and a dagger; that you have not any other pointed instrument or engine, small or great; no stone or herb of virtue, no charm, experiment or other enchantment by whose power you believe you may the easier overcome your adversary who here shall oppose you in his defence; and that you trust not in anything more than in God, your body, and the merits of your quarrel; so God you help.”
Richard’s voice, quietly taking the oath, and the pad of his stockinged feet as he stepped back broke the silence. There was a tightening of the figure by the window and Erskine’s even voice, slightly raised.
“Francis Crawford of Lymond, Master of Culter,” After the briefest hesitation, the man came to him. “Laying your right hand on this Book …”
Erskine’s eyes this time were intent. He read the oath still with his voice a little raised, like a challenge. At the words, “So aid me God,” repeated without emphasis, a ripple of comment made itself heard in the quiet room. Erskine ignored it. “Lord Culter. Please come forward.”
Richard moved this time after a distinct pause and took his place before Erskine at his brother’s side. Erskine captured his eyes and held them. “Take ye each other by the right hand, laying the left on the Book.”
“He won’t. Damned if I blame him,” said the man next to Gideon. Richard was grinning. “I have no right hand, Mr. Erskine.”
His temporary Constable neither argued nor pleaded. He simply observed, “I have the power to make that true, as you should know. Face your opponent and take him by the right hand.”
It was Lymond who made the move. Richard touched the proffered hand with the tips of his fingers, his left hand on the book between them so that their joined arms