Game of Kings - Dorothy Dunnett [251]
Lauder wondered if anyone had hinted tc the prisoner about that deaf ear. It was responsible for more executions, whippings and tongue borings than even its owner realized. The junior clerks, usher, macers and witnesses filled the rest of the room: they were going to need some air soon. He had taken the precaution of wearing his thinnest jerkin under his robes.
Lord Culter … the Scott boy … the Master of Erskine, without his father. That should be interesting: it was already interesting. One or two unknown faces, and some at the back he couldn’t see. He ran a bony finger over his chin and felt his usual rueful irritation that the hair which surged so cheerfully on his face should colonize his crown so feebly.
There was a hum of voices and a shuffle of feet: the initial procedure was over. They had put a chair in the centre of the floor for the panel: he remembered hearing that the fellow had been shot. Francis Crawford of Lymond, Master of Culter. They had called him. The name reverberated through the rafters: Lymond … Lymond … Master … Master. The boy Scott jumped and the brother, Culter, moved also. The rest simply looked stoic.
Everybody stared at the door. Two guards came in, and someone fair, of a vague distinction who walked steadily through the benches to the clear space in the middle, declined the chair and turned to face the Tribunal.
And this was a surprise. Unobtrusive, beautiful clothes; fine hands; a burnished head with a long, firm mouth and heavy blue eyes, spaciously set. He had been ill all right: the signs were all there. But his face was beautifully controlled, giving nothing away.
The guards withdrew. Orkney cupped his left ear in his hand and then took it away again. The answers to Argyll’s questions were professionally pitched; clear, pleasant and effortlessly audible.
Henry Lauder, Prosecutor for the Crown, guardian and administrator for all its people of the laws which secure their tranquillity and welfare, sat back in his seat and gave an unlegal twitch of sheer pleasure. He was, he felt, going to enjoy his day.
* * *
“This is not a trial,” Argyll had announced. “This is a preliminary examination conducted by us through Mr. Lauder, to lessen the burden on tomorrow’s meeting of the Estates. A number of questions will be put to you, and your replies will be noted. You will be given every chance to put your point of view, and a report based on these proceedings will be drawn up and placed before Parliament.…”
In other words, Parliament is busy with weightier matters than treason. Beware, for you are being judged.
“… And so, as a result of these productions,” the Lord Advocate was saying, swaying gently to and fro on his heels, “the above charges are dismissed. The Crown does not accuse you of the attempted murder of your brother, Richard Lord Culter, or of wilful and malicious fire-raising, robbery and attempted murder at your own home of Midculter, or”—he put out a bony finger and moved a paper in front of him—“or of the abduction of your brother’s wife and the slaughter of her child. These charges, as I have said, are not being pursued.”
Henry Lauder broke off, took away the spectacles resting on the bridge of his nose and said, “You don’t look very pleased about it. Do you understand what I am saying?”
“I was considering its legal implications,” said Crawford of Lymond, without raising his eyes.
The Lord Advocate sensed the grin on Foulis’s face while schooling his own. Of course, he had no right to recapitulate, but he didn’t expect to be told so.
He said, watching the prisoner under his lids, “I am glad you are following us. I am aware that you have not been in good health since a misunderstanding with your … force in June. We have no wish to unman you. It is, I think, unique