Game of Kings - Dorothy Dunnett [56]
The Master raised weary eyebrows. “He wasn’t.”
That was all the conversation he ever had on the subject; and soon they were safely back at their tower. Drinking went on for two days after the barrels were broached; and Will Scott made a point of surfacing into sobriety as little as possible.
Amid the brawling, dancing, chorusing and squabbling, he was aware of Lymond, totally and grossly drunk, with the tawny velvet creased and stained with beer and food. He appeared to be in amatory mood, and was singing long Spanish love songs to his own accompaniment on the guitar.
VI
Forced Move for a Minor Piece
Efter also yis pownis first moving
Frome poynt to poynt ye course furth sall bring,
And never pass to poynts angular
But sa it be to sla his adversar
The quhilk is lyk, be his passing yan,
In anguler wyss, to spulze sum pur man.
AS NEWS will, news of the hoax at Hume got out. By breakfast time on the second day, a kind of collective snigger, moving downwind from the castle to Edinburgh and points west, betrayed the progress of the story: the discovery of the entire English troop bound and frozen outside Melrose Abbey swelled the snigger to a belly laugh.
Sir George Douglas, breakfasting in his castle of Dalkeith seven miles south of Edinburgh, got word of it with his quails and became unusually thoughtful.
Thoughtfully, he allowed himself to be dressed and barbered, his beard trimmed, his lounging robe slipped over discreet Swiss shirt. Thoughtfully, he opened the tower door which led out of his bedchamber and climbed twenty steps to his private study, where a dishevelled-looking person was waiting. He shut the door. “Forgive the delay. I cannot always receive the Lord Protector’s messages as freely as I should wish.”
The rain was driving against the exposed tower window: the man’s outer clothes were sodden. He pushed back his hood, revealing a close cap fitting from eyebrows to ears, and said courteously, “I am sure his Grace would be unhappy to think otherwise, Sir George.”
This was a trifle near the mark for a messenger, but Douglas had his mind on other things. He said briefly, “I must confess, as matters now stand between myself, Lord Grey and the Protector, I had not expected to hear from London yet.”
“How providential,” said the hatted one comfortably, “that you didn’t on that account have me stopped at the gate. So fickle are statesmen. Today the palace, tomorrow the oubliette and the elegiac distich.”
This time, Sir George turned his full attention on the stranger. “If you have a dispatch, sir, I should be glad to see it.”
“In a way I have,” said the other cheerfully. “Je suis oiseau: voyez mes ailes. And then again, in a way I haven’t. Je suis souris; vivent les rats. Wnat I have is worth hearing, though. Shall I read it to you?” And he pulled from his coat a creased bundle of papers. “Here we are. Rather long, but I’ll spare you the clay and disinter the lotus. For example—” And picking out a page, he read quickly aloud.
“‘Sir George Douglas, the laird of Ormiston, and two of the Humes have been here, Douglas coming as a Borderer to serve the King.… I reminded him of his benefits from the late King, and threatened him if he revolted again, I should pursue him and his friends to the death. He answered he would advance the marriage, and promised to draw his brother and the rest clean from the Governor … and to do his utmost to put the Queen in our hands, if requited in England for his lands—which I have guaranteed with my own lands. I have resolved to prove him, and if he does not keep his promise, the very next day Coldingham shall down, and himself smart for it.… ’
“Postscript—Oh,” said the stranger disingenuously, turning over the last page. “I remember. I left the postscript with my friends, although that was rather interesting too. What do you make of it all?”
What Sir George thought was soon forthcoming. With undisturbed calm, he drew his gown about him, and seating himself negligently near the door, remarked, “I should guess this to be a somewhat naïve