Queen's Play - Dorothy Dunnett [184]
On Anne de Montmorency, Constable of France, lay the weight of sustaining this relationship. Alone with Mr. Crawford and a secretary, the Constable broke the seal and read Raoul de Chémault’s edited account, addressed to the King, of all that had happened in London. He then accepted with a shrewd glance and read a second report from de Chémault. This was addressed expressly to the Constable himself, and contained, for the Constable’s ear alone, Stewart’s hint that the Earl of Lennox and Lord d’Aubigny his brother were involved.
In his report, as de Chémault and Lymond both knew, lay the explosive crux of the affair. For the seigneur of Aubigny, high-born, florid, aesthetic, unstrung, was in the enchanted brotherhood of Henri II’s cronies, whom another crony might touch at his peril. The Constable read the dispatch through, picking his nose, and then laying it down, spread his broad, swordsman’s hand flat on the page.
‘Yes. M. de Chémault did well. Such an accusation should not reach the ears of the King until better substantiated. Unfortunately, M. de Chémault’s precaution was unnecessary. The charge against Lord d’Aubigny has already been made public. The Archer Stewart was questioned at Calais, and has made a full written confession implicating his lordship, which was sent on by courier ahead. The King knows of the accusation against his lordship.’
From beyond the desk, the herald showed no surprise. ‘Can monseigneur say whether Lord d’Aubigny has replied to the charge?’
The Constable of France used, absently, a brief and forceful expression. ‘As you might expect, M. Crawford, Lord d’Aubigny flatly denies it, and his highness the King fully believes him. Unless the man Stewart brings concrete proof of Lord d’Aubigny’s guilt, the seigneur will not be touched.’
‘If Mr. Stewart had such testimony he would have produced it, I feel, before now,’ said the herald. ‘Should my mistress the Queen Dowager obtain proof against his lordship, either independently or in communion with the Archer, would she have monseigneur’s aid and support?’
To this, the Constable’s reply was most cordial. Nothing in the well-anointed precision before him recalled a battered figure on the roadside at Rouen. As for Lymond, chatting in the Constable’s company just outside the Gran’ Salle door, he yet found time to register, in the docketed stream of his thoughts, that the Prince of Condé and his brother d’Enghien and someone else were having an interesting discussion inside. Presently, it was obvious from the brogue that the third speaker must be Cormac O’Connor. It was then that he prevailed on the Constable to open the door.
Throughout the introductions, d’Enghien’s gaze did not leave him: moving slowly over the burnished head, the indolent face, the beguiling limbs. For a long time after that, without quite realizing it, he stared at Mr. Crawford’s polished features until something the herald said, by the very fluency of its delivery, broke his train of thought.
‘M. O’Cluricaun, you said?’
‘Mr. O’Connor.’ The Constable, who was taking a good deal of trouble over Lymond, wondered why the big Irishman had flushed. ‘—Cormac O’Connor. Offaly’s son.’
The herald was apologetic. ‘Of course—I have it. The Cluricaun is the fairy, is it not? Who makes himself drunk in gentlemen’s cellars? On pear juice, perhaps?’
There was a light in d’Enghien’s lustrous eyes; a familiar light, a light which the Prince of Condé noticed and understood.
‘Une belle!’ said Jean de Bourbon to the air, in sotto-voce delight. ‘Une belle, mais pas frigide! Pas frigide du tout!’
That evening, Lymond met the King and discussed de Chémault’s report without incident. Lord d’Aubigny’s name was not mentioned, and there was no flicker on the royal,