The Ringed Castle - Dorothy Dunnett [157]
Meum est propositum
In taberna mori
Vinum sit oppositum
Morientis ori
Ut dicant, cum venerint
Angelorum chori
Deus sit propitius
Huic potatori.
Chancellor caught, as Grey did not, the solitary, far spark of irony as Lymond ceased, and turning back to his audience, took vociferous communion and launched into primitive song once again. The half-drunk army of the Voevoda Bolshoia had conceived that the Voevoda Bolshoia, drunk this night, was their brother. Chancellor knew that he was not, and was not.
The sleigh race was run later that night, when the moon was up, whitening the snowfields, and making plain the post a mile off up the islanding river, round which each team of man, sledge and reindeer was to turn.
Ten reindeer were yoked amid indescribable confusion. Chancellor, long since returned to his cabin, heard the noise from the inner room where he sat trying to make notes by candlelight. He knew more about the roads through Siberia than he had even hinted to Lymond. He had talked all day, with his interpreters, to men from the Kara Sea and beyond. So, while Richard Grey snored in his blankets behind him, and the torches outside flickered dimly through the thick mica, he wrote until a hammering on the door made him shift back his stool and get up.
Grey turned over, snorting. The rest of the house sounded empty. The two men who served them were still outside then, as was Lymond. Chancellor walked through to the outer room, which was Lymond’s, and drew back the bolts of the door.
It was the lieutenant, Konstantin, respectfulness vying in his face with undisguised excitement. There had been a challenge, and the Voevoda was to take part with some of his men in a sleigh race. Did the Englishmen not wish to come and watch?
One Englishman was beyond watching, and Chancellor said so, wondering if a common language made it imperative that he alone should put on his wet furs again and struggle out into the cold. As far as etiquette went, the bond was closer than that of nationality: the Voevoda was in some sort, he supposed, their escort and host. And earlier in the evening, he had proposed to go further than that, and become his personal sponsor.
He could not yet decide why, and asked to give his reply tonight, he would have refused. The man was too clever; too singular; too well endowed with all the obvious talents. He knew Lymond could use a sleigh well. He did not especially want to see him prove it.
Chancellor sighed and said, ‘I’ll come. Go ahead and I’ll follow after. Who suggested the match? The Voevoda?’
His Russian must be getting much better. The lieutenant lifted a hand in acknowledgement and grinned. ‘No. There was an argument. Only ten sledges are running, three of them driven by rather incapable soldiers to uphold the honour of the Tsar against the tribes of the north. The Pustozerskers challenged the Voevoda and he accepted. I fear he is angry.’
‘Can no one else uphold the honour of the Tsar?’ asked Chancellor rather sourly; and then remembered that Konstantin himself still had a hand bandaged from frostbite, and that Aleksandre had been today’s casualty, in his stupid trial of strength in the drinking-hut. He added, ‘I suppose the others are all too drunk. Never mind. Go on. I’ll find you.’
Grey was too far gone to waken, and anyway wouldn’t be interested. Neither, thought Chancellor, would he be much use for guarding the hut, and the bales in the storeroom behind it. He wished he had asked Konstantin to send along two of his less incapable soldiers, or to find the two young men who served them. He could do that as soon