The Ringed Castle - Dorothy Dunnett [219]
It was a game, and these were its opening moves. ‘Your grace,’ Lymond said. ‘What defect has France, that so many of her noblest sons stand at your side? They advise you out of their wisdom, I the Tsar out of my humility.’
The large, pale eyes studied him from the stiff headdress; her skirts, spread widely about her, did not disguise the strong, big-boned frame of the de Guises, the most powerful family in France. She said, ‘Out of long-standing alliance and amity, France supports this nation, and defends it. We have no such commitments to Muscovy. On whose behalf do you support its Tsar?’
‘On my own,’ Lymond said. ‘I am a soldier of fortune.’
‘But you are in English company, and supporting an English adventure.’
‘Your grace may rest assured,’ Lymond said. ‘My loyalty, as with all mercenaries, is towards the sovereign who pays me. I am not paid by England.’
‘And the Tsar is so munificent?’ Mary of Guise observed.
For this audience he had dressed soberly, neither in the long robes of the Russian merchant nor the tunic and breeches of the Russian soldier. Like any of her courtiers, he wore a formal close-buttoned doublet and cloak, the high stiffened collar opening in front to show a shirt lightly decorated; his long, sombre hose neatly shod, with no extravagance anywhere, except the extravagance inherent in his colouring and style. ‘Or,’ said Mary of Guise, ‘is it power you seek, Mr Crawford? For I cannot, I fear, commend your frankness. Do you still say your only duty to the Tsar is that of adviser?’
No trace of alarm showed in the chilly blue eyes. ‘It is what the terms of my embassy say.’
‘In public, yes. But since we are not on the borders of Russia and our trade, our church and our people are not threatened by this barbarous race, might you not have been candid with us, Mr Crawford? I am told that you are not either leader of the company of St Mary’s or a clerk of the English tongue to Ivan of Russia, but his general, the Supreme Commander of all his armies?’
‘It is not a closely kept secret,’ Lymond said pleasantly. ‘It seemed irrelevant to your grace’s Court.’
Round the Queen were her Council; the men who severally had called on him; colleagues of his brother Culter, lifelong friends of his mother, Sybilla. The blandness they all recognized. And the courtesy. And the arrogance. The feelings of the Queen’s ladies, who had not seen him before, were something again. The Queen said, ‘And irrelevant, it seems, to your brother Midculter, who was not made aware of it. For a man who has attained such high honours so young, you have been slow to announce your good fortune to your queen and to your family. Are we to understand that your new allegiance now conflicts with theirs?’
Invisibly, Francis Crawford’s patience had come to an end. He said, ‘Your grace: if you know that I am Voevoda Bolshoia of Russia, you also know why I am here.’
The Queen’s erect shoulders moved, within their wide, stiffened sleeves. ‘I have heard certain rumours. But knowing the Baltic alliances of our dear brother of Spain, I can hardly countenance them.’
‘My mission,’ Lymond said, ‘is to serve Russia as best I can. I can only repeat. I am not paid by England, or by the Queen’s husband Philip.’
‘Your mission will fail,’ the Queen said. ‘And if war should break out while you are in England, what then?’
‘I am an envoy of the Tsar,’ Lymond said. ‘Not of Scotland.’
‘So, to the outward eye, it would seem,’ said Mary of Guise. ‘But I, because I am a woman, know that you are not only Scottish bred and bear the gift of a French Comté, but you have a kindness for us and our daughter which has been manifest over many years and does live, I believe, somewhere still. Mr Crawford, you have not been open with me, but I shall bare my heart and my mind before you. Where your conscience may take you, or your fortune, in England or Scotland or Russia, will you take our fee