The Ringed Castle - Dorothy Dunnett [273]
‘Gentlemen!’ called Lymond warningly.
She called back, ‘It’s all right,’ and tossed him the death’s head, which he put on, while she perched where she was, observing approvingly.
‘Right?’ said Lymond.
‘Till Little-lookedfor Death appeared
And Loathsome on the Lovers Leered
And Laughter’s Lodge was Let to Fear
And Love to Lugworms Fell …’
‘You’ve changed the metre,’ said Philippa.
‘I reserve the right,’ said Lymond, ‘to change the metre. Don’t interrupt.
‘Ah, Lamuel, lest your Life be Light
Lament not for your Lost Delight
Beshrew Loose Ladies in the Night
Or …’
‘Let me do it,’ said Philippa.
Lymond said, looking up, ‘That is robbery.’
‘I don’t care. Let me do it. You got all the last verse.’
‘All right,’ said Lymond generously. ‘It has to rhyme with fell.’
And from her high perch, happily, Philippa declaimed.
‘Ah, Lamuel, lest your Life be Light
Lament not for your Lost Delight
Beshrew Loose Ladies in the Night
OR LANGUISH LOCKED IN L!!!’
There was a roar of applause, from friends, tailors and Yeoman, and Philippa fell off the stand.
And, since the stand was not stable, it toppled with her, and striking the next stand, toppled that, which falling sideways, pushed a row of stands, with majestic slowness towards that part of the room where the paint and glue pots were standing. Chests opened. Hampers yawned. Cloth, clothes, bells, masks, heads, hay, swords, wigs and feathers erupted crashing upon floor and tables, while painters fled and tailors rose yelling and the explosions, continuing, dwindled; leaving nothing but silence, and the trickling of saffron, vermilion, yellow ochre, sap green and red lead, as they spread on the floor of the Revels.
‘Philippa?’ said Henry Sidney.
‘She’s knocked herself out. She’s all right,’ Lymond said. ‘So’s Nicholas. Look. I think d’Harcourt has broken an arm.’
The dust hung in the hall like a tapestry. Picking his way over the rubble, oblivious to the noise of men’s voices returning, Sir Henry found and knelt by the wigged bundle which was Sumtuous Lechery, and felt her pulse anxiously. She had had, as Lymond said, a crack on the crown and was quite unconscious. Otherwise, miraculously, she seemed to be unharmed.
D’Harcourt had been less lucky. By the time Sidney got there, Nicholas was helping Lymond pull him from under a chest: his left arm was undoubtedly broken, and he had had a bad blow on the head. Sidney said, ‘There are beds in the offices. I shouldn’t like to move him until he’s been looked at and had the arm set. Nicholas, find the Yeoman and tell him one gentleman is hurt and will he go to the nearest apothecary’s for a bonesetter. Mr Crawford …’
‘I shall stay with him,’ Lymond said. His shirt torn and his hand and cheek grazed, he had taken no other harm and was intent, with some success, on making d’Harcourt more comfortable.
‘No,’ Sidney said. ‘If you don’t mind my saying so. I know these people here. I shall see that your friend gets the best service possible, and I shall have him taken to Fenchurch Street as soon as he is able to travel. But I think Mistress Philippa should be in the care of Lady Dormer. These are kind men, but rough.… Nicholas would help you carry her, and the barge will take you straight to the gate.’
Lymond rose and stood, frowning.
‘Truly,’ Sir Henry said. ‘You can do no more for him here. Trust me with him.’
And after a moment more, ‘Yes, of course,’ Lymond said; and stretching, looked for the first time about him. ‘Oh, Jesus Christ. I shall have to go down and unload the Primrose.’
‘It was a notable play,’ said Henry Sidney. ‘And worth any cost in my book. Provided your officer here bears you no resentment, I think the other victims may soon be propitiated.’
‘That,’ said Lymond, ‘is precisely why I dislike leaving you. I must exact the promise, please, of an accounting.’
‘I promise,’ said Sidney. ‘On the other hand, you still have to make your peace with Mistress Philippa.’ He glanced, smiling, towards