The Ringed Castle - Dorothy Dunnett [286]
They were indoors at that point, resting and sharing a hearty, overcooked meal which she was too absorbed to eat and Lymond, she supposed, too apprehensive. He said, watching the ale in his tankard, ‘You avoid Chancellor’s name.’
‘I thought it was in the rules,’ Philippa said. ‘No emotive topics in case we exhaust ourselves before reaching Master Bailey. I know you offered to finance Diccon Chancellor. There was a letter to Nicholas in his papers. If I become the first lady merchant in Cambalu——’
‘I couldn’t afford it,’ Lymond said. ‘Nor could Cambalu. And I have a feeling you would need more than three doctors, even if all of them happened to be atheists. Of course, these explorations are important: perhaps the most attractive prospect the world holds today for anyone of imagination and stamina.’
‘But not so important as what you are doing for Russia?’ Philippa said.
‘I don’t know,’ Lymond said. ‘I only know that I believe it must be done, as Chancellor’s work had to be done.’
‘I tried to join you,’ Philippa said. ‘It was stupid, of course. But there is a saying about people who write letters to other people who do not trouble to answer them.’
‘Chi scrire a chi non responde O egli e matto, o egli ha di bisogno.… Who writes to one who doesn’t reply, Is either a fool, or in need.… Was that in one of my books?’ Lymond said.
‘I,’ said Philippa forbiddingly, ‘have read some works other than the primary textbooks in the inadequate library at Midculter. Did you read my first letter?’
‘Yes,’ he said; and looked up as she put her palm over the top of his tankard.
She said, ‘There is nothing wrong. But you are going to need your wits.’
‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘So I am.… I read half of it.’
‘And stopped at the maternal outpourings. I was mad,’ said Philippa gloomily. ‘Kuzúm was the last person you wanted to hear about: any fool could have told that. And even more so if …’ She paused, rather pale. ‘Can I have one, little, creeping excursion into sentiment?’
And knew by his body, if not by his face, that he had divined already what she was going to say, and that the fear, the cold and brutal misgivings she had carried about with her for two days were true. Lymond said, ‘Margaret Lennox has told you of a conversation we had about Kuzúm’s identity.’
Philippa nodded, her straying hands firmly gripped in her lap. ‘She says that Kuzúm is Joleta’s child. The son of Joleta Malett and her brother. And that Khaireddin, who died, was your son.’
‘That was what I told her,’ Lymond said. ‘She believes it. And you must pretend to believe it. So long as she thought Kuzúm mine, Lady Lennox would be a threat to his safety.’
There was a brief silence, during which Philippa Somerville fought and won a battle to keep her eyes dry. Lymond said, ‘I give you my word. It was a lie.’
Philippa looked at him. ‘And I don’t deserve that,’ she said.
But this time, he did not give way. ‘Kuzúm is who he is. As everyone keeps insisting, parentage doesn’t matter. Love him for what he is: let your mother continue to love him. The death of the other child is my affair.’
‘And you run your affairs so efficiently,’ said Philippa, with sudden acidity. And then ashamed, she said, ‘Will you have a son by Güzel?’
‘With my heritage?’ said Lymond, and stood up. ‘I have my sons by peasant women and prostitutes, not by my mistress. If you are still anxious to reach Gardington and witness all my family secrets exposed, to the last ludicrous dregs, I think we should leave and get on with our journey.’
Which she did, silently, for she understood she had made an error of judgement. And from then until late afternoon he hardly spoke to Philippa until, in a small hamlet within about fifteen minutes of their desination, he dropped speed unexpectedly and, for the first time in a long while,