When he wakened, how much later he did not know, the motion of the boat was much rougher, and he could feel it labouring against the kicked waves of the contrary tide. He said, ‘How much farther? What time is it, Philippa?’
And Philippa’s voice, from the same place, said ‘It is nearly the turn of the tide. I can see a group of masthead lights, lying down river. It will be dawn soon, and we can wave.’
His eyes closed, unsolicited, with the relief of it. Philippa said, ‘How long do these attacks last?’
He said, still with closed eyes, ‘Not so long, as a rule. I had a blow on the head.’ And, reminded of something: ‘Philippa? Do you know who sent the boat which took me from the royal barge? Who else besides Alec and Fergie doesn’t want me to go back to Russia?’
He heard her change position. And when she next spoke, it was apparent that her back this time was to the rowers, and her voice was lowered as well. ‘The French Ambassador,’ Philippa said. ‘And the Queen’s sister, the lady Elizabeth.’
He had no need, any longer, to speak in monosyllables. The thunderous weight was lifting; his head ached, but he was able to think, in some manner. The sense of Philippa’s presence returned: soon he would be able to see her. Lymond said, but not as he had said it once before, ‘What have you been doing?’
‘I went to Michiel Surian,’ Philippa said. ‘The new Venetian Ambassador. I met him before, when I passed through Venice with the child.’
‘His name is still Kuzúm,’ Lymond said.
‘I am becoming used to it,’ said Philippa curtly. ‘We are not all able to arrange our changes of sentiment quite so quickly. I called on Surian and told him of the lady Elizabeth’s concern that the King of France’s good name should not suffer as a result of anything found in the Earl of Devonshire’s papers at Padua. The Ambassador was most sympathetic. I was to tell the Queen’s grace’s sister that there was not the remotest cause for anxiety. All the relevant papers, he revealed, had been extracted by the Council of Ten before the casket ever left Padua. There followed a good deal of talk.’
‘But at the end of the talk?’ Lymond said.
‘He gave me the documents. That is, the papers affecting France and the lady Elizabeth. I took them to John Dee. And John Dee sent the clockwork owl to Madam Elizabeth. She sent it back last week, saying she had no desire to keep it, but that she wished to know of any piece of my property which I was discarding, that it might come to her. And in the owl’s belly, where we had put the papers, were the ashes of the letters, and a glove, addressed to the new mapmaker from Scotland.’
‘A happy conceit,’ said Lymond blankly, ‘I seem to attract them.’
‘I left it with Dee. It should be with the rest of your baggage.’ He could hear her prepare to ask the next question. ‘Did you find your gold?’
‘If you had waited,’ Lymond said, ‘you would have seen.… We appear, from what I can see, to have launched a combined attack, you and I, on the worthy ministers of France and Venice and Spain. While you were making heartless use of the Venetian Ambassador, I had already warned King Philip that the Doge had taken Courtenay’s more treasonable papers. King Philip didn’t want a rush of opinion against his wife’s sister either. I felt sure he would find and suppress them.’
‘Not for nothing,’ said Philippa flatly, ‘have you and Master Dee between you the best espionage network in Europe. If Queen Mary dies, Philip is preparing to marry Elizabeth.’
‘He must have been puzzled,’ said Lymond restlessly, ‘when the Venetian Ambassador helpfully made him a gift of all Courtenay’s missing correspondence, and it proved to make no mention whatever of Elizabeth. Do you suppose they think we have been in collusion?’
‘I can’t imagine,’ Philippa said. She sounded abstracted. After a moment she said, ‘Are you feeling better? It is much lighter now.’
‘And …?’ said Lymond. He was beginning to recognize the signs of deceit. ‘And there are two boats this time, following us. We are quite close to the ships,’ Philippa said. And now he could hear the edge of anxiety in her clear voice.
‘How close? Do they have hackbuts?’
‘I can’t see.’ After a moment, Philippa said, ‘I have tied a white kerchief to an oar. I think the Primrose might see us.’
‘The tide?’ said Lymond, sitting up. While they had been speaking, the motion of the small boat had altered.
‘It’s slack water. Someone is waving from the Evangelist. And the Primrose. The Primrose …’ She stopped the quick, chattering commentary.
‘What?’ Lymond said, overwhelmed suddenly with exhaustion and anger at his helplessness.
‘She is weighing her anchor.’
Behind them, a hackbut spoke, like the single bark of a dog, unmistakable through the coarse orchestration of their sailing. ‘Is she moving yet?’ Lymond said.
‘No.’
‘Is she towing her pinnace?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then,’ said Lymond, ‘can you get me at least to the pinnace? Or are the other boats coming too fast? In any case.… Wait: What will you say when they question you?’
Philippa considered. ‘That you told me this was a French ship,’ she said.
‘Called,’ said Lymond curtly, ‘the Primrose?’
‘It isn’t quite light,’ Philippa said. ‘I could be imposed upon very plausibly. I am afraid,’ as a ball whined suddenly just over their heads, ‘that we shall have to take to the water.… Or no. Here we are.’
There was the little shock of two boats touching, and they came into the shadow of something so high that it made the wind eddy, and shut off the light he could sense now, dimly through his eddying, thickly masked sight. Hands grasped his elbows and, as another hackbut spoke, he found his balance with one hand on the gunwale of a pinnace which began to move as soon as he was on board, sheering through the water in a sweep which rocked him staggering, as hands high above hauled on the lashing, and brought the pinnace to her parent ship’s side.
There was a soft hiss, lost suddenly in the greater noise of deep water pouring; and above, a glare in the mist of his sight as a sail broke out, and lifted the ship suddenly into surging motion. The pinnace, made fast from above, continued to ride jarring against her straw fenders and Lymond, moving slowly, ranged her starboard side with one hand outstretched until he found what he wanted: a rope ladder hanging waiting, down the Primrose’s tall sides.
A gun sounded again, but half-heartedly. The noise of men’s voices from below and behind started to dwindle. Philippa had said nothing more or even, that he had heard, wished him God speed. Lymond paused, with one hand gripping the damp, knotted beard of the rope and choosing vaguely the direction in which he supposed her boat to be resting, smiled and lifted one hand.
He hoped, putting a certain insouciance into it, that she would be reassured that his sight had returned and wished, with some grimness, that he did not have to do what he was about to do entirely by sense of touch. But since there was no alternative, he grasped the rope firmly with one hand and then with two, and confided his blind weight to the crumpled, swaying, interminable ladder.
His sight cleared as he reached the top, in the way it did, suddenly, and he grasped the stanchions and managed without trouble the manoeuvre from ladder to deck, with many hands helping until he stood presently safe at the top, seeing dry and clean and swelling above him the wings of the new sails, pink with the high spreading radiance of sunrise.
On either side the smooth river, filled with the dawn, and rushing against the green English banks, with the scent of hawthorn reaching out over the water as the scent of the little cinnamon rose reached out over the waters in Muscovy, when one dropped anchor after the days of strain and hunger and deprivation; of fogs and white, sheathing ice and the growl of the whirlpool which, sometimes, one fed with oatmeal and butter. After the days of testing and trial and companionship, with Jenkinson, whom he might dislike or whom he might find tolerable; and Best, who was a good, harmless fellow; a
nd Buckland, who knew his job and would be content, now and always, to tread the new road another had mapped for him.
He would have to soothe Nepeja’s mistrust and regain the confidence of the Russians serving him. He would have to be careful not to offend the new pilot of the fleet with remembered advice, or warnings from other times: for Jenkinson, this voyage was one of discovery, and he had others and more strange to make. And then at night, with borrowed paper and pen, he must try to recover, as clearly and meticulously as he might, all that he had learned of value to Muscovy: all that he had been shown; all that he had read; all he had been told. The contents, however meagre, of the books he had not been permitted to bring. The advice, however ill-understood, of all the men of skill he had consulted. And then, back in Moscow, for this lonely and passionate man, he would construct a nation.
Francis Crawford looked up at the sails, his face quiet, his eyes clear and bright, and saw for the first time, flying free from the masthead, the long, silken banner bearing the lilies of France.
*
She wept slowly for the deception, as the pursuing boats closed in behind her, and the men called, who were not the minions of the French Ambassador or of Madam Elizabeth, but the officers of King Philip, who had sought Francis Crawford in vain through all the dark streets of London, to bring him succour and help him to the wish of his heart: the hard journey across time and history which would take him to Muscovy.
They called from their boats and she answered, though not as she said she would answer. When asked why she had allowed a ship bound for France to take Lymond, she complained that she had been told the French ship was the Primrose. And they believed her, she gathered. Nor did they query the number and style of her oarsmen.
The French on board that brave, painted caravel would make Francis Crawford welcome, for England had closed its gates on them, as on him. Awaiting him, he would find all his possessions, privily loaded by secret and powerful hands; and the four men: Guthrie, Hoddim, Blacklock and Hislop who, like herself, had conspired against him and had defeated him, through the strength of the bond he had spent two years attempting to sever.
It was proper that he should be prevented from going to Russia. It was proper that the means used should be those which offered least hurt, in a situation where hurt was implicit. But standing there, steadfast in the small boat, rising and falling in the wake of that high, bannered stern, its sails, flower on flower, moving incandescent towards the dawn sun Philippa wept, her eyes on the brightening sky, for the vision which was not hers, and which was over.
*
On July 5th, 1557, Philip, by the grace of God King of England, left that country, never to return. After he had gone the Queen, believing herself pregnant, made her last will.
Since it has pleased His Divine Majesty, far above my merits, to show me so great favour in this world and to appoint me so noble, virtuous and worthy a Prince to be my husband as my said most dear and entirely beloved husband the King’s Majesty is, whose endeavour, care and study hath been and chiefly is, to reduce this realm to the unity of Christ’s Church and true religion …
Forasmuch as I have no legacy or jewel that I covet more to leave to his Majesty to requite the nobility of his heart towards me and this realm, nor he more desirous to have, than the love of my subjects, I do specially recommend the same duty and love unto his Highness, as a legacy the which I trust he shall enjoy.
*
On July 12th, 1557, the four ships bound for Muscovy, sailing, passing and travailing together in one flote, ging and conserve of society, to be kept indissolubly and not to be severed, entered and dropped anchor in the road of St Nicholas, with their twenty-five fardels of sorting cloths, their cottons, their kerseys and the nine barrels which were not of pewter, of Thomas Hasel’s making.
Their letters recommended one Anthony Jenkinson, gentleman: a man well travelled, and commissioned to travel farther. Their passengers included, in good health, Osep Grigorievich Nepeja, the first Muscovite Envoy to England.
And in Muscovy the Tsar Ivan waited; and the woman Güzel waited; and then did not wait any more.
There is no land uninhabitable or sea unnavigable.
They made the whole world to hang in the air.
Reader’s Guide
1. For discussion of The Ringed Castle
In The Ringed Castle Lymond assembles a group of Western military and civil experts to help him build a new Russia. Why does he also want to build a new life and career for himself so far from his home? Despite his growing power and the genuine good he is doing in Russia, why do his friends believe he is “destroying himself” there?
2. The novel features extensive portraits of two of the most famous, or infamous, monarchs in history, “Bloody” Mary Tudor, and Ivan the Terrible. In what ways are these monarchs good or bad for their nations? In what ways do the monarchies to which they were born shape and even damage them as people?
3. A central and fascinatingly real character in this novel is the English navigator Richard Chancellor. How does he reflect his times? What is his role in the novel with regard to the relationships between Lymond and Philippa and between Lymond and his brother? The time and manner of Chancellor’s death are historical fact, but why, from the standpoint of the development of plot and character, must he die?
Dorothy Dunnett was born in Dunfermline, Scotland. She is the author of the Francis Crawford of Lymond novels; the House of Niccolò novels; seven mysteries; King Hereafter, an epic novel about Macbeth; and the text of The Scottish Highlands, a book of photographs by David Paterson, on which she collaborated with her husband, Sir Alastair Dunnett. In 1992, Queen Elizabeth appointed her an Officer of the Order of the British Empire. Lady Dunnett died in 2001.
Books by Dorothy Dunnett
THE LYMOND CHRONICLES
The Game of Kings
Queens’ Play
The Disorderly Knights
Pawn in Frankincense
The Ringed Castle
Checkmate
King Hereafter
The Photogenic Soprano (Dolly and the Singing Bird)
Murder in the Round (Dolly and the Cookie Bird)
Match for a Murderer (Dolly and the Doctor Bird)
Murder in Focus (Dolly and the Starry Bird)
Dolly and the Nanny Bird
Dolly and the Bird of Paradise
Send a Fax to the Kasbah (Moroccan Traffic)
THE HOUSE OF NICCOLÒ
Niccolò Rising
The Spring of the Ram
Race of Scorpions
Scales of Gold
The Unicorn Hunt
To Lie with Lions
Caprice and Rondo
Gemini
The Scottish Highlands (with Alastair Dunnett)
The Dorothy Dunnett Companion Volume I (by Elspeth Morrison)
The Dorothy Dunnett Companion Volume II (by Elspeth Morrison)
THE LYMOND CHRONICLES
BY DOROTHY DUNNETT
“The finest living writer of historical fiction.”
—The Washington Post Book World
THE GAME OF KINGS
Dorothy Dunnett introduces her irresistible hero Francis Crawford of Lymond, a nobleman of elastic morals and dangerous talents whose tongue is as sharp as his rapier. In 1547 Lymond returns to defend his native Scotland from the English, despite accusations of treason against him. Hunted by friend and enemy alike, he leads a company of outlaws in a desperate race to redeem his reputation.
Fiction/978-0-679-77743-4
QUEENS’ PLAY
Once an accused traitor, now a valued agent of Scottish diplomacy, Lymond is sent to France, where a very young Queen Mary Stuart is sorely in need of his protection. Disguised as a disreputable Irish scholar, Lymond insinuates himself into the glittering labyrinth of the French court, where every courtier is a conspirator and the art of assassination is paramount.
Fiction/978-0-679-77744-1
THE DISORDERLY KNIGHTS
&nbs
p; Through machinations in England and abroad, Lymond is dispatched to Malta, to assist the Knights Hospitallers in the island’s defense against Turkish corsairs. But he shortly discovers that the greatest threat to the knights lies within their own ranks. In a narrative that sweeps from the besieged fortress of Tripoli to the steps of Edinburgh’s St. Giles Cathedral, Lymond matches wits and swords against an elusive villain.
Fiction/978-0-679-77745-8
PAWN IN FRANKINCENSE
Lymond cuts a desperate path across the Ottoman empire of Suleiman the Magnificent in search of a kidnapped child, an effort that may place this adventurer in the power of his enemies. What ensues is a subtle and savage chess game whose gambits include treachery, enslavement, and torture and whose final move compels Lymond to face the darkest ambiguities of his own nature.
Fiction/978-0-679-77746-5
THE RINGED CASTLE
Between Mary Tudor’s England and the Russia of Ivan the Terrible lies a vast distance indeed, but forces within the Tudor court impel Lymond to Muscovy, where he becomes advisor and general to the half-mad tsar. In this barbaric land, Lymond finds his gifts for intrigue and survival tested to the breaking point, yet these dangers are nothing beside those of England, where Lymond’s oldest enemies are conspiring against him.
Fiction/978-0-679-77747-2
CHECKMATE
Francis Crawford returns to France to lead an army against England. But even as the soldier-scholar succeeds brilliantly on the battlefield, his haunted past becomes a subject of intense interest to forces in both the French and English courts. For whoever knows the secret of Lymond’s parentage possesses the power to control him—or destroy him.
Fiction/978-0-679-77748-9
VINTAGE BOOKS
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