The Ringed Castle

by Dorothy Dunnett

  It was launched into respectful silence, broken only by the obedient echo of Robert Best’s English. It proceeded with a little less clarity, against some whispering which was making itself heard at the foot of the tables. The whispering, spreading, became a subdued murmur, punctuated by hissing noises as the merchants so far ignorant tried to hush, from politeness, the merchants more favourably placed.

  Francis Crawford, watching and listening, could sense only one thing. Whatever news had arrived, it concerned the merchants, not the Russians or his own affairs in any of their various aspects. And the news, whatever it might be, was good.

  Then it reached the top of the table and Osep Nepeja, puzzled, brought his speech to a more rapid conclusion than he had intended while Best rushed through the translation and was applauded almost before he had done, so eager were his audience to get rid of him.

  And in the end it was Sir George Barnes who stood and made the announcement, from a piece of paper passed along from his fellows; perhaps because he had the loudest voice; or perhaps because, with Judde, his had been the vigour which had launched the Muscovy ships into their first, fateful journey to Russia.

  The statement was brief. ‘My lords; gentlemen; the Philip and Mary has arrived safe in London.’

  The answering roar rose to the hammerbeam roof, and hats and gloves leaped vying after it. Men jumped to their feet. Barnes and Cabot and Judde, leaning over the table, shouting answers, exchanging embraces and slaps and hand-wringings of joy had, every man, a tear in his eye. Nepeja, his massive head jerking to and fro sat ejaculating until Best, taking pity, explained it. The fourth of Richard Chancellor’s fleet of small ships, given up as lost with the others at the entrance to Trondheim, had made its way safely to harbour, and, after wintering there, had now crossed the ocean to London. Intact, with every man well, and her whole cargo, including ten thousand pounds of wax, to the value of over four thousand pounds.

  Lymond did not rise to his feet. Nor did Henry Sidney; or Adam Blacklock or John Buckland, or Robert Best. Across the jostled tables, strewn with meats and overturned glasses, the eyes of the five men found each other, and met. And the look they exchanged was not one of joy yet, nor of thanksgiving, but a recognition of mourning.

  Then Sir Henry Jerningham’s hand touched Francis Crawford on the shoulder, and the Vice Chancellor said, ‘I hesitate to call you away in the midst of such rejoicing. But there is a matter my colleagues and I would wish to discuss. Will you follow me?’

  And since he could recognize, also, the touch of fate when it came, and its inevitability, Francis Crawford rose, and followed him out of the room.

  *

  Sir William Petre was in the small room they took him to, and his host John Dimmock, and the Earl of Arundel, the President of the Council, and a great many other men, armed, whom he recognized as Jerningham’s, and who closed in behind him as he walked through the door. As he moved forward there was another step on the threshold and Lymond, glancing back, saw that Adam Blacklock also had been ushered into the room, followed rather quickly by Sir Henry Sidney. Petre said, ‘Henry! This does not concern you.’

  ‘Nevertheless, as a member of the Muscovy Company also, I should like to stay,’ Sidney said. ‘This is our roof and Mr Crawford is our guest beneath it.’

  ‘Let him stay,’ the President said. Henry Fitzalan, 10th Earl of Arundel, could afford to be magnanimous to a man married to a Dudley, the family he had helped to overthrow when Queen Mary came to the throne. ‘It does not affect the course of our business. Mr Crawford, you have two servants named Daniel Hislop and Ludovic d’Harcourt?’

  ‘I have,’ Lymond said. The Russian coat, long and close-fitting and sashed with Persian silk burned in the afternoon sunlight with its gold wire and jewels: the buttons were emerald cameos. The eyes of the men at arms, like cats in a jungle, reflected the points of green fire. Lymond said, ‘They are officers of rank in Tsar Ivan’s army, and much esteemed by him.’

  ‘I have no doubt,’ said Arundel smoothly. ‘It is to give your opinion as to their integrity that we are asking you to leave this hall and favour us with some of your time this afternoon. There has been an unfortunate incident.’

  ‘I am disturbed to hear it,’ Lymond said. After the first glance, he had not looked round and Adam, conscious of Sidney beside him, did not look sideways either. He could feel his heart beating.

  ‘Yes. It seems that our very good friend the Dean of Salisbury and late English Ambassador to the Doge and Senate of Venice, travelling from Dover to London to make his duty to Her Majesty at Westminster, suffered an armed attack on his baggage, in the course of which two of his men were killed and three injured. The initial raid, I am told, was launched by the officer Ludovic d’Harcourt, and subsequently a further attempt was made by your other servant, Master Hislop. Both men are now in custody and we have not, alas, been able to persuade them to give us any explanation. It appeared to us that your presence might help.’

  Francis Crawford, allowing his gaze to wander round the chamber, returned it at leisure to Arundel and said, pleasantly, ‘Do I gather that I am conceivably in custody as well? And Master Blacklock?’

  It was Sir Henry Jerningham, Vice Chamberlain and Captain of the Guard who cleared his throat and replied. ‘Unlike your hosts the Merchants, the people of England are not so understanding in their dealings with foreigners. Men have been killed, and gentlemen in the Russian Ambassador’s train are known to be implicated. The Ambassador himself cannot speak English and we accept that he is unaware of what has happened. But——’

  ‘Master Blacklock and I are to be protected for our own good?’ Lymond said. ‘I am touched by your forethought. I should certainly like to talk, as soon as possible, with d’Harcourt and Hislop.’

  ‘Unfortunately,’ the Earl of Arundel said, ‘they received some rather brisk handling, but naturally you will see them as soon as they have recovered sufficiently. Sir Henry Jerningham has kindly offered to shelter you: you will find some friends of yours, I think, already at his house. Mr Dimmock here will undertake any commissions you wish to give him regarding unfinished business or your engagements. He also joins me in regretting that your special mission from your master the Tsar has not after all been successful.’

  Sir William Petre, who was neither a stupid man nor, as it happened, a cowardly one, met Lymond’s eyes. ‘Ah. The shipment of arms?’ Lymond said.

  And Sir William replied. ‘Unfortunately, news of it came to the ears of King Philip, and he has ordered all the materials of war to be removed from the ships, and has cancelled the passage of all your trained men save for Master Gray’s seven ropemakers and Master Standish, the physician. It was, if you remember, a hazard against which we were unable to guarantee you any protection. No blame will attach to yourself or the Ambassador. But the cargo of arms will not be allowed to leave England.’

  ‘I see,’ Lymond said. He did not, surprisingly, make either protest or counter-threat: he seemed, indeed, to be giving all his attention to Petre and Dimmock. Then he said, ‘It is a matter of deep regret to me also. In view of its importance, and also as a matter of courtesy, I should be glad of your leave for a few moments to speak to Master Nepeja.’

  None of the pikemen behind him moved, and the door remained shut. ‘During the banquet? It would be a pity,’ said Sir Henry Jerningham, ‘to disturb him, sir. There will, I am sure, be ample opportunity for speaking to the Ambassador later.’

  And that, too, Adam saw Lymond accept without remonstrance. It was while he was still staring, bewildered, at Lymond’s back that the Voevoda said, ‘Sir Henry Sidney will tell Master Nepeja, no doubt, what has occurred, which is all I intended. I see you are anxious to leave. May I know, before we do so, the names of the friends I am to meet at the Vice-Chamberlain’s house?’

  Arundel looked at Jerningham, and Jerningham in turn pulled a piece of paper from his waist pouch and passed it over. The President said, ‘Ah, yes. You may look forward, Mr Crawford, to an une
xpected reunion. On board the Philip and Mary were two further officers of your master the Tsar, who boarded her, we understand, during the winter at Trondheim. Their names are Alexander Guthrie and Fergus Hoddim. I understand,’ said the Earl of Arundel, passing the paper gracefully back, ‘that you will hear tidings of great changes in Russia. Affairs are not, Mr Crawford, as they were when you left Moscow ten months ago.’

  There was mild interest on the Voevoda’s face. He bowed, acknowledging the information; he bowed, smiling, to Sidney and waited for Adam, hesitating, to walk to his side. A second door, leading away from the Hall, had been opened on the far side of the room and Jerningham stationed there was waiting, his sword at his side.

  Lymond was wearing no sword, and neither was Adam: one did not take weapons as honoured guests to a banquet. Even had they been armed, they could do nothing against such a number of soldiers.

  You might argue, thought Adam sardonically, that they had not as yet been accused of any crime, or even officially arrested. But as Lymond must have realized at once, the indiscretions of Danny and Ludo, whatever in God’s name they were, could never account by themselves for this sudden and cavalier handling. After nearly three months of unalloyed, obsequious conduct, England, it seemed, no longer cared if she offended. What had changed?

  Not, at least, Guthrie and Hoddim, jumping to their feet in the small room allotted them all in Sir Henry Jerningham’s house. Or Lymond’s manner, greeting them.

  ‘Carpets!’ said Lymond. ‘And you are going to have to sleep three to a bed: what a pity. But at least it is better than Maidstone Gaol.… What has just happened in Russia is, I am sure, very exciting, but if you had managed to keep it to yourselves, we none of us should be here.’

  And Alec Guthrie, whom he had last seen at the Neglinna Bridge outside the Kremlin of Moscow, said, ‘It was Howlet, the sailing-master, who spread the news … sir. Why are we all here? Not, I take it, on vagrancy charges.’

  ‘Don’t be caustic,’ said Lymond lightly. ‘My buttons may save us all yet. We have been nailed, as they say, for horabull lyes and sedyssyous wordes, and because Daniel Hislop and Ludovic d’Harcourt have made a botch of something between them.’ He sat down on one of the pair of low beds and looked from Guthrie’s bearded face to Hoddim’s lined one; and his eyes were by no means as carefree as his voice. ‘Then tell me,’ he said, ‘what has happened in Russia?’

  ‘The Tsar is mad,’ Alec Guthrie said.

  ‘He is not an Englishman,’ Lymond said.

  Guthrie said with some bluntness, ‘There are strains in his nature which are due to his race. There are others which are not. Since you left, the vagaries have increased, and the violence. He has become quite unpredictable. The man he adores today he will have cut for the hounds to eat the next morning. He will not be governed by the council you left with him. It must be one soul who speaks to his soul; one man who helps him undress; one who prays with him and one who reads to him of an evening.…’

  ‘Vishnevetsky,’ said Lymond. He paused, his eyes, blue as stones, moving from Guthrie to Hoddim. Adam, standing forgotten by the door, did not move or speak. Lymond said, ‘But Vishnevetsky could not win a place next to the Tsar, or keep it, alone.’

  ‘He is not alone,’ Guthrie said.

  There was no need, with Lymond, to mention Güzel’s name. He was understood. Lymond, his considering gaze resting on Guthrie showed nothing on his face but the pure, mechanical process of thinking. Since he did not speak, Guthrie added after a moment, ‘You perhaps did not know it, but all your possessions were sent to St Nicholas and loaded on the Philip and Mary. Venceslas saw to it. She knew you were not going back. A matter, she said, of a prophecy.’

  ‘But I am going back,’ Lymond said.

  And then Alec Guthrie said quietly, ‘Dmitri Vishnevetsky has been made Voevoda Bolshoia. And the Tsar has said that if you return to Russia without the munitions you were sent for, you will be executed as you step on Russian soil.’

  ‘Then I must run the risk,’ Lymond said. And, his anger revealing itself only in the coolness of his voice, ‘But you did have the army, Guthrie. Hoddim, Plummer, and a group of first-class Russian captains. The army, the weapons and the money. Were they all powerless against a Lithuanian princeling and a woman?’

  ‘They were powerless against the Tsar,’ Guthrie said. The red of anger showed also, in his cheeks. ‘Do you think I allowed it to happen, like a sergeant surprised in an alehouse? The Tsar impounded our money and weapons, imprisoned my captains and gave us the choice of fighting under Dmitri Vishnevetsky or leaving the country. We were lucky to get away with our lives.’

  ‘And Plummer?’ Lymond said.

  ‘Plummer is already building the Tsar a new summer palace. Plummer has retired from the rude exchanges of the battlefield,’ Alec Guthrie said. ‘He will stay in Russia. We left. We crossed Sweden and Norway to bring the news to you. And when we got to Trondheim, we found the Philip and Mary, wintering there, with all your gold aboard.’

  ‘Still?’ said Lymond. ‘They will have impounded it.’

  ‘No. It is safe,’ Guthrie said. ‘And ready to go wherever you want St Mary’s to go.’

  Fergie Hoddim, cleared his throat, spoke for the first time. ‘Assuming, that is, that the present litigious business, whatever it may be, is happily concluded for all parties. May we speir the nature o’ the process, and the condescendance, and the name o’ the pursuer?’

  ‘The Crown is the pursuer,’ said Lymond. ‘And the matter is treason and espionage. I had asked both Hercules Tait and Hislop to waylay some compromising papers being brought from Venice to London. They both seem to have failed. And d’Harcourt, who to my knowledge had never heard of the matter, seems to have got himself arrested as well.’ He wheeled round suddenly, so that Adam started, in his dark place by the door. ‘Did you know of these papers?’ Lymond said.

  Adam Blacklock shook his head. Then he said, ‘But you told Danny?’

  ‘Danny was the only one I did tell,’ said Lymond. He was still looking at Blacklock.

  ‘Then d’Harcourt may have followed him,’ Adam said.

  ‘But,’ said Lymond gently, ‘didn’t you hear Arundel? D’Harcourt launched the attack first. There is another odd thing. Why did the Ambassador manage to reach Sittingbourne unimpeded before he was attacked, and before Hislop was apparently warned he was coming? There were men hired to await him at each possible stopping-place, with orders to steal that casket, no matter what happened.’

  ‘I think I can answer that,’ Guthrie said. ‘The box was probably too heavily guarded. Your Peter Vannes must have been on his guard already, by an unsuccessful attempt to take the box before they ever landed in England. I thought you knew: the men who brought us here told us about it, though not about Vannes and the papers. They have Hercules Tait in London, also a prisoner.’

  Lymond turned. ‘Ah,’ he said at last. ‘Now, that is bad news.’

  ‘Compared to all the good news?’ said Adam bitterly.

  ‘One thing at a time,’ Lymond said. ‘I shall deal with the news from Russia when I am free to go there. I shall be free to go there when that casket has been opened and the contents found innocuous. But——’

  ‘But if Tait and Hislop and d’Harcourt have all failed in their efforts, the papers are still in their casket, undisturbed?’ said Guthrie dryly.

  ‘It seems so,’ said Lymond. ‘And three of my officers are now implicated. I have still to find out what happened at Sittingbourne. I should like to know something else as well. How long is it since the Philip and Mary made her first landfall on English soil?’

  ‘Ten days,’ said Fergie Hoddim, after some thought. ‘Near enough. They sent a party on shore for water at Orwell Haven. We didn’t go.’ He paused. ‘Why, sir?’

  ‘Why?’ said Lymond transferring the question to Adam. And Adam, looking at the furious blue gaze knew suddenly what the answer implied.

  ‘Because,’ said Adam slowly, ‘when the Engl
ish Privy Council agreed to let you have the arms and men you wanted for Russia, they already knew you had been supplanted, and they could withdraw whenever they wished.’

  ‘Yes,’ Lymond said. ‘Whose is the wily head, I wonder? Petre? Pembroke? Paget or Arundel? We shall have a chance to find out. When Hislop and d’Harcourt have recovered; when all the witnesses have been assembled, we shall certainly be given a chance to find out.’

  Guthrie said, ‘You may be lucky. If the evidence is not against you, what will you do?’

  ‘Sail to Russia,’ Lymond said.

  ‘But Nepeja is boarding the Primrose four days from now,’ Adam said. ‘Do you imagine they will have finished with you here by that time?’

  ‘No,’ Lymond said. ‘But on the other hand, they don’t want me in this country. Or in Scotland. Or in France. If the case against me looks like collapsing, they will make sure I am on board the Primrose when she sets sail for Russia.’

  ‘And if the case against you holds?’ said Fergie Hoddim.

  ‘Then my problems, I imagine, will disappear altogether,’ Lymond said. ‘And you may track down my possessions and enjoy them. Unless you think Güzel is likely to require a small pension?’

  But although he looked at them all with raised eyebrows, no one replied.

  *

  The other person whose predicament was occupying all his thoughts, he did not mention. But Sir Henry Sidney, as Lymond had hoped, went straight from that ill-fated banquet in the Drapers’ Hall to take a barge to Lady Dormer’s and there found and told Mistress Philippa all that had happened. He also told her what he had learned later from Sir William Petre. ‘Mr Crawford will not be returning to Russia. The Tsar has put another in his place, and has sent word that if he returns without these munitions, he will be executed.’

  Philippa considered him. ‘Has Mr Crawford said that he is not returning to Russia?’

  Sir Henry began to realize that there was more to the problem than had at first appeared. ‘No,’ he said. ‘But when I was there, the Council had very cleverly refrained from telling him that he had no credit left. Fortunately for the sake of his dignity, he guessed, I think, that something was wrong other than this foolish business of Hislop and d’Harcourt.’ He paused. ‘Did you know about that?’