The Ringed Castle: Fifth in the Legendary Lymond Chronicles

by Dorothy Dunnett

  Petre took the list and rose, Thirleby with him. ‘As you say, we shall place this before our colleagues and return. You are assiduous, Mr Crawford, in the service of your master.’ He bent an inquiring gaze, not ill-humoured, on the other man, twenty years younger, now standing before him with Mr Dimmock. ‘Your own country of Scotland then holds no attraction for you? I thought perhaps you were bent on repeating the great alliance between Scotland and Russia and Denmark, which was to result in the crushing of Sweden.’

  Lymond did not smile in return, nor turn the matter as Petre expected. ‘I have had offers from that quarter, certainly,’ Lymond said. ‘But, so far, I have not been tempted.’

  With an effort which contorted his stomach again, Sir William Petre refrained from looking at the Bishop. But outside on his horse, riding through the streets with his thirty velvet-dressed followers, he looked at Thirleby all right, and said with feeling, ‘My God!’

  ‘Yes. It was a threat,’ the Bishop said, ‘to make all other threats pale into insignificance. The question is, how far does he mean it?’

  *

  Behind them, Daniel Hislop put his head round Lymond’s door and said, ‘Yes, my lord? You wanted to see me, my lord?’

  ‘Come in and shut the door and stop being vivacious,’ Lymond said, without looking at him. Dimmock had gone. His papers, scattered over the table, had been gathered together and he was putting them away in his cabinet: Danny caught sight of glassware and licked his lips, audibly. ‘No,’ Lymond said.

  ‘But it went well?’ said Danny.

  ‘Well for whom?’ Lymond said. ‘It went according to plan. I want your report on the Vannes affair, please.’

  He had shut the cabinet door, and locked it. Instead of sitting again, he stayed by the cabinet, tossing the key a little, idly, in his hand. He looked perfectly fresh, which was more than Petre and Thirleby had done. A clever bastard. Danny said, ‘Unless Peter Vannes lands off the south coast in a rowing boat, we’ll know as soon as he sets foot in England. I have men at Dover and Canterbury and Gravesend and Greenwich. And if it’s humanly possible, they’ll get his papers from him. It cost me a fortune. That is, it cost you a fortune. But if the Queen gets those papers and finds you’ve been corresponding with her sister and Courtenay, I suppose it will cost you your neck. It’s a pity we couldn’t take action earlier. We might have had Vannes waylaid in Venice or after.’

  ‘I am hoping,’ Lymond said, ‘that Hercules Tait has done precisely that. He was under orders to do so, if anything happened to Courtenay. The double precautions are simply because it has become doubly important. It now seems that Mistress Somerville has implicated herself.’

  ‘With Courtenay? Deceased?’ Danny said.

  ‘With the lady Elizabeth. Alive,’ Lymond said. ‘Through the Lennoxes’ efforts. They are merely attempting to control my movements: a popular occupation.’

  ‘They want you out of the country?’ Danny said, speculating generously. And as Lymond threw the key, with a sudden sharp gesture, on his bed, Danny said, ‘I simply love having secrets from Adam and Ludo, but I am risking my fair neck in the Cause. You are supposed to supply me with some basic information, if not to inspire me. Actually, I should love to be inspired. Why don’t we like the Lennoxes?’

  ‘Because they talk too much,’ Lymond said. ‘What are Blacklock and d’Harcourt doing?’

  ‘Blacklock, Adam, is drawing maps,’ Danny said. ‘Having been offered the position of cartographer with the Muscovy Company at twenty pounds per annum when you have departed, and having accepted with alacrity. D’Harcourt, Ludo, has got a new woman at Smithfield. Neither of them is likely to burst in on us.’

  ‘And you?’ Lymond said. He did not, to Danny’s regret, address him as Hislop, Daniel.

  ‘I,’ said Danny, ‘am risking my neck for Philippa Somerville. I suppose. When your divorce comes along, may I court her?’

  ‘You will have to discuss the matter,’ Lymond said, ‘with a number of other gentlemen, including one Austin Grey who may even fight you. As a reward for … what is your principal characteristic, would you say?’

  ‘Treacherousness,’ said Danny, gloriously.

  ‘That,’ said Lymond pleasantly, ‘is everyone’s principal characteristic. As a reward for bloody persistence, you may know that the Lennoxes have threatened Philippa if I leave the country. They may do it, it seems in two ways. One is by implicating her in my downfall, which is what you are contriving to prevent. The other is by accusing her of trading information to Scotland, which I hope the Queen Dowager is contriving to prevent. There is an inheritance which Margaret Lennox wants very badly. The Queen, I trust, is going to offer her a Chancery suit provided she exculpates Philippa in writing from any suspicion of treachery.’

  ‘But I thought,’ Danny said, ‘that you and the Queen Dowager of Scotland were no longer on visiting terms? Have you written to her?’

  ‘No,’ Lymond said.

  ‘Then——’ said Danny, and cut it off, because he knew now where Lymond had written. There was only one person in Scotland who both knew Philippa Somerville and stood well enough with the Queen Dowager to persuade her to take part in the stratagem, and that was Lymond’s elder brother, Lord Culter. Who at Edinburgh had knocked Lymond clean out of his senses.…

  Daniel Hislop, in whose being a mad curiosity flourished at the expense of his undoubted acumen, said simply, ‘Christ! What did you say?’

  Francis Crawford turned, and looked at him; and Danny’s smile became suddenly very pretty, if a trifle rigid. ‘I doubt,’ said Lymond dryly, ‘if it would inspire you.’

  *

  Sir William Petre took occasion to call on Cardinal Pole and ask him if he had discovered the Cicero he was looking for: Cardinal Pole, who shared his interest in rare books, admitted that he had not. Several days after that, Sir William and the Bishop called again to hold soothing talks with the Muscovite Ambassador Osep Nepeja, and to pass directly from there to another part of the house, where they continued their rather more interesting discussions with the Tsar’s other envoy, Mr Crawford.

  The grounds for negotiation this time were slightly more practical, and had to do with the very real obstacles in the way of supplying either men or material of the kind the Tsar wanted in these ominous days of impending war. While making this perfectly clear, it had to be admitted that, first, the current truce between France and the Empire was still, officially, unbroken, and that, secondly, although there was talk of war, informed opinion stated that war could not possibly occur until after the harvest, or June at the earliest. Which argued that since England—of course—was neither at war nor about to go to war, the lowering of her own stocks of weapons and powder was undesirable, but not completely out of the question, provided they could be replenished.

  But that, of course, was a different story. For gunpowder and sulphur, as Mr Crawford surely knew, were imported to England from Antwerp. And the Low Countries, of course, were conserving every ounce of munitions against the feared counterattack by the French in the summer. Permission would never be given by King Philip’s advisers in Brussels.

  Discussion, becoming speculative, lingered round the possibility that the Tsar, supplied with hackbuts and morions and lances, would feel that England had responded sufficiently. This was countered, quite as delicately, by the assurance that the Tsar would understand all England’s problems: none better. But that the less secure her frontiers, the less security Russia could offer her traders. Which left Sir William Petre and Mr John Dimmock with the prospect of explaining to their fellow members of the Muscovy Company why their privileges were being curtailed. Not because of the whim of the Grand Duke of Muscovy. But because King Philip needed the powder for his forthcoming war on the Pope.…

  ‘Unless,’ Lymond said at this point, ‘the Council cared to leave this particular aspect in Mr Dimmock’s most able hands?’

  Murmuring, Sir William expressed the opinion that the conference might well break up for further
individual discussions. Through the years until his son’s marriage, the Emperor Charles had made many attempts to prevent the export from the Low Countries to England of war materials needed for his own continuing wars. And for the further excellent reason that the English, having bought his supplies, were not above reselling them to the French to use promptly in battle against him.

  Through the years, also, the English had found many ways of circumventing this embargo, and none better than Master John Dimmock. Curious transactions took place between the owners of different warehouses: solid citizens of Amsterdam bought sulphur from solid citizens of Antwerp and resold it; and, mysteriously, hired ships from Antwerp were to be found unloading barrels of gunpowder at Harwich. The captain and searchers at Gravelines were rarely sober for work, so often were they sought out and banqueted, and each New Year’s Day, the captain received twelve ells of black velvet and his customars eight ells apiece of black cloth to encourage them to leave their gates open.

  But that, of course, was before the fortunes of England were linked to those of the Empire through the marriage of the Queen to the Emperor’s son. As Lymond, bidding them all farewell, assured them that he fully understood. At the same time, he pointed out that he believed the Court was moving to Greenwich for Passion Week, and that if a cargo was to be collected, the time remaining for discussion was not therefore very great.…

  Sir William Petre and the Bishop of Ely did not speak to each other on this occasion, when riding home. The book on the shelves, Sir William had taken occasion to check, was the De republica of Cicero. Mr Crawford had noticed his interest, and, taking it down, had let him look at it. ‘A fine copy, I think. I bought it from a man called Pierre Gilles for fifteen hundred gold pieces,’ Lymond said. ‘Or was it a thousand? I really cannot remember.’

  ‘Well?’ had said Danny Hislop, poking his head round the door again afterwards.

  ‘Well enough,’ Lymond had answered. ‘I give them three days.’

  They came back in two, with the regretful refusal of her Majesty of England to license the sale to the Tsar of all Russia, through the Muscovy Company, of the arms and munitions of war he had requested, together with the services of known men of skill.

  ‘The Queen,’ Sir William said, looking at the ceiling, ‘is sensible of the goodwill of her cousin the Tsar, and would like nothing better than to help him in his present desire for the munitions of war. But the needs of her country, and in particular of her dear husband Prince Philip, at present preclude it.’

  He looked at Lymond. There was something faintly inquiring about the look. Meeting it formally, Lymond said, ‘It is a matter of regret to me also. And, I am sure, to the Muscovy Company.’

  ‘Ah. Yes,’ said Sir William. ‘The Muscovy Company has been much in our minds.’ There was a short pause, which no one filled. Then Sir William said, ‘In Master Dimmock, as you may know, the Company has an energetic and able member who has already proved in the past his ability to conjure men and munitions from the air. It may be that he could do so again. If it were possible for such a thing to be done, without depleting the Queen’s stocks in the Tower and without, of course, distressing her royal spouse and his advisers by bringing the matter unnecessarily to their attention, the Council, I must tell you, would feel they had no cause to complain.’

  ‘I see,’ Lymond said. He looked to his left. ‘Master Dimmock. Is it possible to supply the items on the Tsar’s list on those terms?’

  Nothing of this, clearly, was novel to Master Dimmock, but he preserved the fiction nobly. ‘I see no reason why not,’ he said.

  ‘And in reasonable secrecy?’ the Bishop of Ely inquired. ‘You understand; none of this arrangement is directly the Council’s concern, and none of it, therefore, may be set out by the Council in writing. You supply these goods, if you supply them, from your own sources and at your own risk. If King Philip’s advisers discover it, we shall not be able to contravene any veto he will impose.’

  ‘I think,’ said Master Dimmock, ‘that we can promise to take all reasonable precautions. Mr Crawford, if you wish to proceed, then the Muscovy Company will help you.’

  ‘I was sure you would,’ said Lymond gravely.

  It was over. Master Dimmock served them all with his very best wine, to celebrate the occasion, and Sir William went off with the De republica packed in his box, and the prospect of a thousand gold pieces’ profit to be made from the Cardinal. After they had gone, Lymond stood for a while, looking at the empty place where the Cicero had rested on his book-laden shelves, and then locked his papers away and, banging the door, ran downstairs to call on Nepeja.

  There, rejoicing had already broken out: the room seemed to contain half the two hundred members of the Muscovy Company and the wine had been round three times already. Master Nepeja’s business had also prospered at last, and on the desk by the window lay the last draft of the league and articles of amity concluded between the kingdoms of England and Russia, ready to be copied and confirmed under the Great Seal of England. He was free to see to his merchanting and to sail.

  He was just sober enough to rise to his feet when Lymond came into the room, and then, after the first frowning moments, to realize what Lymond was saying. The second part of the treaty was in operation also. The Privy Council had acceded, in secret, to the Tsar’s other demands.

  The implications of that were beyond Osep Nepeja’s interest or understanding. The talks were over, and without prejudicing his or anyone’s trade. He flung his arms round the unexcited person of the Voevoda Bolshoia and scavenged him like a bass broom with his beard. The Voevoda surprisingly did not give way more than a steel fence before him, although he did exchange the greeting, smiling, in the Russian fashion. The sound of his round Russian speech, after two hoarse weeks of Rob Best, made tears spring to the Ambassador’s eyes and he blew his nose, belching. Lymond left as soon as he could.

  ‘Well?’ said Danny at supper. There was no news of Peter Vannes and his casket from Venice. There had been no further threats from the Lennoxes: no communication from the Queen. No word from Philippa, who was preparing with the rest to leave London for a week on the 15th. King Philip’s married sister the Duchess of Parma and his widowed cousin the Duchess of Lorraine had arrived at Westminster and were to stay at Greenwich for Easter as well: in order, it was said, to persuade the lady Elizabeth to marry the Duke of Savoy. Since everyone knew that the pretty Duchess of Lorraine was not one of Queen Mary’s favourites, a gloomy Easter was anticipated.

  Danny said, ‘Well?’ and as Lymond did not respond, he tried again. ‘Sir? Now the ships can be loaded, the Company is talking of sailing for Russia by the end of April, or early May at the latest. What if Vannes hasn’t arrived when you sail?’

  ‘An interesting thought,’ Lymond said. He was not, Danny thought, looking quite so carefree as on previous occasions; or perhaps had merely less patience than usual for the bastards of Bishops. Lymond went on, ‘I am not, if that is your point, contemplating taking Mistress Philippa with me to Russia, much as you would adore to witness the consequences.’

  ‘What, then?’ Danny said. ‘He may be held up indefinitely.’

  ‘Somehow,’ Lymond said, ‘I don’t think so. I think Peter Vannes will arrive, with papers or without them, before the Ambassador and I leave for Russia.’

  ‘And me,’ Danny said. He gazed at his commander’s occupied eyes. ‘Why? Why should you think so? A premonition? Mr Dee’s crystal ball?’ He flinched as Lymond looked at him at last. ‘I’m just persistent by habit,’ said Danny.

  But Lymond, changing his mind, had decided to answer him. ‘For one inadequate reason,’ he said. ‘Today, the English Privy Council agreed to all the Tsar’s demands for skilled men and armaments.’

  ‘I know. Mind, voice, study, power and will, Is only set to love thee, Philip, still. Hooray,’ Danny Hislop said.

  ‘Hooray,’ Lymond agreed. His face, older than his years, was not accommodating and his eyes, too brightly coloured for a
man, were perfectly bleak. ‘Except that when these talks started, I had no hopes of this concession, and there was no reason why it should ever have been granted. Why did they grant it? Why? Why? Why?’

  To which, if the Voevoda Bolshoia did not know, Danny Hislop could venture no answer.

  Chapter 9

  In April, Sir Henry Sidney returned to London to obtain money and arms to make a second incursion against the Scottish colonizers in Ulster. On his way to Whitehall he called at Penshurst to see his two small children Philip and Margaret, and to learn from his wife the latest news of the Court. When he left, he took Nicholas Chancellor with him.

  After what he had learned from his wife, his reception by Heath and Petre and the rest was no great surprise: it seemed that the supply of arms was at present even shorter than the surplus of money. Bearing this discovery with him, more in rueful admiration than anger, Sir Henry descended one bright Monday in April on the London home of old Lady Dormer, and demanded an introduction to Philippa Somerville’s husband.

  It was the sole invitation in that macabre three weeks of celebration that Lymond accepted with any willingness. Received at Court and released from his ambassadorial duties, Osep Grigorievich Nepeja was free at last to plunge over the beard into the revelries arranged by the Muscovy Company, feasting and banqueting in other men’s homes, and seeing without stint the unrivalled wonders of London.

  Muscovite Ambassadors, outwith the control of their Tsars, were not encouraged to view the marvels of other lands and comment upon them. But after weeks endured chained to the conference table, Master Nepeja was unable to resist it. He was shown all over Whitehall and Westminster. He saw St Paul’s Cathedral, the Tower and the Guildhall of London. He viewed, as the Spaniards had all done before him, the Round Table of the enchanted King Arthur, with the names of the twelve knights still written where they used to sit round it.