Part 41 (1/2)

”To know what was in his brain as he drew back that bow at Hex-ham we must look at the record of his actions i~ the past for his real ambitions, his real mind on issues moral and ethical and all those intangible things which dictate whether a man conducts his body for the profit of his body, or for the greater renown and comfort of his country, or in the service of his G.o.d.

”We have not found out these things this afternoon; and we shall not find them in those things I have mentioned. For this we must go further back, to the dreadful and deadly crimes of which Francis Crawford was accused six years ago, and for which he has still to answer. These are the matters I am proposing to bring before you now..

A macer, hurrying from Lord Culter's side, bent and said some-thing to Argyll. The Justiciar's voice said, ”What? Oh. . . . Certainly. No purpose in endangering-” And wriggling back his sleeves, the Earl whacked the table. ”Adjournment for an hour. Break off meantime, Mr. Lauder..

The Lord Advocate followed his eyes, then turned back, bowed and sat down as Sir James Foulis appeared at his elbow. ”The old fool: it's been coming for half an hour. Hasn't he got eyes?” said Lauder comfortably. Through the curtain of officials and guards he could see that Lymond had lowered his head on crossed arms, exposing nothing but the nape of his neck and the admirable lace of his s.h.i.+rt.

The room was clangorous with conversation. Most of them, Committee and witnesses, were on their feet with a flopping and Un-puckering of robes, a stretching and a crackling of paper. They gathered in half-prepared knots, mesmerized still by the rigours and tensions of the day, and unwilling to leave while the play was not yet done.

After less than two minutes Lymond gripped the arms of his chair, and then rose. The moment's collapse, Lauder guessed, had been a bitter humiliation: he had not yet regained any colour. Nevertheless he made a deep and impeccable bow to Argyll and walked out through the door without pausing.

”That,” said Henry Lauder, closing his spectacles and throwing his pen in the wastepaper basket, ”is a brain. If I were ten years younger and a la.s.sie, I'd woo him myself..

Foulis of Colinton caught Oxengang's eye and grinned; to Lauder he said, ”Well, he timed that little episode neatly enough..

”He timed it?” The Lord Advocate, peeling off his soaking robe, was making for the cool air outside. ”He timed it? Don't be a b.l.o.o.d.y fool, Jamie..

Will Scott was among the last to move. As he made to get up, a heavy hand cuffed his head and he looked around and up to see his father.

”Are your teeth sewn up?” demanded Buccleuch. ”You've been busy enough chattering all around Edinburgh up till now..

Will said resentfully, ”Lauder stopped me twice, but he won't again. I'll d.a.m.n well . .

”Dod, d'ye need a dub and whistle? Bawl it out, man, and he canna stop ye.” He grinned reminiscently. ”Your man has GeorgeDouglas's measure, anyway. There's no proof one way, but thanks to Douglas there's no proof the other, either..

Scott said grimly, ”Does it matter? They'll have him nailed down with the original indictment. All the evidence is on their side this time..

Buccleuch grunted, observing his son's expression. ”I've seen Henry Lauder up to the oxters in evidence and still lose a case,” he said mendaciously. ”I'm off to the house for a dish of eggs. If you're staying with Culter, find out about that little mare of his. If I get some siller for this fellow Palmer I'll think about buying her after all..

Scott had already nodded and moved away when the sense of this penetrated. ”Palmer?.

Buccleuch grinned. ”High and mighty Sir Thomas Palmer, the engineer. Did ye not know? I took him after the raid last month..

”Where is he?.

”In the Castle with the rest of them. A wild lot, I'm told. Why?.

”Nothing,” said Scott, and made for the street so fast that he jammed himself in the doorway with his sword.

* * *Big Tommy Palmer, former captain of the Old Man at Boulogne, former knight-porter of Calais, former overseer of petty customs, former gentleman-usher and popular companion of King Henry VIII, had been a prisoner of war once before, in France, and although financially unembarra.s.sed by this second mishap was spiritually much discomfited and in need of cheering up.

At his request, he and a dozen of his own men had been put together in one medium-sized room in the Castle. They were all men of good standing and of reasonable value in cash, so the room was pleasant, with carved oak panelling, slightly chipped; a small-paned window looking sheer down the Castle rock into the loch, and a low, thick door with an adequate guard outside it.

Will Scott found it less easy than he had expected to get in. He finally managed it only with the help of Tom Erskine, and then on the pretext of discussing with Palmer his father's plans for his ransom.

Since in fact he had nothing to discuss, the business aspect of his talk with Sir Thomas came to an early end, and Tom Erskine moved to go. But captivity by this time was boring Palmer; he was willing to go on talking, and Scott was in no hurry to leave.

They exchanged politely some of the current gossip of both courts and touched chastely and with mutual interest on the characters of some of the less powerful but more public figures in each. One or two of Palmer's companions joined in.

Erskine, aware that it was nearly time to make for the Tolbooth and taking only a detached interest in the talk, found the engineer rather likable: a man in his late fifties with grey beard and bright curling hair. Between hair and moustache the skin was red-brown with the sun; his much-wired front tooth sparkled like a trout rising in still water when he laughed, which was often.

Tom was so busy watching Palmer that he missed Scott's move to open his purse. When they brought a small table and put it between the two men, Erskine was surprised. He was more surprised to see Palmer gaze on it as a mother elephant on the prize of some interminable gestation.

On the table lay a small pack of playing cards. ”Hold me hand,” said Tommy Palmer. ”If you'd offered me the throne of China and Helen of Troy thrown in, I'd still choose the tarots. You'll not miss them?.

”Not at all. Glad to leave them,” said Scott politely. And to Erskine's astonishment he added, ”I'll start you off with a game, if you like,” and sat down to hearty expressions of Palmer's glee. Erskine tapped the boy on the arm. ”The time, Scott. We ought to be going..

The carroty head turned vaguely. ”There's time for one game, surely. You go on if you want to. I'll follow.” He was already shuffling the cards. Tom eyed him sharply; and then, twitching up a chair, sat astride it, watching the play.

He had seen these tarots several times in Scott's possession since he had come to Edinburgh. They were gruesome, Gothic, and graced with a kind of lithless malevolence all their own. The four suits were commonplace enough: the artist had reserved his fantastic brushes for the figured cards. The Bateleur, the Empress, the Pope, l'Amoureux and le Pendu, Death and Fort.i.tude, the Traitor, the Last Judgment itself, all shared a grotesque camaraderie of the paintpot.

He admired the set. He enjoyed tarocco himself, but he was uneasily aware that there was not, in fact, time for a game. He said again, ”Listen, Scott”; but the cards were already dealt and Will was hesitating over his discard. Erskine gave up, and resigned himself to waiting.

Scott played not one, but two games. He lost them both, but so narrowly that it was not until the last trick of the outplay that Palmer's evident brain and experience gave him the day. Both games were played in an atmosphere of jocular excitement, and Erskine gathered that to have opposed Palmer at all was something unusual; and to have run him so close something unique.

At the end of the second game, Palmer leaned back with a kind of anguished roar. ”d.a.m.n it, I don't know when I've had two better games. Why the pest must you go? I can't settle: you can't settle: it isn't fair to the game..

Scott got up and stretched himself, grinning. ”You've got troubles enough. You don't want to risk being beaten by me..

”Beaten!” It was a chorus. Someone said, ”Hey, my boy. You're speaking of the best card player in England..

”I still say beaten,” said Scott.

There was an unholy light in Thomas Palmer's eye. ”Is that a challenge?.

”Not particularly,” said Scott. ”Sine lucro friget ludus is a family motto. Not much point in playing for love..

”h.e.l.l, we can do better than that,” said Palmer. Their packs were stuffed into an armory let into the panelling: he tossed out parcels until he came to the one he wanted. Then he had another look and, bringing out a second roll, flung them both at Scott's feet.

”A change of good clothes there, and some money and a silver cup and a good pair of boots. And there's more still in the other: it's another man's stuff that belongs to me now. Will that do for a start?.

Scott drew out his own heavy purse and tossed it once in the air. ”I'm sure it will; but we're a gey practical nation. Will you open them both so that we can see?.

Palmer, unoffended, glinted the b.u.t.ter-tooth in his direction, and slit open the packs with Will's knife. In his own the contents were exactly as he had said. The other roll was less well-kept: the clothes were soiled and there was no money at all. Scott bent and turned over a long, narrow rectangle of folded papers, sealed with red wax. ”What's this? Deeds of owners.h.i.+p?.

Palmer, shuffling the tarots, glanced at it and shrugged. ”Sam didn't own a rabbit, poor devil. Perhaps a letter to his lady friend..

Scott turned it over. There was an inscription on the other side, and he held it so that Erskine also could read. The neat writing said, Haddington, June, 1548. Statement. And underneath in a differentwriting, presumably Wilford's: Samuel Harvey. Put with things for P. That was as far as they got before it was whipped from Scott'sfingers.

”Interested?” asked Palmer in the same good-tempered voice. ”I thought there was something fishy in the air. Perhaps I'd better keep this..

For a moment, Erskine thought that Scott would attack the big man. Instead he turned and, opening his purse, upended it on the table by the cards. The crowns rolled and clanked among the little nightmarish drawings and rose in a winking, lunar pile. ”I could easily get it by calling the guard,” said Will. ”But I'll buy it from you instead..

Palmer grinned. ”I don't want to sell..

The freckles marched cinnamonlike over Scott's pale face. ”Name your price..

Sir Thomas Palmer got up, the folded papers still in his hands. At the fireplace he turned, and still surveying them both quite pleasantly, broke the seal. ”Perhaps I should see first what all the fuss is about. After all, he was my cousin, you know..

They waited as the pages flicked over. He went through them all, folded the papers and handed them with an inaudible remark to the Englishman, Frank, who was nearest. Then he returned to the table. ”You want these papers?.