The Game of Kings by Dorothy Dunnett Read Free Book Online

voice rebuked him.
    “Careful, careful! my slave of sin. These are Sordidi Dei. How nice,” said Lymond, “to have simple emotions. No trouble with principles; no independence of thought; no resistance to suggestion; no nonsense about adult behaviour when it comes to one’s own amour propre.”
    The skin around the boy’s mouth was taut. “I’m not immune to trickery. And the Sordid Gods in this case are yours, I think; not mine.”
    “Ah, no: not mine; I am godless,” said Lymond. “Not for me to solve the enigma.
    “When a hatter

Will go smatter

In philosophy

Or a pedlar

Wax a medlar

In theology …
    “There is the waste of purpose. Whereas I always have a purpose—you were wiser than you knew, and less successful than you feared. Oyster Charlie has been giving me a little trouble. But if his wits are moribund, his hearing is sensational—a matter of compensation, I suppose. Well, Mat?”
    Turkey Mat shook himself free of the crowd, grinning. “Just a shower of blisters,” he said. “He dodged behind the pot and got a spray of chicken bree for his pains. He’s laying low now, is Oyster. He kens as well as you what that was for.”
    “Excellent. The warning cock and the Devil’s bath,” said Lymond, amused. “Symbolism is coming cheap today.”
    “You mean I didn’t kill him?”
    “No. Thus even your remorse of conscience is rooted in hallucination. Oyster is not dead; merely lightly boiled in the shell. I hope you will both perceive the point of the experiment.”
    Lymond surveyed the grinning audience with an air of gentle discovery. “Is there no work to be done? Or perhaps it’s a holiday?”
    In a moment, the spectators had vanished. Left facing the three men, the boy stood straight and with some natural dignity, although silent. Indeed, there seemed little to say. The Master evidently thought the same. He smiled warmly. “A pleasant entertainment. Thank you. Have you thought of doing it for money? No? You should. It would go down very well on fair days in Hawick.… Take the young gentleman’s boots off, Mat, and loose him on the hills somewhere. Preferably not within ten miles of me.”
    The young gentleman turned scarlet. Of course. Having made the bear dance, turn it to the dogs. And to that, youth and hurt pride had only one answer. “You’re welcome to try,” said Redhead, and lunged.
    Lymond got hold of the upraised arm halfway to his face. He shifted his grip, twisted, and holding the limb on the edge of agony, smiled.
    “Softly, softly! Remember your superior upbringing, and your Caxton. How gentlemen shall be known from Churls. Don’t be a Churl, Marigold. Full of sloth in his wars, full of boast in his manhood, full of cowardice to his enemy, full of lechery to his body, full of drinking and drunkenness. Revoking his own challenge; slaying hisprisoner with his own hands; riding from his sovereign’s banner in the field; telling his sovereign false tales …”
    “You have it pat.” The boy, suddenly released, rubbed his arm.
    “Naturally. My rule of thumb. We all have our religion. With Johnnie, it’s Paracelsus. Mat here follows Lydgate; and your father and Ascham fit very well together. If he thunder, they quake; if he chide they fear; if he complain—”
    Shocked into interrupting, Mat spoke, a broad finger directed at the redheaded boy. “His father? He was nameless.”
    “Allow me to introduce you.” Lymond, speaking mildly, was watching Bullo. “Will Scott of Kincurd, Buccleuch’s oldest son.”
    The gypsy smiled back boldly. “A prize indeed.”
    Understanding and contempt filled the boy’s face. “Of course. Your diffidence is explained. But I assure you, you needn’t be afraid of Buccleuch. He’ll neither hound you for taking me nor pay you for ransoming me. In fact, he knows I’ve left to join some such as you.”
    “Some such,” repeated Lymond idly. “And didn’t try to stop you?”
    The young man laughed. “He didn’t much fancy seeing