The Game of Kings by Dorothy Dunnett Read Free Book Online Page B

Lennox has a personal price of a thousand crowns on my head. No. I propose to appear in one of my twenty-two incarnations, as a messenger from the Protector, with yourself as my aid. My name is Sheriff: yours shall be—what?”
    Scott had also read his poets. He quoted dryly. “This officer but doubt is callit Deid.”
    “Apt, if pessimistic. You have nothing to do,” said Lymond, “but look beautiful, honest and English and pray that one Charlie Bannister has arrived before us to smooth our way. Our John the Baptist. A poor soul, but even if he has barely one head, much less eighteen, he will do to vouch for us. We shall converse briefly with the gullible ones at the gate, encounter Crouch—I trust—and return. An innocent and worthy programme. Si mundus vult decipi, decipiatur. Come along then, Marigold. It’s warmer down there!”
    And the two figures swept downhill, neck and neck, the red crosses on their cloaks bellying in their passing.
    *  *  *
    “Halt and …” began the Cumberland voice, and trailed off for the second time; whereat Scott found in himself an unexpected impulse to hysteria.
    Above the two horses rose the gates of Annan; around them pressed an escort of the outlying guard; before them stood the gatehousewhere the guard on duty was trying to extract their names and business under harassing conditions.
    “Look,” Lymond was saying bitterly, “at the dirt on your pauldrons. And your doublet.”
    “… declare …”
    “Your sword’s filthy. And your dagger: how d’you expect a rusty blade to bite?”
    “… declare—I can’t help that!” said the guard excitedly, abandoning formalities. “Robin! Davie! Move a step and I’ll spit you!”
    “Well, if you do,” said Lymond resignedly, “for God’s sake use someone else’s sword.”
    But when the captain came, a swarthy, middle-aged Bewcastle man, Lymond dismounted at once and introduced himself. “You won’t remember me; Sheriff’s my name. One of the Bishop’s men from Durham. Sorry to make a mystery of myself, but I’m supposed to tell you to your face: it’s business of the red tod’s cub.”
    The password worked its miracle. As Lymond spoke, the captain’s face changed; the guards were dismissed, and in privacy he turned to the two newcomers. “You’ve a message for their lordships from the Protector?”
    “On the heels of one only,” said Lymond. “You’ve spoken with Charlie Bannister?”
    “The Protector’s man? No.”
    “Damnation!” Scott shortsightedly found some amusement in Lymond’s anger. After a moment he went on. “The fool must still be on the road here—I hope nothing’s come to him. I started from Leith yesterday with a message-round like the Odyssey. He was due to leave just after and come straight here.… It doesn’t matter. I’m behind time,” said Lymond busily, “and I’ve got a message for one of of your men: Jonathan Crouch. That’s all.”
    Drinks had been brought; the captain’s eyebrows rose above the rim of his cup. “Crouch of Keswick? Then you can forget it. He was lifted in a skirmish two days ago.”
    The wine went down Lymond’s throat like a drain. “One message less, thank God. Who got him?”
    “Whose prisoner is he? I dunno. They’re welcome,” said the captain with relish. “Drive you funny in the head, Crouch would. Tongue like the clatterbone of a goose’s arse. Are you going?”
    Lymond was certainly going, and so, he hoped, was Will Scott. Thecaptain was quite ready to speed them off … provided they spent ten minutes first with the joint commanders.
    “A few minutes either way won’t hurt you; and Wharton’ll have my skin if this man Bannister doesn’t arrive and I let you go too.”
    Cheerfully, Lymond continued to make for the gates. “What Wharton will do to you will be nothing to the Protector’s delight if I spend half the night here. I’ve told you already. I left long before Bannister. We won the battle on Saturday: that’s all I