He retorted instantly. "Oh, nothing better-in the right place. 'It's only right you should know'-I wonder how many that cla.s.sic betise has driven to the river and the dagger and the pillow in a quiet corner. Truth's nothing but falsehood with the edges sharpened up, and iUtempered at that: no repair, no retraction, no possible going back once it's out. If I told you I'd murdered my own sister you'd register appropriate feelings of hate and revulsion; and if you found later I hadn't, I'd be sure of your interest and sympathy in twice the depth of your hate. Whereas, if you simply found proof positive that I had killed her . .

I might loathe you, but I'd respect your courage," she said candidly. "Besides, that sort of truth wouldn't hurt me, would it? It might affect you, but then you'd deserve it..

She had surprised him into laughter. "Oh, G.o.d! Generously abstaining from the sword in order to macerate with a cudgel. Pax! Leave me some pride. Pretend at least that you wouldn't collapse in a delirium of joy as I dance a vuelta on the widdy. In any case, I stick to my point. Not ninety-nine women out of a hundred really prefer that kind of honesty; and even if you are the hundredth, I'm the last to help you prove it to yourself. No. Si vis pingere, pinge sonum, as Echo rudely remarked. If you want a full study of me, then paint my voice. It's all there is on display at present..

"Th be sure," said Christian serenely. "And painting with breath is my stock-in-trade-you'd forgotten that, hadn't you? I'm an architect in lexicography; I can build you a palace of adverbs and a hermitage of personal p.r.o.nouns . . . and I can give you information about Crouch..

For the first time, she felt him at a loss. She went on serenely. "Jonathan Crouch. The man you asked about. George Douglas sold him to Sir Andrew Hunter, who wanted to exchange him for a cousin, or something. Then Crouch escaped with someone-Hunter doesn't know who, but he's violently angry about it all, and swearing death to whoever released him..

"I see-wait," he said. "How do you know all this?.

"Because," said Christian, rising, "he was overheard giving George Douglas two English names mentioned by Crouch, and he more orless asked Douglas to help track them down in the hope they'd lead to the man who freed his prisoner. I thought you'd be interestedand now I must go. Oh!" She sat down again, smiling. "Hadn't you better tell my fortune first?.

To her glee, he sounded taken aback. "Oh, Johnnie looks after all that, although under certain circ.u.mstances I tell him what to say. Do you really want it done?.

She laughed. "Not really. It'd be more to the point, I think, if I could read yours..

"Yes. Well, you'd qualify for M. Rabelais's next Almanac if you could do that," he said dryly. "But if you're anxious, I'll tell you something that'll satisfy our mis...o...b..ing Tom. Your loof, lady. I'm sorry, a bit closer. The only candle is guttering like a drunk man's fancy. Now..

Firmly, her wrist was taken, and the fingers spread out. "A fine, capable hand. Line of life-hub! You appear to have died at the age of seven.',"The embalmers are exceedingly skilful nowadays," she said gravely.

"But I will say this. . . . You'll get the most out of life, never fear; and meet the sort of man you want, that too; and get your heart's desire, I think, in the end-if you believe the results of Johunie's teaching. But what are we, after all? Charlatans, faiseurs d'horoscope .

She did not know quite what to say. "It sounds like an exemplary future?.

"If you bring your own candle next time, I might do better. Equipment rather limited, imagination in free supply. Are you leaving Stirling soon?.

"On Tuesday. If Lord Culter can travel. All the Crawfords and Agnes are going back to Midculter: I shall go with them, and then on to Boghall until Christmas." She hesitated. "There's still nothing I can do? We seem to waste all our meetings talking nonsense, and allthetimelfeel . .

The sands are running out? Well, if they are, it's only from one end of a great silly pot to the other. Someone'll come and stand us on our heads, and the sand'll run back again-same sand-same span of time, all the grains saying excitedly to one another: Hullo! It's you again! Met you in '47 in a fortuneteller's booth in Stirling!.

"I'm not sure," said Christian carefully, "but I think that's cheap theology..

Well it's a poor apologue, I agree," he said, "and a sorry kind of note to leave on. All right. Cancel the sand.

"Li jalousEnviousde car rousmorraet Ii doussavourousamourousm'aura"No, dammit," he said, dissatisfied. "Too fleshly a note altogether"Goodbye!" she said, feeling behind her for the curtain.

"My measures are all mad. They p.r.i.c.k, they prance, as princes that were woud . . . Goodbye," he said, part-returning from sunny contemplation among the iambics. "There's Johnnie coming now: he'll see you out." He clasped her hand briefly. "I may not see you for a while, but perhaps I shall write..

"JVrite!.

"Yes. It's all right. I mean that-I haven't forgotten: wait and see," he said rapidly. "Till then!.

There came a firm grasp on her elbow from behind, and Bulb led her to the outer tent. For half a dozen paces she could still hear his voice, soulfully declaiming, half to himself, she thought:"And evermore the Cukkow, as he fleyHe seyde Farewell, Farewell, papin jay!.

* * *Johnnie Bulb, his eyes speculative, watched the party go from the doorway of the tent. Then he returned inside, lit another candle, and opened the inner flap.

The man inside, deftly booting one supple limb, looked,up.

"Have they gone?" said Lymond. "Thank you, Johunie. Your performance with the first two filled me with respect. For chastelyphrased double-entendres you have no master." He adjusted his straps. "Three well-endowed kitties..

"Well, two of them were well enough," admitted the gypsy. "The wee one had a face like a pound of candles on a hot day..

"The devil she has." Lymond put one spurred foot on the floor and reached for the second boot. "The wee one, as you call her, has a face informed with beauty, wisdom and wit. In other words, my Johnnie, she's thirteen, free and stinking rich..

"Oh. Then you've had a good day of it, I suppose..

"Then you suppose wrong," said Lymond shortly. "I've had a d.a.m.ned carking afternoon. A Moslem would blame my Ifrit, a Buddhist explain the papingo was really my own great-grandmother, and a Christian, no doubt, call it the vengeance of the Lord. As a plain, inoffensive heathen, I call it b.l.o.o.d.y annoying..

He stood up. "Where's my cloak? Oh, there. I'm off, Johnnie. A small memento on the table..

Bulb saw him to the doorway. "You're off south tonight?.

"I am. There's a gentleman I have to meet on the Carlisle road on Friday." The Master glanced once, with calculation, around the tent; and then brushed past the gypsy. Without further leave-taking, he had gone.

"And not to the gentleman's profit, either," said Johnnie to himself with a grin, watching the nondescript figure merge into the dark crowd. The grin became wider, became a laugh, became a convulsion of secret mirth.

Johnnie Bulb, hugging himself, went back into the tent.

PART TWO.

The Play for Gideon Somerville.

Smothered Mate.

The six.

the p.a.w.ne resembleth the Taverners, hostelers and sellars of vitaylle Many paryls and adventuresmay happen on the wayes and pa.s.sages to hem that ben herberowed within their Innes.

1. Removal of a Blocking Knight

LORD CULTER, gently examining the tapestries in the big hail atBranxhohn, was talking in a soft and savourless voice which his host found peculiarly uncomfortable.

Branxholm, great throne of the Buccleuchs, lay twelve miles from the English border. The present house, less than twenty years old, was built from the crusts of the Branxholms which had already been fired, and fired again, by the enthusiasms of its neighbours. Branxholm was a bald edifice of vile architecture and no blandishments of moss or ivy. Inside, it was the tilting ground and battlefield of the Buccleuch young.

Babies bounced and abounded in the Scott household: babies with mouths round and adhesive as lampreys; babies like Pandean pipes, of diminishing size and resonant voice; babies rendering torture and catalysis among the animate, the inanimate and the comatose. The Buccleuchs themselves were totally immune. While their younglings fought, and nurses and tutors swooped and called like starlings, Sir Wat and Dame Janet pursued their own highly individual courses, and talked to each other about whatever came into their heads.

Today, a morose and pallid Friday in November, the subject was Lymond. In a childless oasis at one end of the big hail Sir Wat glowered uneasily in his big chair, feet in furred boots stuck out before him in the rushes, a woollen nightshirt peeping through the folds of his ample damask nightgown, and a variety of dogs heaped panting about his legs. Dame Janet, her gown napped with tufts and trails of wool, was spinning and swearing indiscriminately when the thread broke and when her husband roused her temper.

From the wall behind them both, his eyes still on the battered hangings, Lord Culter said, "I've already gathered you have no intentibn of helping me. I wondered if, perhaps, you meant actively to hinder me instead?.

Sir Wat irritably shoved from one knee a heavy jowl which confidingly and automatically replaced itself, chumbling. "Man, have I to go yap, yap all day with the same tale? I've told you. I'm sick..

Dame Janet gave a bark of laughter. "Sick to the tune of two flounders, a pike, a cod, a quart of claret and a quince pie. Hah! You'll do yourself a hurt, Wat; forcing the nourishment down at all costs, and you a sick man.~'Buccleuch snapped, justifiably riled, "It's the English I'm supposed to be ailing for-or am I to live on sops in wine in case Grey of Wilton's sitting up the kitchen lum? I've told you all till I'm tired. Grey wants me. I'll have to promise something. I've asked the Queen and Arran to let me give the Protector some sort of lip service: until I have proper permission I'm ill, and I stay ill. Dod, Culter: have you seen what Seymour and his wee friends from the Lothians did to Cranston Riddell in September? And the Wharton brats and the Langhoim garrison popping in and out like hen harriers-three weeks ago they were raiding Kirkcudbright and Lamington. It'll be Branxholm next, and you'll wish you'd listened to me when you're frying like eggs on the saddle roof..

Lord Culter left the tapestry. He strolled to the fire, turned, and looked down on Buccleuch. "Then stay at home and give me your men and your dogs..

There was a harried silence. Then Buccleuch said bitterly, "The implication being that I enjoy sitting here on my behind while there's danger in the wind. Were you at the last Council meeting? Arran's off to lay siege to the English garrison on the Tay, the Amba.s.sadors are off to ask men and money from Denmark and France. And meantime it's all the clack that a sort of unofficial hint has gone from Paris to London promising neutrality if the English'll get out of Boulogne.

A fine lookout, isn't it? And winter here, and no excess of food, and precious few ships getting through the blockade, and half the able men shot to the devil at Pinkie. Be d.a.m.ned to your brother!" said Buccleuch heatedly. "I've got my own worries..

Culter watched him quietly, one hand pattering on the chimney piece. "I'm sure you have. I thought perhaps you might consider me less dangerous to Will than Lymond will be. Or to be less parochial-that you might agree that obstruction of royal messengers and leakage of state information ought to be stopped by responsible people..

"Responsible! That's nearly a bad word to a Buccleuch," said Dame Janet, pouncing as she spoke on a s.n.a.t.c.h of down. She missed it: it became incandescent and whisked up the chimney. "And there's Will's immortal soul for you," said Lady Buccleuch, seizing her moral with evangelical skill from her own hearthstone. "And here's his f ather, worried yellow in case the poor creature scandalizes the nation and promotes an international incident anent the Buccleuch family..

"International incident my-!" said her husband rudely, going red in the face. "Let the Council put the chains on Will, and he'll be lucky to escape with his silly neck. You wouldn't be so rarin' keen to haul him into the light of grace if he were a son of your own, Janet Beaton. And why the sour mouth, pray?" pursued Buccleuch, who on a celebrated occasion had pulled an even sourer. "What unnatural sort of corruption is Will to meet at Lymond's that's new in the French court? Credit the boy with more strength of mind than a new-gutted lamp-wick. Or are you maybe not so much worried about Will as anxious to put a bit rope round that yellow-headed cacodemon's neck? I told you at the time, if you kept your mouth shut, you wouldn't have got a hole in your shoulder. . . . Dod!"-as a storm of juvenile complaint exploded in the rafters-"Woman, can you not keep those brats quiet! Some folk," said Buccleuch to Lord Culter with heavy sarcasm, "have woodworm and weevils. Branxholm has weans..

Lady Buccleuch was tart. "And whose fault is that?.

"Oh, mine; mine; mine, I suppose," bawled Sir Wat. "I'm a fair oddity: I can raise my weans in an annual crop like barley all on my own, and I'd think a wife just a plain interference in the business..

"I wouldn't just say you were wrong," said Dame Janet cruelly. "At least you were getting some fine yields, by all accounts, before ever a priest said a marriage service over you..

"Oh, is it sermons now? You'll make a bonny figure in a surplice, my lady: Sister Berchta with the long, iron nose and the ae big foot; and it forever slap in someone else's business.

The Buccleuchs, foaming pleasurably, pranced into battle. Richard stood still, his eyes on Sir Wat's profile: a cheek more than usually red proved that Buccleuch was aware of it. The exchange continued. The argument became corybantic and public; it blared; it stopped. A commotion at the door, a magnetic tumescence of children, a bright voice and a beaming servant announced the unbooked-for arrival of Lord Culter's mother.

"Sybilla!" Buccleuch, in a spray of cushions and offended dogs, got up and went forward. Janet, her tongue arrested in blistering flight, rose likewise from her coiling threads and hugged the small, self-contained figure. "Come and sit down..

"Well, Richard!" The Dowager, relinquishing her furs, approached the fire and offered a cheek to her son. He was courteous, but with a wariness in his manner which did not escape Lady Buccleuch. They all sat, Sybilla capturing the nearest child, diying its thumb and setting it firmly on her lap. "I want sanctuary from the Hermes child. You're looking very well, Wat. Being in a decline suits you..

Janet said quickly, "What's wrong with young Agnes?.

"We have had a visit," said the Dowager gloomily, "from the prospective bridegroom. Arran's son. He was not well received..

"What about it?" said Buccleuch. "She's a ward of the Crown. Arran can dispose of her as he wants, and if he wants the Hermes lands for his son, who's to stop him?.

"His son," said the Dowager prosaically.

"Good lord." Buccleuch stared. "There's nothing wrong with that la.s.sie's face her dowry won't correct..

"I don't think even her dowry can drown her voice," said the Dowager. "When exercised with intent. Besides, she's waiting for a thin man with a romantic smile named Jack: palmistry can be so embarra.s.sing. Which reminds me. Janet, you're bid to Midculter tomorrow week. We are to have a dissertation on the Philosopher's Stone..

"The Phil . . .

"I knew Wat would forget to tell you." In greatest detail, Sybilla explained. She outlined the properties of the talisman and the subtleties of its manufacture. From there she launched into a technical description of the cure for a tertiary.

Thus drummed out of the conversational stakes, her son rose. The Dowager declined his escort home, gracefully accepted an invitation to stay the night, and watched as, impeded by remarkably little pressure on all sides, Richard prepared to go home.

Lady Buccleuch, walking with her guest to the yard, was in no carefree mood either. "Wat has a tongue on him like an anteater, and he doesn't much care what he does with it. d.a.m.n it, I like Will. He's as much to me as any child of my own..

"Buccleuch understands that, of course," said Richard. "All he's concerned with is protecting the boy, after his fashion. But the brutal fact is that there is no protection. I tell you, Lymond has taken three months to kill all the years of my childhood. He'll destroy Will Scott in a week..

Not the statement but the expression of it moved her. She valued him sufficiently not to show it, but said flatly instead, "You don't need to convince me. I'll go further and say I'd stop at nothing- nothing at all-to part Will from the Master..

Richard was silent. Lady Buccleuch waited, then trapped an arm, and with it, his eyes. "G.o.d-if your conscience is as tender as that, I'll say it. I know what's good for Buccleuch. One of these days he's going to catch up with Will, and when he does, he'll take good care that you don't get to hear of it. But there's nothing to stop me from telling you- Wait, now! Wait and hear me. Lymond dead means Will captured and facing his deserts. Buccleuch's afraid of just that thing; but surely nothing could make it clearer to England that Will has been acting without sanction? And no one, surely, on the Scottish side is going to hurt Bucclench's oldest son-the more so since his venture at Hume. That's common sense; and being so, I haven't the slightest compunction in going behind Wat's silly back. Do you agree with me?.

There was another pause. Finally Richard said, "I do, of course. But-I'm sorry-I can't see myself entering into a kind of conspiracy against 'Wat. Not when his own views are quite clear. Persuade Buccleuch of all you've just said, Janet, and then I'll be glad to get all the help I can from both of you." He mounted, and eyed her from the saddle. "Janet Beaton: go in and manage your man. Then I'll discuss it 'vith you..

Lady Buccleuch's face split into its disarming grin. "Och, I've finished discussing it," she said. And smacking the rump of his horse, she waved him goodbye.

2. Irregular Partie Between Two Masters.

Three days later, the land was choked with fog, consuming the sight from the eye and the air from the nostrils of Scot and Englishman alike. In the two estuary forts the militia were hagridden in the white gloom by the creak of marauding rowlocks; Hume and Roxburgh went red-eyed to bed, and the Borderers lay sleepless at night with their swords and dirks warm about them. The Peel used by Lymond's men was likewise lost and cradied in fog. In the ruinous hail of it, the heir to Branxholm was playing cards with every mark of professional ease and skill.

"Play the eight," advised Mr. Crouch intelligently. "Then Matthew can put down his ten..

Turkey Mat, flinging down his cards, dragged a h.o.r.n.y palm over his bald head and breathed like a sailing skiff, lee rail under. "Fancy, now: I had the queerest notion there that you were out of this game..

Mr. Crouch was unperturbed. "I am. You told me yourself to keep off, or you'd play the next with my chitterlings..

Turkey, grunting, unbuckled a leather purse at his belt, reversed it, then let it fall with an eloquent flop on the table. "And you needna skin your nose looking for the reason," said he. "It's the ones with the smooth pansy faces that turn out to be the know-alls at cards. Three months' wages off me in as many minutes, and my very breath pledged before it comes out between my teeth. Englishmen? Sharks! And the cooing voice on them like a bishop piping for his red bunnet..

"Your mistake." Will Scott, sprawled elegantly over a chair, had in two months found a certain style, and was enlarging on it. "Next time look at its teeth before you fleece it..

"You can talk." Turkey eyed the pile of money in front of the boy. "I'll swear Crouch has been giving you lessons. You were safe for twenty crowns any day when you first came, and now you've a nose for pips like a peccary hog..

"Mr. Scott has a quick mind." Since his enforced residence at, and his lightning departure from, Ballaggan, Mr. Crouch had been short of an audience, and he was not the man to lose a chance. He said, a trifle wistfully, "The best man I ever saw at the tables was Buskin Palmer-.

"Him King Harry hanged for taking too much off him at cards?.

"Him. He," said Mr. Crouch, a stickler for accuracy. "The greatmaster, that was. I owe any little touch I might have at cards to that man and his brother. When I was in the Princess Mary's household-.

"And when would that be, now?" inquired a new voice.

The trio turned. With some forethought, table and stakes had been set up at a distance from the other activity in the crowded room, and the authority of Mat had so far kept their bailiwick exclusive. When Turkey turned, it was with a snarl which changed to a mild roar. "Johnnie Bulb! Man, I wish you'd take to wearing clappers on your breeches; you're desperate sore on the arteries. And that last d.a.m.ned powder you gave me would have done Jimmie of Fynnart a twelve-month and pointed up the whole of Linlithgow if you laid it on with a trowel. Will ye bring to mind it's my inner workings you're repairing, not the Toil Brig o' Duntfries..

Johnnie Bulb, gently oblivious, drew up a barrel, sat on it, and again addressed the Englishman. "So you were in the Princess Mary's household, were you? When? Was it the year of Soiway Moss?.

Jonathan Crouch looked blank.

Johnme expounded. "The year the Scots King James died, and the small Queen was born. The year Wharton broke up the Scottish army on the Solway and took half of it prisoner to London, including Lymond. The year Lymond's pastime was first discovered in Scotland, and the English gave him a fine manor for his pains. Fifteen forty-two..

Mr. Crouch said, "Well now . . . Yes. I'd be with the Princess about that time. Five years ago, near enough..

"I thought so," said Johnnie. Mr. Crouch looked confused, Matthew seemed vaguely annoyed and Will Scott, removing Turkey's purse from the board and laying down a fresh card, said, "Well, go on. We can't bear the suspense..