By Dorothy Dunnett

Lymond’s behaviour, as always, went to the limits of polite usage and then hurtled off into space.

**Spoilers**

It is 2 years after the events of the Game of Kings, the 1st of the Lymond Chronicles. Francis Crawford of Lymond has returned to the bosom of his family. His reputation throughout Europe has not only been restored but his talents are held in such high esteem that he is called upon by Mary of Guise, the Dowager Queen of Scotland to come to France with her to protect her daughter, the 7 year old “High and Mighty” Mary, Queen of Scots from rumored danger of assassination.

Notoriously, at some time, every faction in the kingdom had tried to buy Lymond’s services. Nor was the bidding restricted to Scotland, or to statesmen, or to men. Europe, whenever he wished, could provide him— and probably did— with either a workshop or a playground.

He agrees to do so, but on his own terms, making clear that his loyalty is not to the powerful and ambitious Queen Mother, but to Scotland. He will not be her beholden acolyte and in turn, she will not, can not, intercede if he gets into trouble. And thus we are off to the decadent and dissolute French Court of Henry II of France, which Lymond will infiltrate in order to stay close to the threatened little Queen and to discover who is behind the assassination attempts. For indeed, we learn the child’s life is in grave danger. As his disguise he creates a character so eccentric and unlikely that no one will suspect his true identity but will allow him to use the talents and skills that Francis Crawford of Lymond is well known to have mastered. As the fat, perpetually drunk, and slovenly attendant to an unimportant-by-choice Irish Chieftain, he seduces the court:

Each in its nest of gauze and gilt thread, of tissue and taffeta, swathed in silver and satin, in velvet and white fur sugared with diamonds, each face painted, each brow plucked, hair hidden by sparkling hair of raw silk, the well- born of France sat in waxlight and flowers like half a hundred candied sweets in a basket. Last at the last table, soggy gristle next the sugar plums, sat Thady Boy Ballagh.

At levée and reception, at ball and after sport, during meals and after supper parties, Thady was expected as a matter of course. His playing had become as fashionable as a drug. He made music in public and in private for them all: …and already they thought nothing and less than nothing of how he looked. Then, that goal reached, he hardened his long fingers in their entrails of icing and sugar and started to twist.

The plot is complex as are the many characters who people this book. As in G of K, Dunnett expertly fills in the blanks of history with her fictional story ostensibly going on behind the scenes. For example, The main villain was a real person with significant connections to powerful people, but little is known about his actual life or what he may or may not have been up to. Those about whom much is known stay authentic to what history knows about their characters and actions. How Dunnett weaves her fiction around what is factual is nothing less than amazing. Rather than go through the plot and try to touch on all the fascinating characters, both real and imagined, I’ll just mention two characters that stood out for me.

The first is the “wholly spoiled, wholly self-centred, ruthless, neurotic, worldly- wise” character of the French Court itself. It was fascinating and unpredictable. In one of the attempts on Queen Mary’s life, her beloved pet rabbit, Susannah, is stolen and let loose amongst the other prey to be sport to the hunting Cheetahs. As predicted, the little girl escapes her minders and rushes to rescue her pet. In the resulting maelstrom of confusion, panic, and violence, A brave and noble Irish wolfhound, (as well as poor little Susannah) meet heartbreaking ends. The French court, once the little queen is off stage and safe, cheers the Cheetah. They care for nothing but the thrills and excitement provided by bloodlust.
Yet, taken individually, many are funny and insightful. Thankfully, because no group of people can perpetually be that dissolute and depraved (can they?), they prove to be capable of change, much to my surprise. Later in the story, a race down from a tower results in the death of many horses and men. Thady boy is framed and blamed for the tragedy and he escapes from the court he once dominated with his talents, wit, and pursuit of pleasure.

“What had been vulgarly clever, in the light of bare exhumation looked bleakly coarse; what had been vivid looked vulgar; what had been witty looked common; what had been forthright looked outrageous.
A sense of acute spiritual discomfort hung over the flower of France, the aftermath of its brilliant flare of indulgence. If Thady Boy had come back— a Thady Boy even absolved from the treachery imputed to him— they would have had him beaten from the room by their valets.”

The other character that I became fascinated with was Phelim O’LiamRoe, who, as Thady Boy’s supposed master, provides him with his cover. At first he was kind of a silly non-entity. Intelligent, humorous, cheerful, but having no ambition or purpose to his life at all. He was kind of a bore.

In terms of followers, O’LiamRoe was one of the mightiest chieftains in English-occupied Ireland, except that it had never yet occurred to him to lead them anywhere.

But he starts to change at the death of his noble Luadhus, his dog who threw himself between the deadly cheetah and the little queen. He starts to think and question his life. Meanwhile, he falls deeper in love with a beautiful and fiery Irish revolutionary who holds him in contempt until he proves his mettle with an act of bravery. He convinces her to give him the name of the man who can prove the guilt of the powerful mastermind of the assassination attempts. He will save Mary and also save Lymond from execution.
But first they must part.

Her hands lay cold in his. Searching her empty face he said, ‘We shall meet?’ ‘At the fall of night, on the far side of the north wind,’ she said.’ ‘Love me.’ ‘All my days,’ said Phelim O’LiamRoe, Prince of Barrow, dropping into the tongue of his land. ‘Dear stranger, dear mate of my soul: all my days.’ And walking quiet and blind, he let slip her two hands and left.

To the rescue!:

Dark in the misty June morning, Châteaubriant was still. Dim through the painted shutters, the hoof beats of a single horse burst, applauding the cobbles, and were gone.

Before the book ends O’LiamRoe will not only be instrumental in saving Francis from death, but in setting his life on a different more mature and thoughtful path. Thanks partially to him, Francis will become the great leader of men he was destined to be.

Dorothy Dunnett is a wonderful writer. Her prose is beautiful, evocative, and clever. But still, I had my problems with some of the details of the book as much as I admired and enjoyed it.

It seemed pretty impossible that Lymond’s disguise as Thady Boy held up so long and with so many. Keeping his blond roots covered under black dye, his pale skin constantly having to be stained, his slender nimble body disguised under thick padding, all the while bedding God knows how many men and women in the French Court? With a fake stomach? And what about Lymond’s slender delicate fingers which are referred to regularly? That doesn’t track with Thady’s fat pudgy body.

The recuperative powers of two of the characters who were on death’s door one minute and engaging in physical heroics the next reminded me of a Roadrunner cartoon.

Too much knowledge is withheld from the reader and too much important action happens off stage. I found this to be true of Game of Kings as well. When did Lymond figure out who the master villain was and how? Once it is finally revealed to the reader, he claims he already knew who it was. Then why was it so important to send O’LiamRoe to the Tower of London to get his name from his hitman, Robin Stewart? Lymond was released from prison just in time to save the queen. It seemed very easily done without much justification. Some obscure sculptor knew a guy who knew a guy who said so? The bad guy might be guilty, so Lymond must be freed-and immediately? How did they get let in to see the Constable again with Robin Stewart’s undelivered letter? One minute we leave him locked up, and the next he’s free and racing to save the little Queen from being blown to kingdom come with her retinue.

Some things do not bear too much looking into and no doubt a careful reread would set me straight. . But sometimes, even in great books, you just have to roll with it, and revel in the brilliance, not the WTFuckery. Everyone says Dunnett historical research and authenticity is unimpeachable. Sometimes I found some of the fiction parts a little far-fetched. But maybe that’s OK. As Lymond says in Game of Kings,

“Versatility is one of the few human traits which are universally intolerable. You may be good at Greek and good at painting and be popular. You may be good at Greek and good at sport, and be wildly popular. But try all three and you’re a mountebank. Nothing arouses suspicion quicker than genuine, all-round proficiency.”

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Rating: 4.5 out of 5.