"Dunnett, Dorothy - The Game of Kings" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dunnett Dorothy)

do with the water and Hob described in detail how he had ruined his spine
raising the steward's undistinguished water from the well. Mungo, above, thumped
on the floor to stop the racket and the steward, cursing, gave in. He led the
way to the apartment beneath the stairs where lived Mungo's great sow, the badge
of his house, the pet and idiotic pig's apple of his eye, and waited while Hob
Hewat filled its water trough. He then sat down suddenly under an annihilating
tap on the head.
Hob, who had done all he had been paid to do, disappeared.
The steward slipped to the floor, and stayed there.
The sow approached her water dish, sniffed it with increasing favour, and
inserted both her nose and her front trotters therein.
Crawford of Lymond tied up the steward, left the stye, and climbed the stairs to
Mungo Tennant's apartments.


In the gratified presence of their host, Sir Walter Scott of Buccleuch and Tom
Erskine were still hard at it. Buccleuch, beaked like a macaw, was a baroque and
mighty Scots Lowlander with a tough mind, a voice like Saint Columba's, and one
of the biggest estates on the Scottish Border. Erskine, much the younger, pink,
stocky and vehement, was a son of Lord Erskine, who was head of one of the
families nearest the throne, and captain of the Queen's fortress of Stirling.
ILIL Just wait," Buccleuch was roaring. LILJust wait, man. Protector Somerset
will get his damned English rabble together and march into Scotland up the east
coast. And he'll tell off his commander, Lord Wharton, to get his Cumberland
English together and invade us at the same time up the west coast. And half the
west coast landowners are pensioners of the English already and won't resist
'em. And all the rest of us'll be over here at Edinburgh fighting Ned Somerset-"
LLNot all of us," said Erskine neatly.
Buccleuch's whiskers promenaded. "Who'll stay in the west that's worth a
docken?"
"Andrew Hunter of Ballaggan?"
"Christ. Andrew's a nice, gentlemanly lad, but his estate's been bled dry; and
as for the ill-armed crew he calls followers- Man, they'd lay on a battlefield
like dandruff."
"The third Baron Culter?" suggested Tom Erskine, and Buccleuch got the derisive
note and turned red at the wattle.
~ know fine the cheeky clack of the court," shouted Buccleuch. ILILThey say
Culter's not to be trusted."

Tom Erskine lifted the broad, brocade shoulders. "They say his younger brother's
not to be trusted."
"Lymond! We know all about Lymond. Rieving and ruttery and all manner of vice-"
"And treason."
"And treason. But treason's not Lord Culter's dish. There are those that want to
take time and men to hunt down Lymond and his band of murderers; and those that
demand that Culter should lead them as proof of his loyalty. But if Richard
Crawford of Culter won't interfere; says he has better business to attend to and
refuses flatly to hound down his brother baying like the Wild Jagd, that still
doesn't make him a traitor." And inflating the great chasms of his cheeks,
Buccleuch added, "Anyway, Culter's just got married. D'ye blame him for keeping