Welcome to our fourth episode of Learning New Words with Lymond, in which I
blog my way through the rare and obscure words used in Dorothy Dunnett's The Game of Kings. The first of the six books in the Lymond Chronicles, Game of Kings follows the eventful return of its eponymous character, a fictional Scottish nobleman named Francis
Crawford of Lymond, to mid-sixteenth century Scotland. Described on the back of my copy as "a scapegrace of
crooked felicities and murderous talents, possessed of a scholar's
erudition and a tongue as wicked as rapier," Lymond is one of the great (anti)heroes of fiction, and Dunnett's writing is one of my personal touchstones: baroque, playful,
savage, and dazzling intricate. Frequent use of rare and obsolete words are one of the principal ways in which which this complexity is achieved.
In
these posts, I aim to enjoy my favourite sesquipedalians. What do these words mean? Why do they make sense in context? How
do they enhance our understanding and enjoyment of what is happening in
the story? I hope this provides me--and any fellow Dunnett fans who
stumble on these posts--two opportunities.
- To learn new words!
- To bask in the
beauty and complexity of Dunnett's writing.
This occasional series wends its through the alphabet from A to Z.
We continue with words beginning with the letter 'd'...
dammar
He was bearded like a Dammar pine, of the fashion of prophets and pards, one hair sitting here, another there. p. 429
A type of pine tree yielding resin; depending on the species of tree, used to make resin, varnish, or a substitute for pitch in caulking ships. The needles and branches don't look especially beard-like to me but then neither does the proverbial beard of the pard (panther). (OED)
dancetté
The moon copied on the cobbles the profile of all the new, high houses: the thatched gables and uncertain slates and the dancetté roofs; and the gutters ran in and out of the shadows like pied and silvery eels. p. 533
Another architectural term, usually used to refer to "zigzag or chevron moulding" (OED); it's found in Francis Grose's The Antiquities of Scotland to describe zigzag ornament around a door (if you've ever seen the doorways of Norman church or cathedral, you've probably seen this). It's the beauty of the gutters in the nighttime, of all things, that gets me. "Pied and silvery eels." Glorious.
decorticate
If I allowed any one of your dear old friends now on Crawfordmuir to hear this they would decorticate you like an onion, and you'd deserve it. Next time I shall inform them myself. Is that clear? p. 255
It's clear from context that decorticate is a fancy word for 'peel'; it also means "to remove the bark, rind, or husk from; to strip of its bark." Figuratively, it is also a verb meaning "to expose," "to flay," or "to
divest of what conceals" (OED). Will Scott here is getting upbraided by Lymond for attempting to meet in secret with his father (something the rest of Lymond's followers don't know about); so even though the literal meaning is clearly intended, the figurative one also applies in two different senses for the scene's two secrets.
decumbiture
Sitting before the fire, a sweet and ample version of pink and gold, was Molly. Divorced from the glittering background of the Ostrich, the shining hair and limpid eyes were emblems of innocence: she looked as if she had been attending decumbitures all her life. p. 295
A fancy word for a sickbed; also describes the act of taking to a sickbed, or the time at which one does so, or even just lying down in general. Also an astrological term for a figure set up when a person takes to their sickbed, which can predict whether they recover. (OED) This seems like a fun word to keep in store for the next time I come down with a terrible cold and am feeling especially vile.
dempster
Abandoning sense, revenge, and the role of complacent dempster and letting reason fly like a hag through the night wind, Richard Crawford struck off through the darkness, plunging over myrtle and bracken and torn boughs and boulders, between thorn and furze and blurred trees and low thickets, in the direction last taken by his brother. p. 454
Dempster is a medieval word for a judge; in early modern Scotland, a dempster was the clerk in the courtroom who pronounced the sentence handed down by the judge. (OED) Richard Crawford's stubborn effort to save his brother despite himself is one of my favourite sections of the novel. Also, "letting reason fly like a hag through the night wind" is a delight of a simile.
divot
"All right, but remember, although you've bought the rights of fuel, feal, and divot, I shan't be lying here like an upset sheep forever." p. 461
I added this word to the list because divot is clearly not being used in its most common meaning, a small dent or hole. The phrase "feal and divot" is from Scottish law, "a rural
servitude, importing a right in the proprietor of the dominant tenement
to cut and remove turf for fences or for thatching or covering houses or
the like purposes, within the dominant lands." (
OED) An interesting insight into Lymond's feelings about needing his brother's care to get well.
douce
"Don't be deceived," said Lymond with equal dryness. "That's only remorse because he bit me and I didn't bite back. He'll settle in time into a decent, douce Buccleuch." p. 460
A medieval from Norman French adjective meaning "sweet, pleasing or gentle"; in its Old French (12th century) usage, it also means "well-behaved, prudent". (OED) Having matured in Lymond's following, Will Scott has a different future in store.
dub
Dod, d'ye need a dub and a whistle? p. 510
More fun with old and obsolete meanings of words! It's the "beat of a drum; the sound of a drum when beaten." (OED) Will Scott, having twice failed to intervene in Lymond's trial, is being gently mocked by his father for his failure.
Dumyat
"You're so small. I have something for you, my lady, but it's like Abbey Craig speaking to Dumyat. Perhaps, if you'll allow me, we should settle our differences first." p. 228
Dumyat is hill in central Scotland; Abbey Craig, nearby, is less than half its height. An utterly charming small scene between Agnes Herries, a young heiress with romantic notions of how she wants to be wooed, and her husband-to-be, who is indulging them. You don't get many moments of pure fluff and cuteness in a Dunnett novel, but this is one of them.
dwale
"And then food. Is he choosy? We could manage stavesacre and dwale, with a little fool's parsley and half a thorn apple, stewed, with toadstools." p. 368
Dwale is the late medieval and early modern name for deadly nightshade (belladonna); every single plant listed here is poisonous. Kate Somerville, speaking here to her husband about keeping Lymond captive in their house, is still angry about the theft of her family's livestock and the interrogation of her daughter.
