Checkmate - Dorothy Dunnett [11]
Then the Captain-General dismounted and Jerott found himself, all too soon, summoned to his place in the introductions. Face to face: ‘My God,’ said Francis Crawford in English, smiling cordially and shaking his hand. ‘Caffa and purled lace and pinking, and a butt on him like one of Shah Mahmút the Ghazněrides’ elephants. How is Marthe?’ To his escort he added blandly, in French, ‘Forgive me. Mr Blyth and I are old acquaintances.’
‘Don’t apologize. M. le Prévôt speaks English,’ said Jerott coldly.
‘So he does,’ said Lymond thoughtfully. ‘Remind me to tell him that the Shah Mahmút the Ghazněrides kept very small elephants. And Marthe, you that in love find lucke and habundance? May I call on her?’
‘If you wish. That is, we shall be honoured,’ said Jerott quickly. Francis could always tie him in knots.
Lymond, his mouth twitching, moved on. His two captains, Adam Blacklock and Daniel Hislop watched him go and turned their gaze with one accord upon Jerott Blyth, left staring after him.
‘This man Jerott,’ said Danny Hislop accusingly. ‘You said he was middle-aged.’ Jerott turned.
‘I didn’t,’ said Adam Blacklock indignantly. ‘I said he was stinking rich and cut his old allies dead in the street. I did not say he was middle-aged.’
Vivid, black-haired and muscular, with passions far from middle-aged lodged between the flat belly and lean hips on which he had just been insulted, Jerott Blyth looked at the two men and, for the first time, his face lost its apprehension.
Then Adam put his hand on his arm, and laughed, and introduced the short, sandy-haired man called Danny Hislop, and together they went into the Hôtel de Ville after Lymond.
*
Jerott’s golden-haired wife watched them go. Unknown to him, Marthe had stood for an hour in the crowd facing the church of Saint-Nizier to obtain a sight, her first for three years, of the Scotsman who so resembled her.
Conscious of her own singular beauty she had wondered if he had lost his own looks, but this was not so. Indeed, he had come into them in an odd way; the pastel colours subtly enlivened by the snows of Muscovy; or what he had found there.
The thought did not please her. She watched him dismount and, her lips tightening, saw him speak to her husband and Jerott, flushed, answer him. Then Jerott was joined by two other men and the three followed her brother to the entrance of the Hôtel de Ville.
In the archway, Francis Crawford paused and turned. The crowd, readily sycophantic, raised some applause for him. He smiled, acknowledging it and, turning his gaze unerringly to where Marthe stood, performed for her lightly a complete Court salutation, his hand on his heart. Then, amusement on his face, he continued on his way leaving behind him Jerott, red with embarrassment, and the smaller of the two captains staring in her direction, his roomy mouth fallen open.
Other heads, craning, had recognized the woman dealer from the Hôtel Gaultier. Marthe turned and, without hurrying, strolled through the dispersing crowd to the rue de la Piatière behind her.
So, riding by without a glance, Lymond had still noticed her. And telling her so, delivered a warning. You must do better than this, that charming greeting conveyed, if you wish, my dear Marthe, to study me. It was useful to be reminded that she, too, had tended always to underrate Francis Crawford.
It was not a mistake she intended to repeat. In a few moments, walking north, she had reached her meeting place.
The road