Disorderly Knights - Dorothy Dunnett [112]
Brother Blyth, fighting hysteria, pain and exhaustion, was in no state to interpret all that. He said in a harsh whisper, ‘You should thank Him on your knees.’ And as Lymond unexpectedly did not answer, Jerott added picturesquely, ‘You draw your strength from the Devil to seduce men.’ Then shutting his eyes abruptly, he buried his face in his burned arms.
Lymond stirred. Men were coming towards them. He would have to walk, to talk, to think, to act. He said, ‘Oh Christ, Jerott, you’ve got one hero too many already. Stand on your own feet, Brother. It’s good for the soul.’ And stiffly, hauled himself upright and walked.
*
The post-mortem; the inquiry into the tomb in which nobody died, was held later in the Marshal’s room, in the presence of a white-faced des Roches, the Serving Brother from the Châtelet; the silent captain of the Calabrians; the Spanish knights, including de Herrera, Fuster and Guenara, and, for the French, de Poissieu and Blyth. Outside the unshuttered windows, steady in precise cannonade, the Turkish guns fired, flushing the silvering sky of dawn and the still, opal seas with wavering flame. To Jerott, clothed and bandaged, dark circles under his sleepless eyes, it was as cool and remote after the hell he had endured as watermusic heard in a dream. Through the rasping ache in his brain, he concentrated on the Marshal’s words.
It was not des Roches’s fault that the two hundred frightened lads had lost their heads in the Châtelet; nor was it the young captain’s that he had failed to discover, until they confessed, returning panic-stricken from the dismantled brigantine, that the castle was in danger.
News of the revolt had been confined so far to themselves. Since escape was now hopeless, the Calabrians might indeed settle to helping the defence as the only alternative. Defending this viewpoint, des Roches said flatly, ‘They will know for example, that if we allowed this hysterical attempt at slaughter to be known, the garrison would turn and kill them.’
‘That which they intended was treason in the field and the wholesale murder of innocent men, women and children,’ said de Herrera. Like Jerott, the Treasurer showed the strain of the night’s disasters, but through the weals and grazes on his face, the anger was plain. ‘They are vermin, and should be shot like vermin.’
‘If you want to help the Turks, that’s exactly what you should do,’ said Jerott grimly. ‘How long d’you think the rest will hold out when they know that their own protectors have tried to kill them?’
The Marshal turned to the captain. ‘The burden so far has fallen on you. Is there any means of controlling these men? Or must we treat them, as the Treasurer says, as tried and condemned?’
‘They’re boys, sir,’ said the young man. Tears, Jerott saw, were not far away, though fright and pride were so far upholding him. ‘The noise, the foreign tongues, the heat, the fear of the Turks and of the walls falling in on them … they’re driven crazy with it, that’s all. They wouldn’t think what damage the gunpowder would do—they’d have no idea of the danger. They wanted to stop pursuit, that’s all … cause a distraction, and pay back, if you like, the men who made them come here at all. They’re only—’
‘—Boys,’ said the Marshal drily. ‘And the men who risked their lives to put the fuse out were little more. Compare them, some time, in your thoughts. Des Roches?’
‘For our sakes and theirs, be circumspect,’ said the Brother. ‘Keep silent. Spread them about the garrison with the strongest and bravest we have. Give them hope, and an example, and they may redeem what they did last night.’
‘Or infect the rest,’ said Jerott.