Disorderly Knights - Dorothy Dunnett [134]
‘Three rowers,’ said the pirate, gazing. ‘And gey low in the water. That’ll be the gear.’
‘How many passengers?’ said Lymond, and Thompson, who knew better than to believe the sweet insouciance in the query, grinned in the dark, ‘I canna see, just, no bein’ a hoolet. Bide, son; bide.’
Behind them, the boat rustled with movement. Her crew from Tripoli, long since landed, had been replaced by Thompson’s own men, awaiting him on arrival. She had been stocked for her long voyage without question all that day and was now fully laden: the Grand Master was not concerned with what credence the world would give a pirate. And Lymond, for excellent reasons of his own, had not made his presence known.
‘Twa heads,’ said Thompson suddenly.
‘Colour?’
‘Look for yourself.’
High on its prow, the approaching skiff bore a lamp. The swaying glow, low on the sea, shifted over two ghost-like faces, strained, silent, severely withdrawn; and over two heads, one black; one brightest gold.
‘Malett and Blyth, ye unnatural bastard,’ said the pirate Thompson without rancour, and feeling for his purse, threw it into Lymond’s long waiting palm. Lymond caught it without looking. ‘Of course. It’s all been a chastening experience.’
There was a pause, while they both watched the nearing boat. ‘Mind I’m still sailing tomorrow,’ said Thompson at length.
‘That’s all right,’ said Lymond. ‘We’ll all go.’
Thompson was frowning. ‘It’s a bonny mess for a monk to walk out of. If they’re so damned handy wi’ their whingers, you’d think they’d hae the auld devil out o’ the head chair in a wink.’
‘It’s a matter of conscience,’ said Lymond. ‘They can’t kill Grand Masters; only Turks. And if he’s going to be found dead in his bed, I don’t want to be there. Which is one reason, if you must know, why I personally am walking out also.’
‘They’d accuse you?’
‘I don’t know and I don’t want to find out. Remember, these fellows have sworn to obey the Grand Master. It takes a bit of nerve to break that oath and not fly to the other extreme.’
‘So they fly home to mother instead.’
‘If you like,’ Lymond said. ‘Blyth is cleaving to Gabriel and Gabriel is cleaving to.…’
‘You?’ said Thompson, and laughed crudely, having a joyfully crude mind.
‘I was going to say, God,’ was Lymond’s equable answer.
‘And what now,’ said the pirate, a wicked gleam in his sharp eyes. ‘What’s taking the likes of you back to Scotland?’
‘Reports,’ Lymond said. He waved, vigorously, at the silent boat now resting below. ‘Delicious, intriguing reports. Letters from home, and all points north and west.’
‘A girl?’ Thompson was taken.
‘A girl. A girl,’ said Lymond, exquisitely tender, ‘called Joleta Reid Malett.’
Part Three
THE DOUBLE CROSS
I: Nettles in Winter (Boghall Castle, October 1551)
II: The Widdershins Wooing (Midculter Castle, the Same Day)
III: The Conscience of Philippa (London, October/November 1551)
IV: The Axe Is Fashioned (St Mary’s, Autumn 1551)
V: The Hand of Gabriel (St Mary’s and Djerba, 1551/2)
VI: The Hand on the Axe (St Mary’s, 1551/2)
VII: The Lusty May (Dumbarton, April/May 1552)
VIII: The Hot Trodd (The Scottish Border, May 1552)
IX: Terzetto, Played Without Rests (Flaw Valleys, June 1552)
X: The Hadden Stank (March Meeting, June/July 1552: Algiers, August 1552)
XI: The Crown and the Anchor (Falkland Palace and the Kyles of Bute, August 1552)
XII: The Crown and the Anchorite (Falkland Palace, August 1552)
XIII: The Axe Is Turned on Itself (Midculter, Flaw Valleys, Boghall, September 1552)
XIV: The Axe Falls (St Mary’s, September 1552)
XV: Death of an Illuision (St Mary’s, September 1552)
XVI: Jerott Chooses His