Disorderly Knights - Dorothy Dunnett [139]
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For Jerott Blyth, who had acted throughout in a state of resentful boredom, it was no pleasure to be on the road to Midculter with Lymond again, with Boghall and its mourning mother-in-law in the darkness behind.
It was because of Gabriel that he was here. Graham Reid Malett, true to his word, had not spared himself since leaving Malta more than two months before. To virtually every Court in Europe he had presented, with force and justice, the story of Mdina, Gozo and Tripoli; blaming no one, but abundantly clearing of blame the French knights of Malta, the Chevalier de Vallier, and the French Ambassador to Turkey, M. d’Aramon.
Everywhere, except in the Vatican and the Empire, he had been given a hearing. His work and his reputation, preceding him to France, had ensured him an immediate welcome at Court, decently muted out of respect for that Turkish alliance. Henri II might not see eye to eye with the Baron d’Aramon, but he was willing to support him against the Emperor Charles any day; particularly as it was not difficult to guess, however biased Graham Malett might be, that the Grand Master was personally the scrapings of a particularly rancid barrel.
Gabriel had insisted on performing this pilgrimage alone. Banished from the Grand Cross’s side, Jerott heard the sounds of his devoted success from his mother’s home at Nantes and, in the end, could not forego a single heart-warming reunion with Sir Graham at Paris.
Thinner, his hair grown longer, his face tired, Gabriel had not otherwise changed. The sweet-tempered, steadfast crusader of Malta was still in him, smiling at Jerott’s importunities, and saying at length, ‘What next? How may any of us know what comes next? I shall go to London next month, and then to Scotland. I must see Joleta; and I think I must rest. My doctor seems to think it wiser, at least.’ And brushing aside Jerott’s concern, he had said, ‘Why not join me there? Why not go first and wait for me? You have still relatives there. You can meet Joleta and tell me if she and Lymond are friends.’
The horror in Jerott’s expressive face had made him laugh again. ‘That dismays you? I can think of nothing to please me better. Where I have failed, perhaps Joleta can win. Perhaps you too can help to persuade that young man that gifts like these are not be be wasted. Bury your distrust of him, Jerott. He will do honour to the Religion yet. The finest service you could render your Order would be to join him and befriend him now.’
‘What Order?’ had said Jerott Blyth bitterly; and Gabriel had smiled. ‘Don’t pretend that four hundred years of chivalry have ended with one misguided old man. You have been paid a compliment: Juan de Homedès does not like you. Let us show him how his work for Christ should be done.’
It was a winning thought, reflected Jerott morosely as he cantered through the cool Scottish night to Midculter. But it did not console him for the quality of Francis Crawford’s smile when he had attached himself to his train on embarking for Scotland, or for the arguments they had subsequently had over Lymond’s immediate plans. Lymond was on his way home to St Mary’s, his property near the loch of that name. There he proposed to train men, as the Order trained, in the sweet arts of war; and Jerott had agreed to assist.
Whether this accorded with Gabriel’s hopes of him he had no idea, but if he were to stay with Lymond he could do nothing else. He was out for a quick conversion, was Jerott; for the alternative—proselytizing by Gabriel’s innocent sister Joleta—was unthinkable. Hence his distaste for the present journey to the Crawford castle at Midculter. They had been in Scotland for less than a day and in his view should make straight for St Mary’s, where all Lymond’s chosen men were assembling.
Instead, they were to call at Midculter, and he would be forced, in Lymond’s presence, to meet for the first time Gabriel’s sister, Joleta. And worse, to see Joleta exercise for the first time her tender sanction to win Francis Crawford to her beliefs.
Since leaving Boghall Lymond had not spoken.