Disorderly Knights - Dorothy Dunnett [38]
Between these two fair-headed men; between Gabriel’s Viking dimensions, his radiance, his serenity and the fauve, high-strung person of Francis Crawford, there passed no shock; no intuitive blaze of emotion. Coming to offer his hand after the great embrace he had shared with de Villegagnon, Sir Graham Reid Malett, Grand Cross of the Noble Order of the Knights of St John of Jerusalem; monk, soldier and seaman, of whom Strozzi, Francis de Guise and de Villegagnon himself had spoken with such exceptional warmth, conveyed simply a friendly interest that widened into a mock apologetic smile. Malett said, ‘I’m going to hold prayers for a moment, I’m afraid: it’s our rather repetitive custom. Could you pacify the Master for me? I know he’s wild to get into Birgu’s brothels.’
And thus released with courtesy from unnecessary commitment, Lymond was able to stroll to the prow with the Master while the four knights knelt on the beechwood deck where they stood and gave thanks for the Chevalier’s safe voyage home.
Grace, intelligence, humour and great strength: these were the first impressions of Gabriel a stranger would receive; these, and the beauty of his magnificent voice. As prayers ended and the ship moved slowly up-creek to its berth, he spoke quickly and quietly of his arrangements. De Villegagnon and Lymond were to stay with him at Birgu. Unique among the knights, Gabriel had a house to himself instead of sharing the communal life of the Langues. Later, a meeting of the Supreme Council had been called, before whom de Villegagnon must speak.
At this point Sir Graham paused. In the sun-reddened face with its shapely bones, strong jaw and wide brow seamed with dry lines; in the sea-blue, cloudless gaze, a shadow of trouble existed. Addressing de Villegagnon, ‘You’re no novice, Nicholas,’ he said. ‘You know the weakness here, and how your detractors will work.’
‘I had something of the same treatment from the Viceroy,’ said de Villegagnon equably. The impotent storm of anger he had nursed from Messina seemed to have gone. Instead, he looked like a man restored to the cool legal terrain of his fathers; and all the emotion he had bred to sustain him slipped unneeded away. Lymond recognized that de Villegagnon had not only the confidence of Gabriel’s support: behind Gabriel he saw God.
‘Nicholas thinks I have the Grand Master in the palm of my hand,’ said Gabriel tranquilly, picking up Lymond’s tenor of thought. ‘But no one here controls Juan de Homedès, least of all the poor gentleman himself. I pity him; I also fear for him. I fear for us all. He and his Spanish knights have weakened the Order. This season they may dishonour it in the eyes of all reasonable men.’
The soft bulk of Nick Upton pressed into the triangle. ‘Gabriel, I am not a reasonable man. I say, throw out Juan de Homedès.’
Malett laughed, but unlike Upton, he kept his voice to a murmur. ‘Throw out a Grand Master, appointed by Charles V and the Pope? In face of his overwhelming Spanish vote in the Supreme Council? And with the whole Turkish fleet liable to besiege us? If ever the Order needed to be whole, Nick, it is now.’
‘Better a wholesome half than a rotten whole,’ said the fat Englishman dourly.
‘You forget,’ said Gabriel quickly, his gaze on the fast-nearing quay. ‘We are hospitallers to trade. With the right medicine, even the rotten whole might be cured in time.’
‘Even though,’ said Lymond, since no one else seemed to be saying it, ‘Juan de Homedès has been Grand Master for fifteen years?’
Gabriel smiled. ‘Despite that. For Durand de Villegagnon has been absent for much of that time, and