Disorderly Knights - Dorothy Dunnett [88]
And since the Sultan intended to have Tripoli which was merely recovering, after all, his own; and had given him, Sinan Pasha, a sealed commission to that effect which His Excellency the Prince d’Aramon might peruse, it was as much as his, Sinan Pasha’s, poor life was worth to disobey. ‘Fight ye in God’s true battle, says the Qur’ân,’ ended the General piously; and d’Aramon drily answered, ‘The Christian Bible says much the same thing.’
But he tried. And when, bruised against the wall of Sinan Pasha’s indifference, he had to give up, Gabriel in his deep, rich voice continued: appealing less to Sinan than to Dragut, the old Commander; speaking with balance and humour; leafing it, even, with the twists of subtle, harmless malice that the mind of Islâm enjoys.
He drew, at last, a gleam from Dragut’s sharp, seaman’s eyes; but Sinan the Jew, clapping his hands, said, ‘Thy silver tongue, O Lord, has won me quite to thy side; but of what use to thee or to me is a headless body? To disobey the King of Kings is to die. All the world shall honour you, who spoke for your religion. It is sad that Allâh does not show himself smiling to you, but to me. Let us eat, that there may be no ill will between us.’
The smell of piláf came thick on the hot air, driving out the jasmine and cloves and the underlying aroma of sweat-sodden clothing. The French Ambassador stood, his long tight hose wrinkled to the thigh, his neck and wrist-frilling limp. ‘The blessing of God upon thee, O Ghazi, and my thanks,’ he said. ‘But we must return, You have heard us fairly, and what is to come will be revealed by God.’
For a moment there was absolute silence. Neither Sinan Pasha nor any of his company had risen, as courtesy demanded; no one spoke. Instead, reflectively, the white and gold turban inclined, and to a silvery rustle, the door curtain behind the Ambassador fell into place and swayed there, shutting out the fires, the tents, the moonlit dunes leading to Tripoli.
Then inside the pavilion there was a running flash of Damascus work round all the fringed walls, steadying into a trembling blaze. The Janissaries had lifted their blades.
‘The Prophet, who is the Emissary of God, has already signified the path,’ said Sinan’s dispassionate voice. ‘We fear the sea between this place and Constantinople is unsafe at present for the King of France’s great lords. Nor may we permit them, such is our concern for their welfare, so lightly to violate the honour of nations. Honour us, we beseech you, with your company yet awhile. Eat, sleep, and seduce our poor ears with your voice in exquisite talk. There is no haste for either of us to leave this city while it stands.’
Behind the Baron d’Aramon the knights de Seurre and Graham Malett had risen to their feet, with Nicolas de Nicolay and the rest of the suite quickly after. They rose, their hands on their empty sword-belts, and then stood with stiff-lipped nonchalance as the linked scimitars shimmered and stilled. The trap had closed on them, and there was nothing to be done. The French Ambassador and his suite were to be guests of the Turk.
*
Silent under the African stars, the three ships from Malta waited for d’Aramon and Gabriel to return, and as the white crescent of Tripoli faded into the night and the light-shot black water around them lapped against the carved hulls of the Turkish fleet, strewn like night blossom on the warm sea, Jerott Blyth studied Lymond.
Since Gabriel and de Nicolay had left, they had not spoken. Just before night fell, for a long time, Lymond had been watching the Tripoli shore so that Jerott’s own attention had finally been caught, and he had surveyed it in