Pawn in Frankincense - Dorothy Dunnett [191]
Onophrion said, suddenly, ‘Bearing pain will not bring him back.’ And as Lymond twisted round, his eyes open, his face taut with angry astonishment, the steward recoiled and went on, as if no one had spoken, ‘If you will forgive me, sir: between here and Constantinople it will be impossible to keep Your Excellency’s shoulder dressed and your clothes as they should be without a personal servant. If Your Excellency would permit me to appoint one of my own men … I have trained him myself.…’
‘Appoint anyone you like,’ said Lymond; and flung himself back on his face.
Far from coming on deck in an hour, he did not appear again that day, or until half the next morning had gone. But when he did, the change was quite remarkable. With his fever dispelled; rested and groomed by his new servant Adrian and fed, at two-hourly intervals, by Onophrion’s solicitous hand, Lymond had recovered all the sangfroid that Gaultier most disliked. ‘Idleness: an excellent remedy, don’t you find it, M. Gaultier? Il se gratte les fesses et conte des apologues. Especially when one is fond of fables, as you and your niece undoubtedly are.… But there are snakes in the Valley of Diamonds, M. Gaultier; and a wind that turns stones into wax. And although you throw your meat into the valley, and release a thousand starving eagles, they may pick up the meat, but with no diamonds adhering.… Where is Marthe now, do you think?’
M. Gaultier, against his inclination, humoured him. ‘In Aleppo with Mr Blyth, I should suppose. Or on her way to Constantinople.’
‘With Mr Blyth, I wonder? They say, Dammi con chi tu vivi, M. Gaultier; and to saprò quel’ che tu fai. What do you suppose Marthe is doing?’
‘Filling in time, Mr Crawford: as are we all, until this interminable embassy is at an end.’
‘Patience, M. Gaultier. It is an Oriental virtue. Empty thy head of wind, for none is born of his mother save to die. Wert thou a rampart of well-wrought iron, the rotation of the heavens would break thee none the less, and thou shouldst disappear.’ The levity returned to the pleasant voice. ‘It is not, I am sure, a philosophy beloved of pawn-brokers.’
The weather improved. Tribute at Hellespont paid, they sailed between the two castles, and at Gallipoli they found M. Chesnau, the French Envoy to Constantinople of whom the Bektashi dervish at Thessalonika had spoken, held up by a fever of which his secretary had already died. Since he could not be moved, Lymond made what improvements he could in his housing and comforts and went on his way, his letters of credence as full Ambassador in his hands. They sailed by the Thracian coast, passing Rodesto and Perinthe and rowing all night to cross the Gulf of Selimbrie and get to the castles of Flora and St Stephano. From there, Lymond sent a horseman to warn d’Aramon, the retiring Ambassador, of his arrival.
A day later, the Dauphiné anchored at night below the Seven Towers, the State Prison of Stamboul; and in the morning rowed round the sea wall until, turning Seraglio Point, she entered the creek called the Golden Horn and stood off the Scarlet Apple of the World: the city of Constantinople at last.
In Topkapi, Kuzucuyum heard the guns and the trumpets, and screaming, ‘Bang-cass!’ in ecstasy, turned so fast he sat down. The Pearl of Fortune, hearing him, snatched him up, her shining hair flying, and flew with him to the highest viewpoint she was permitted; when cheek to cheek, they looked down together.
White and gold, the silk pennants ran, fluid as writing from the yardarms of the incoming ship, and the ensigns from her mastheads were of the same colour. Her screens were out amidships, of cloth of silver and gold, and green boughs garlanded her low flanks, below the slow sweep of the oars. Her very wake was silver, in the carmine sea of first dawning: silver clouds rose from her culverin and constellations flashed from her trumpets as she repeated over and over her salutes.
There was