Pawn in Frankincense - Dorothy Dunnett [215]
Below the pure muslin, the fair, big-boned face was no less pure: the eyes blue, the skin tanned golden with the Mediterranean sun; the smile clear and affectionate. ‘Where is the whipping-stand now?’ said Gabriel gently to his one-time commander. ‘Verily, thou art as the Peacock of Paradise, whose plumage shone like pearl and emerald, and whose voice being so sweet was appointed to sing daily the praises of God.… Thou knowest the legend?’
He spoke in Turkish, and Lymond, without the interpreter, answered in the same language. ‘Is not thy version, as ever, unique?’
Gabriel’s blue eyes were troubled. ‘Not so. Through this Peacock, they say, Satan entered Paradise in the tooth of the serpent, in punishment whereof the lovely voice of the Peacock was ravished from him for ever.… It is long since the Elders received an Ambassador young, ambitious, fragrant as a parcel of musk in red silk. Even those of pure disposition and right belief may covet thee.… Use thy lips wisely. They are meant for laughter; not the spreading of evil.…
‘The calumny against my lord Rustem Pasha has displeased the Sultan mightily.’
Blue eyes did not move from blue. Lymond’s fair brows lifted. ‘Is it a calumny to maintain that Rustem Pasha is truly zealous in the care of his master? Then I am guilty.’
‘I have heard otherwise in Pera,’ said Gabriel slowly. ‘I have heard it said that there is no unrest in the army: that Rustem Pasha’s solicitude is false, and aimed only at discrediting others. This is the rumour put about by the French Embassy.’
‘I know nothing of it. But I have heard another rumour,’ said Lymond, ‘which I shall not relate to you or to any other man, and which, if I hear it repeated, I shall stamp in the dust, for I do not believe it and nothing will bring me to believe it. You would do well, instead of listening to evil, to defend the innocent against the hidden frothings of malice. Above all women, honour is due to Khourrém Sultán.’
A slow joy, forcing its way upwards like air through a porridge-pot, filled all Philippa’s clean massaged chest and caused her to glance, bright-eyed, at the intent face of the woman beside her.
He had guessed. Whatever obscure political game they were playing, he had guessed that the Sultana must be there, at the listening-post; and perhaps even that she, Philippa, was there as well. And, looking at Roxelana, she saw that this was what the Sultana had come to hear and to see: that all her attention was focused on these two men, and that, of the two, she was intent chiefly on Gabriel.
Philippa recalled something else. There had been a visitor yesterday to Khourrém’s apartments. A man, for she had aided her mistress to veil, holding the diamond-set mirror in pale and dark jade and placing ready the sherbet and qahveh. Then she had been dismissed, leaving only the mutes and Roxelana’s personal eunuch.… Gabriel’s golden voice, floating up to the grille, drew back her attention. ‘Khourrém Sultán needs no defence,’ said Jubrael Pasha sharply. ‘The Sultana is likewise above evil and beyond criticism. It injures thine own honour to suggest otherwise.’ He clapped his hands. ‘We shall dine.’
Pages, their bright tunics kirtled into their sashes, their trousers of satin, their slippers embroidered and jewelled, came to draw off the stiff surcoats and sprinkle rosewater on the Ambassador’s hands. Gabriel, smiling, waited while his own were moistened and dried and then clapped his hands, this time thrice.
Beside Philippa, Roxelana was stirring