Pawn in Frankincense - Dorothy Dunnett [222]
It was the moment. The translation ended, and into the silence, bowing, Lymond said in French, ‘The most humble servant of the Sultan Suleiman Khan and of the Prince Henry, monarch of France, I beg leave to speak.’
So he was going to make his petition, thought d’Aramon. He had, after all, nothing to lose. It was a pity that the touchstone, the measure of Turkey’s present regard for her ally of France, should be a boy-child and a girl.…
‘Très haut, très puissant, très magnanime et invincible prince …’ Lymond was speaking French, his manner unexceptionable; his voice even and clear. His measured phrases, echoed by the translator, spoke of the glorious alliance between France and the Ottoman Empire; of the liberal blessing of trade; of the success of Turkey’s captains and generals in the western shore of the sea, despite the grasp of the Emperor Charles …
‘Despite,’ went on the even, articulate voice, ‘those servants of Charles who, under whatever guise, never cease to attempt to drive asunder my lord’s kingdom and yours. There is an issue now standing, an issue of no political significance but of great personal import to Henry my master. I am told, although I cannot believe it, that malicious tongues have already coloured with impropriety His Grace’s modest request. From this and His Grace’s natural desire for restraint, some confusion has occurred among the most innocent. I beg therefore to make my prince’s mind clear and to free from misunderstanding the benign bond that unites our two countries.… I refer, my lord, merely to the return of two children, who find themselves by mishap within Your Grace’s Seraglio, and whom I am empowered to recover for Henry my master, at whatever price you desire.’
He finished, with care; although the Kislar Agha was already at the side of the Sultan, his murmuring words too low to hear. The Sultan’s black eyes, lifted to Lymond, sharpened a little. The dry voice said, ‘I am told that the two children you mention are in fact an English girl of some sixteen years and a young child newly arrived from the House of Donati in Zakynthos. The Kislar Agha will recite you their names.’
The Kislar Agha did, correctly. ‘Are these the persons?’ asked the dry voice. And awaiting Lymond’s assent in translation, went on without emotion. ‘There is indeed, as you say, cause for confusion. The girl, you do not dispute, is from England and therefore of no concern to your master of France. The child, I am assured, belongs neither to France nor to England, but is the son of our Vizier Jubrael Pasha. You will do me the courtesy to say to our brother of France that until his claims on our goodwill are more lucid, I fear we cannot help him. You will further say that he should provide himself, I advise, with an honest ambassador. We hear you have sought this child before, and not in the name of your master.’
He had indeed made his petition. He had abused his credentials, and he would suffer for it. Regret, in d’Aramon’s mind, was mixed with dismay at his presumption. It was with something near disbelief that he heard Lymond say gently, ‘My lord, it is true. For how could I make a brigand, a thief or a corsair aware that he harboured the son of Henry of France?’
The Baron de Luetz stood stiffly, his face pale with anger, listening to question and answer: frank answers, steady and circumstantial. A child born to a Scotswoman, Janet Fleming … acknowledged a bastard of France. Stolen in mistake for another—hence the confusion with Jubrael Pasha. If Jubrael Pasha could prove this his son, the Ambassador would waive any claim. But the King, on the other hand, possessed clearest proof