Pawn in Frankincense - Dorothy Dunnett [240]
Except that these did not appear either casual cut-throats or robbers. Silent as they had been from the beginning, they pulled him to his feet, holding him in spite of all the force of his body, and having tied his hands and gagged his mouth, swiftly under his hood, marched him between them into the darkness after the man and the child.
The house they took him to was downhill, and not far away: just before they dragged him inside he saw the ghostly arches of the aqueduct straddling the sky. Then the door slammed behind him and he was thrust into a small room where a young man with long hair and silver bells on his ankles and sash looked at him searchingly. ‘Untie him, and take his cloak off. Ali, thou hast suffered?’
Ali, with a burst nose, had suffered. Jerott said, in indignant French, ‘I have suffered too. Is this Turkish hospitality: to set on a foreigner?’
The boy with the bells, he was rather worried to see, was suddenly all attention. ‘A foreigner? Thy name?’
‘A guest,’ said Jerott awfully, ‘of the Embassy of France. Whom you will be kind enough to inform of my presence. My name is Jerott Blyth.’
‘Ah …’ said the youth with the bells. And turning gracefully, waved to Jerott’s captors. ‘It is well. You may depart.’
‘But——’ said he of the burst nose.
‘… in Love,’ said the youth gently. There was a shuffling, but that was all. Jerott’s attackers filed out, reluctantly, and shut the door behind them.
‘Well?’ said Jerott.
‘I was told I should meet thee,’ said the other man thoughtfully. The lustrous, long-lashed eyes surveyed the splendour before them: the black hair and flushed, high-nosed face; the muscular body. ‘My name,’ he added after a moment, ‘is Míkál.’
Jerott, running a hand through his disordered hair, dropped it and stared back. He knew about Míkál. The Pilgrim of Love to whom Archie had entrusted Philippa, and who had abandoned her at Thessalonika, with the result, incredible though he still found it, that both she and the child were now in Topkapi. Míkál who had joined Lymond’s ship, following, and had gone with Lymond to the Beglierbey’s house where Salablanca had died and he had so nearly been murdered as well.…
Speaking of it, Onophrion had drawn no conclusions, but Jerott had plenty. He said sharply, ‘What have you done with the child?’
‘Ah: thou hast seen him,’ said Míkál. ‘He is safe. More: he will return to Názik’s house shortly. We have paid only for part of the night. Thou shalt thyself watch him depart.’
‘I’ll see him now,’ said Jerott. He had nothing with which to enforce the demand: only the power to dominate: a soldier and a knight over a pilgrim of love trailing bells.
Míkál smiled. ‘We have swerved from courtesy,’ he said, ‘in our welcome. This I regret. There is a saying: Night is the stranger’s. Thou wilt sit and feast with me of pigs endorred and flampayne powdered with leopards, and like King Solomon’s great bird the hoopoo, thou shalt tell me thy secrets.’
Jerott merely repeated it. ‘I want the child now.’
‘There is a saying,’ said Míkál with composure, ‘Chi pecora sifa, il lupo se la mangia. Make of thyself a sheep, and the wolf will eat thee. Alas, I am no sheep. As to the child’s presence, I say God will give. I offer thee meat in many dishes instead.’
Jerott said, gently, ‘Did you hear what I said? I want the child here, now. Or I shall break every little, shell-like bone in your body.’
Míkál considered him. From his flesh Jerott smelt jasmine and sensed the faint shiver of bells. Míkál said, ‘Threats are as froth in the mouth of the camel. Set aside thy vehemence and thy choler. The child is now in the care of his father.’
Jerott’s reaction was instant. But even so, Míkál was at the door of the small room before him, hands outspread barring his exit. ‘Patience! Wouldst thou uncover thy master like a plant which