Pawn in Frankincense - Dorothy Dunnett [246]
A voice in her brain, more than erratic in its grasp of adult phraseology said, I need to waiting for Fippy. An invisible pen in her mind, hovering over her invisible diary, reread the last entry and, stoutly, scored through the ultimate sentence. She had asked Lymond for money, through Hepsabah. So soon as she had it, she could at least ensure that, outwith Gabriel’s eye, Kuzúm would be fairly well treated. What might happen to Kuzúm under Gabriel’s direction was a different matter. But while she could influence his fate, her place was here, and not at Flaw Valleys.…
She followed the eunuch, when he came, along the Golden Road, beside the big courtyard and between the suites of the khátúns and the harem mosque and past another courtyard to the big door which gave on to the selamlik terrace, with its fountains and pool. There the eunuch turned left, and almost immediately halted outside a bronze door, surrounded by marbles.
Inside, Philippa knew, was one of the smaller reception rooms. Outside, dressed in bright coral satin, were two of the royal tressed pages, their painted eyes oval as eggs. The eunuch bowed, and one of the pages, with an answering salute, consulted briefly within and then returned and held open the door. The eunuch stepped back and Philippa, trailing amber brocale and well-massaged hauteur, drifted inside.
On one side, against marble and eyeleted wainscotting, stood the Kislar Agha, the head of the harem. On the other, broad as Zeus in plumed turban and flowering velvet, sat Graham Reid Malett. Jubrael Pasha. Gabriel, himself. The door closed behind her.
Lying back, his elbows in cloth-of-gold cushions, Gabriel inspected her. The face wearing that cursory smile hadn’t changed in all the months since last she had seen him in the cathedral in Edinburgh, hardly able, even yet, to understand that all his plans had fallen in ruins; flinging that last, angry challenge at Lymond. The ruddy, fine-shaven skin was the same, and the distinguished brow, and the light blue eyes, large and level and free of all guile. Gabriel said, ‘My compliments, Kislar Agha. The improvement is considerable. Now kindly disrobe her.’
Like puppets in a rather poor comedy, the eunuch and the Kislar Agha bowed and advanced. Philippa’s heart gave a single loud report and began pattering like a mouse on a tow-line. She said acidly, ‘The Sultan won’t like it.’
Gabriel looked at her, finding the interruption mildly distasteful. He said, addressing her for the first time, ‘The Sultan, through his wife Khourrém Sultán, has made me a free gift of one of his slaves. My choice has fallen on you.’
‘To remind you of home?’ inquired Philippa, Gabriel looked over her head. ‘Take note. Tonight the boy wül have six lashes at bedtime.’ The blue gaze, smiling, slid back to Kate’s daughter again. ‘You object to being exposed?’
Philippa’s brown eyes were full of surprise. ‘Only when my buttons are stiff. My goodness, who’s going to care when it happens nearly every day of the week and three times on Saturdays?’
For a moment the blue eyes held hers. Then Gabriel turned and spoke to the Chief Black Eunuch. Then he addressed Philippa softly. ‘The Kislar Agha tells me you are a virgin.’
‘Ask the Kislar Agha how he knows,’ said Philippa. ‘Or perhaps you have attended one of our lecture courses?’ She began philosophically, stilling the shake in her fingers, to unfasten the clasps of her outer robe. ‘It’s better with music,’ she said.
‘I think you are being impertinent,’ said Gabriel. ‘As it is, the child Kuzucuyum will receive tomorrow a beating of six strokes. On your conduct and compliance will depend all his future wellbeing. When I call for you, you will come. Whatever I demand of you, you will perform. Very soon, Mr Francis Crawford of Lymond will be dead and the poor boy wül have none to protect him but you … the poor boys, I should have said.’
He smiled, that forgiving, magnificent smile. The eunuchs, at