Pawn in Frankincense - Dorothy Dunnett [277]
‘With deference, Hâkim,’ said Lymond, his voice equally dry. ‘Had it been true I should be equally dead. Until it has set its own affairs to order, no nation can afford to have rumours such as these bandied abroad. I have nothing to gain either way, so I choose to tell you the truth. These stories are quite unfounded.’
‘I think,’ said Gabriel’s rich voice softly, ‘that we have perhaps slipped away from the point. The accusation is that Mr Crawford has spread certain rumours. That he has lent colour to them by certain actions. That he has incited the citizens, and not only the citizens but the Janissaries, the cream of our troops, to a point where very soon there will be an open demand for an inquiry. I ask him: does he deny it?’
Lymond glanced round the assembly. He looked, Jerott thought, undisturbed and quite self-sufficient, with no hint of the horror which had washed over him, briefly, before he came out. He said again, in that lucid, carrying voice, ‘Do you know, I wonder, with your Western upbringing, the tale of the History of the Forty Viziers?’
Someone laughed. There was a rustle and Gabriel said smoothly, ‘Of course.’
‘You will remember, perhaps, its subject,’ Lymond said. ‘A king orders the execution of his innocent son, urged to it by the false accusations of his unhappy and desperate wife. Each morning the king is restrained from killing his son by fresh advice, framed in a tale by one of his forty wise councillors. And each evening he is urged to it again by a tale from the queen. The stories are older than time, and told in many tongues: those I tell I had once in Persian. No, I don’t deny earning my bread as a Meddáh. Attacks on the Embassy directed not at me but at my unfortunate household forced me to relinquish my post. As Jubrael Pasha has so eloquently told you, I had little money. I stayed in hopes of seeing righted an injustice concerning the children, and to stay I needed shelter and food. This I paid for with stories. And the stories, as I have told you, concerned a king far older than the present great Sultan Suleiman, and a queen long dead and far less beautiful than his wife. If men discuss these in modern terms, it is no fault of mine.…’ He paused, and then added, a hint of laughter in the clear voice, ‘Also, men were generous. I am not now short of money, Jubrael Pasha. The Forty Viziers in their day paid almost as much as your treasure-chests.’
Gabriel’s face did not relax. ‘You deny it now, but I have witnesses who can say that the History of the Forty Viziers was not all that fell from your lips in your innocent walks in the city. If you had no share in the rumours, why plant your spies? Why smear your suspicions in our very bedchambers, unless you wished it to appear that you were looking for evidence?’
‘But I was!’ said Lymond mildly. ‘I was looking for evidence against you.’
In the Seraglio, all sounds were muted. The buzzing which ran round the chamber was no more than might have come from a nest-ful of wasps; but there was no doubt of the interest he had stirred. Gabriel rose to his feet. ‘Dog and progeny of dogs! Is this proper language to me? … Take him away.’
Lymond did not move. ‘And I found it,’ he said. ‘Is that why you wish to remove me? But how can you judge me when as yet you have produced no proof and no witnesses?’
‘Witnesses?’ said Gabriel. He sat down, smoothing his gown. He is not often crossed these days, thought Jerott. ‘Since you ask, I will give you witnesses,’ said Graham Malett, his rounded voice grim. ‘I call him named Míkál.’
Amiable as a girl: lively as a fawn. Where had he read that? thought Jerott, watching the lithe figure unfold itself and walk slowly, with grace, to the brazier.
Lymond did not look at Míkál. Jerott, glancing from the Geomaler to the man he had betrayed, saw that Lymond’s hands were folded loosely before him; his brows raised a little and his eyes on the carpet; like a man weary of excuses pitching himself to hear yet another.