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By Root 2740 0

him; partly, thought Jerott, because he could not bring himself to execute a motionless man, and partly to manhandle him. He did, laying aside the sword, and Jerott looked away from that. He thought, towards the end, that Gabriel had reached the end of his wits, for although he fought, it was without conviction, and the promises and threats he was shouting were gibberish. Then Lymond flung him against the wall and drove the Kislar Agha’s sword into his chest up to the hilt, and again four more times. He stopped himself at that, with a strength of will as great as any he had shown that afternoon, and flung down the sword. The red silk robe showed nothing, although it glistened stiffly, where it caught the new lamplight. Gabriel, in a stained heap on the ground, was quite dead.

Silence fell. Breathing very fast, his yellow head bent, Lymond remained looking down at the dead man, his hands flat on the bloodstained tiles at his back. Jerott retreated; and did not know Marthe was watching him until her dry voice said, not unkindly, ‘If you are going to be sick, get it over with outside and come back. We’re going to have a full-scale collapse on our hands in a moment.… How much opium does he need?’

Looking at her, Jerott forgot the agony in his guts for a moment. He said, ‘Your cheeks are wet,’ and when she shook her head impatiently, the single deep line like Lymond’s between her fair brows, he took hold of himself and said soberly, ‘Archie will do it. How did you know?’

‘That he was an addict? I know the Levant,’ Marthe said. They were pulling Gabriel’s body away: the eyes, the blue of Kúzum’s or the blue of Khaireddin’s, were open and vacant. His men had long since been dealt with, the mutes filing out. Lymond hadn’t moved and Jerott, hesitating, turned to the throne.

Roxelana had gone. Marthe’s cool voice said, ‘She left a command with the Kislar Agha. Tonight, we are to have the hospitality of the selamlik, with all they can offer. Tomorrow we shall be escorted from the Seraglio; the child and Philippa also.’

Jerott looked round. The room had emptied itself but for the Kislar Agha and the black eunuchs waiting there by the dais, and the Janissaries on guard at the door. Three men in leather jackets had taken hold of the painted chess cloth and were rolling it up. The patches of blood had not yet dried on the paint, and their fingers were red. They jerked it a little under Gaultier, who had sunk down, spent with relief, his head on his knees, and he looked up and rose, stumbling out of their way. Philippa had already moved, her face bone-white, fiercely protecting Kuzúm, who had broken down into tears; and locking out everything else. Archie had gone over to Lymond.

Lymond didn’t look up. But when Archie’s brown hands, fumbling, tried to unfasten his surcoat he looked down and said, ‘Why …?’

Archie said, ‘It’s stained, sir. They want to give you another.’

Then Lymond lifted his head and said flatly, ‘But I wasn’t anywhere near him.…’ And Jerott, listening, realized that it was Khaireddin of whom he was speaking; and that the death of Gabriel had already gone from his mind. After so much toil and effort and agony, Gabriel’s end had made no impression; had meant nothing compared to what had happened before; had been only an intermission in the acts of a tragedy. Jerott said harshly, ‘Let’s get home; and to hell with selamlik hospitality.… Archie, what can you give him?’

The surcoat was open, but Lymond ignored it, standing still, his hands spread on the wall. Archie said, ‘He’s had all he can take. He carried it with him. I can’t give him any more.’ Archie paused, and then said to Jerott, ‘We can’t leave the Seraglio, sir. Not if it’s a command. Mlle Marthe has already told the Kislar Agha we’d prefer to go out tonight, but they say it must be tomorrow. He’s waiting now, sir, for us to follow him.’

Marthe’s voice said quietly, to Jerott and Archie. ‘You go. Take the others. I’ll bring Mr Crawford.’

Archie hesitated only a moment. Then turning to Jerott he made up his mind. ‘She’s right. Come, sir. Let them be.’