Pawn in Frankincense - Dorothy Dunnett [304]
Etiquette was silent on the answer to that. He did not offer to kiss her. Philippa said, to the scandalization of priest and secretary and chargé d’affaires, ‘I think I’d like to get drunk.’
They all called her madame. There was no wedding-feast, but a dinner now preparing, to be laid out for them all in an hour or so’s time. Onophrion, his mind on his ovens, spread before them his deferential good wishes and fled. Lymond said, ‘Come out for ten minutes.’ Then as she studied him with sober brown eyes he had said, smiling a little, his eyes tired, ‘It isn’t a command. You must do as you please. But I thought a little air might help us both.’
Philippa said, overwhelmed with repentance. ‘I’m sorry. Kate always said I’m a lout. Are you feeling all right? Can’t you go and get drunk?’
He picked up her cloak and held it for her, his teeth white as he smiled. ‘You have still some things to find out about me. I don’t drink. In any case, think of the example to Kuzúm.’
She took a little time working that out, as they walked down the hill through the morning traffic of Pera, their Janissary following behind. Certainly, there had been no raki last night on his breath, last night of all nights when one would have expected it. She thought of him, unwillingly, as he had looked in the shadows, his arms crossed, his head buried between them, and compared it with another memory, sharp in her mind. They were threading their way down to the Golden Horn, past the burial-ground and tekke of dervishes, when Philippa suddenly said, ‘Was it Jerott … Jerott who drank too much on the Dauphiné?’
He did not quite know what she meant, but he said mildly, ‘Jerott, I suppose, has certainly been known to drink too much, on board ship or off it. So until last year have I. He’ll stop, no doubt, when he has resolved his trouble with Marthe.’
‘Why did you stop?’ she asked. Someone had engaged their Janissary in heated argument. Lymond didn’t look back.
He shrugged. ‘One escapes; but one always has to come back. I found too I disliked not being in command of myself.’
She did not put her next question. He raised an eyebrow and said, ‘What restraint! Will you do something for me?’
‘What?’ said Philippa warily.
‘As we pass, slip into the tekke. Someone will speak to you. If they say, Aşk olsun,’ answer them, ‘Aşkin cemal olsun’… can you remember that?’
‘I heard it all the way to Thessalonika,’ said Philippa. She had gone very pale. ‘Then what?’
‘Follow wherever he takes you. He is a friend.’
For a moment longer she stood, looking at him. Then she said, ‘You gave me a promise. I have done what you asked.’
‘And I shall keep my word,’ Lymond said. ‘So far as fortune will let me.… Now!’
The dark door of the tekke opened up on her left. In a moment, Philippa was inside. ‘Aşk olsun,’ said the soft voice of Míkál.
28
Constantinople and Thrace
Ten minutes later, decidedly changed in appearance, Philippa walked again into the street.
She had no idea where she was going; only that, robed in veils once more, Moslem fashion, she was to follow the slender robed shape of Míkál just ahead, keeping her head modestly low, trying only not to lose sight of him as he threaded his way down to the boats and across the Golden Horn, back to the city they had just left with such pain. There a donkey was waiting for him, its panniers full of red earthenware, and he mounted it and sat, his dirty feet stuck out on either side, while she trudged at its side.
She had never before walked in the city: never seen this from the straw of her cage when she bumped through with Archie, or when the Janissaries brought her back, veiled and chained, on their horses. She climbed the hill to Suleiman’s great new mosque, the monument to his glory, still unfinished, the marble columns from buried Byzantium being levered still into place, the tomb waiting for its magnificent