Pawn in Frankincense - Dorothy Dunnett [83]
He was caught very quickly, once he got out, by the regular patrol from the castle. Jerott himself did not care whose prisoner he was: he must, somehow, have managed to accuse the silk-farmer for when he woke up, momentarily, as they were entering the castle, he heard the Syrian’s voice, protesting volubly, beside him. Then he fainted again.
He woke in prison. At first, shivering with cold and the pain of his burns, Jerott could distinguish nothing in the reeking darkness but a dim square, which seemed to be a small barred window giving on to the night. He lay on wet earth, and the walls, as he rolled over and touched them, were unplastered and damp. This was near the sea then; probably a room under the Governor’s castle.… They had found out, then, that he was from the Dauphiné and therefore an enemy. Then he remembered that of course they had found out: it was the first thing the Syrian would tell them. It was why his death was to have been arranged, recognizable and intact, by asphyxiation. In Mehedia, a Frenchman was an enemy. The manner of his dying could be published, as Gabriel would want it published, with no danger to the Syrian’s safety at all.
It was as far as Jerott reached with his thinking. His teeth chattering, his throat half closed, his eyes shut against the blinding pain in his head, he slipped back almost immediately into unconsciousness and lay unmoving once more.
The next time, he had no wish to wake. When the inconsiderate agency vibrating his shoulder and the persistent soft voice failed to stop, he tried to turn over, mumbling. The voice, mellowed for a moment with laughter, said, ‘I don’t know where in God’s name you picked up such language, Jerott. Wake up, will you? You’re going to be all right, but you’ve got to listen to me.’
It was Francis Crawford. Opening his eyes, frowning, Jerott looked into that cool, friendly face in the half-light of dawn, and said, whispering, ‘How …?’
‘Bribery,’ said Lymond cheerfully. He was richly dressed, with no attempt at disguise. Releasing the prostrate man’s shoulder he laid his hand, for a moment, on Jerott’s hot brow and then without touching him further, sat back on his heels. ‘You know. If one grunts, all the herd comes to help him. But your jailer would only allow me ten minutes in here. Can you understand what I’m saying?’
‘Yes,’ said Jerott.
‘Right. In a moment, you will be taken before the Governor. Admit everything. You’re from the Dauphiné, and you’re here because you heard a European child was being held under duress for money. But this is the point. You’re not one of the embassy: you’re a Scottish Knight of St John whom we are escorting to Malta on our way farther east. You can prove that without any trouble, and if you need any help, Marthe will back you. She’s masquerading as a Florentine called Donna Maria Mascarenhas, and you’ve met her in Rome. Do you see, Jerott? Gabriel’s planning has broken down. I was meant to come to Mehedia; and if I escaped the gas, I certainly shouldn’t have eluded the soldiers. But you have a chance.’
Desperately ill as he felt, Jerott’s brain began to work again too. He struggled to sit. ‘Yes … I understand. Francis, you must go to the house. The sister’s house where the fire was.’
‘I’ve been,’ said Lymond. ‘It was empty. Your fire went out of control.’ After a moment, he added, ‘I know what it was.’
Jerott said, ‘The boy was there.’
‘You saw him?’ said Lymond. Then, because he had spoken too sharply and Jerott was only half conscious, he added, ‘Never mind. Tell me after. At least … tell me now if he is living.’
Jerott said, ‘I’ve seen him. I’ve talked to his nurse. She’s dead. I found her when I woke in the fire. But there was no sign of the child.’