Pawn in Frankincense - Dorothy Dunnett [87]
Jerott smiled. ‘I must go. But I shall come part of the way gladly. Tomorrow, if the Governor permits?’
The Governor permitted. The Governor gave him a feather bed to repose on, and wine and chicken for breakfast, and an Arab mare and two sumpter-mules on to which he could load his monkish possessions from outside Mehedia. The Governor also would in no way be dissuaded from allotting him an escort of twenty armed men to see him part-way to Djerba, and to attach Donna Maria and her party to a suitable caravan, since her camels and most of her luggage, as she explained with aplomb, would be awaiting her a good deal ahead. They were about to leave, Marthe sitting sidesaddle in a magnificent cloak, with Lymond and Salablanca discreetly behind her, when the news came that the Syrian had been found dead by poison in bed.
‘How, then, shall we manage?’ said the Governor. ‘When the sister writes to say where she and the child will have landed?’
Jerott’s eyes and those of Francis Crawford met and parted. ‘She will not write,’ said Jerott. ‘Now. If she does not know of it already, she will know of her brother’s death soon.’
‘But …’ said the Governor. ‘If she hears of this generous reward …’
‘If she makes inquiries,’ said Jerott, ‘I am sure you will hear of it and send the news, from your courtesy, to the Prior in Malta. But I fancy she values her life more.’
The sun was shining as they rode out through the gates of Mehedia, the twenty horsemen behind them; and, after collecting Jerott’s possessions, and many others under that pretext from the village, turned their horses’ heads east towards Djerba.
They rode silently; Jerott with a high temperature that showed itself about noon, and enforced a rest during which Marthe scientifically rewashed and rebound his injuries, fed him orange-juice, and watched the dispassionate face of her steward. When, presently, Lymond came over, she spoke to him quietly. ‘Mr Blyth needs rest. Is it quite beyond your ingenuity to get rid of these men?’
‘Not at all, if you fancy a slit throat or a spectacularly close view of a lion,’ said Lymond. ‘Otherwise you must suffer them, I’m afraid, until we catch up with some other protection. Once we’re near Djerba, it’s simple.… Jerott?’
Jerott stared up through his headache. ‘I can manage,’ he said.
‘Yes. I think you’ll manage better tied to your horse,’ said Lymond. ‘Salablanca will do it. Mademoiselle, you look hot.’
Adjusting her girth, Marthe paused, exasperated, as he came over. ‘It is difficult, on the whole, to look anything else in eleven God damned ells of Lucca velvet. Mr Crawford, do you know the English ship Peppercorn?’
Pausing, his hands cupped to give her a lift, Lymond looked sharply up. ‘No. Do you?’
‘Yes. She has a regular run. When I do work for Georges I meet her at the same time always in all her various ports. If she left Mehedia yesterday, I know where she’s bound.’
‘Then so did the Governor?’ suggested Lymond, his eyes on the clever, impatient face.
‘Of course. He wanted the money. But if you board the Dauphiné now, you’ll get there before him. The Peppercorn goes from Mehedia to Scanderoon.’
‘Scanderoon. The port for Aleppo?’
‘Aleppo, Persia, and all points east and south. I imagine you were going to use the Dauphiné anyway to track the other ship down?’
‘Yes …’ He gave her a lift, neatly, and, as she settled herself in the saddle, gazed speculatively up at her. She said, on a spurt of unusual temper, ‘If you say I look hot once again, I shall die of boredom, I think.’
‘Don’t die,’ said Lymond pleasantly; and swinging into his own saddle, gathered the reins. ‘Have a fit.’ And the procession moved off.
The sun that day, for the first time, showed its real strength. Out of the shade of the olive trees, it struck, ringing as bronze, on the flat plains outside Sfax; on the grey flinty plains of the desert that stretched beyond, interrupted by the oasis at Gabès. The Spanish soldiers, surcoats over the burning shell of their armour, rode in bitter discomfort, silent except for the occasional command: even the open longing