Pawn in Frankincense - Dorothy Dunnett [93]
He was holding, he found, the straight shoulders and folded-back veil of a beautiful woman. She was small, hardly over his heart, but of a classical perfection: her eyes, looking up at him, were deep brown and momentarily serious. He released her, looking still. He saw a clear, olive face with black brows and heavy coils of black hair, strung on her brow with looped pearls. Her nose was Greek, long and straight, and her lips soft and full. But her voice, when she spoke, was a full contralto, commanding its English with a mingling of accents he was unable to place. ‘Mr Blyth? You are well, and have come to discover why you may not proceed forthwith to Aleppo? I am afraid I am the one you must blame. You see, I have explicit instructions from my dear lord.’ She smiled, the black brows arched. ‘We shall try to make your enforced sojourn as pleasant as possible.’
Jerott opened his mouth and shut it again. Then he said, ‘You are …’
‘I am Güzel, Dragut Rais’s principal mistress,’ said the woman agreeably. ‘But I should like you, if you will, to address me as Kiaya Khátún.’
10
Zakynthos
On the Venetian island of Zakynthos, in better times known as the Flower of the Orient, off the west coast of Greece, and with the full width of the Mediterranean Sea between herself and the occurrence at Gabès, Philippa Somerville sat in the local Lazaretto in her fifth week of quarantine, playing a cut-throat game of cards for olives, with Archie Abernethy, her escort. Looking on, in varying stages of convalescence, were their three fellow sufferers from Venetian hygiene: a Sicilian currant-importer, a freelance interpreter and another dervish, one of which, said Archie gloomily, seemed to turn up, free, in every two pokes of pepper.
Determined to look on the bright side of things, Philippa collected her winnings, and ate them. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘We’re a nice, representative group. I can do card-tricks, and you can train animals and Haji Ishak can he on nails and Sheemy Wurmit can do a comic turn with his parrot and Signor Manoli can swear in ten different dialects of Sicilian. We only need a good bass-baritone and a tenor rebec, and we could work out a tour.’
Nobody grinned. Sighing, Philippa took up the cards, gazed sorrowfully at Archie Abernethy, and began dealing again. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘How was I to know I was a chicken-pox carrier?’
To Archie Abernethy, as well, it seemed a long time since he had left Lymond’s ship just outside Algiers and sailed with Leone Strozzi to Sicily in the simple belief that he was about to escort Philippa, her maid Fogge and four men-at-arms safely home.
They had reached Syracuse safely enough. They had taken leave of Strozzi and returned to the inn he had found for them while Archie arranged the next stage of their journey. At that point, Philippa had broken the news that, far from going home, she was on her way to Zakynthos, and why. ‘Urn,’ said Archie Abernethy, staring at her so intently that his two eyes seemed to meet over the broken bridge of his nose. ‘So the Dame de Doubtance teilt ye the bairn might be there? And ye’ve a ring?’
He studied the ring. ‘And this wasny from the old lady, but another one. D’ye mind the young woman’s name?’
‘It was Kiaya Khátún,’ said Philippa. ‘She gave me the address in Zakynthos I was to call at. And it’s no use looking like that, Archibald Abernethy, because I’m going.’
‘I doubt Fogge isna going,’ said Archie artfully. Fogge, prone ever since Pantelleria, was prepared to set sail again, she had conveyed, in her coffin. ‘And if you take the men-at-arms, who’s to protect her?’
‘I don’t want the men-at-arms,’ said Philippa. ‘It’s none of their business. If you’re not interested in saving a Christian child from the hands of the Turk, Archie Abernethy, I’ll just go on my own.’
‘Oh, Christ!’ intoned Archie Abernethy through his broken-backed nose, and looked at her sideways, considering.
It had been a matter for concern,