Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [169]
The first detachment left after midnight and, retracing their steps of the day, moved silently back to St Hilarion. Tobie, to his anger, was not with it; but he saw Nicholas ride out clad in full armour as were all of the captains. The King was with him. So were John le Grant and the pioneers, all garbed in leather or cloth, shadowy devils on shadowy mounts. He thought he saw camels. The sound of their feet died away and the camp settled again, perhaps to sleep. An hour passed, and another. The wind, rising, rattled the tents. Tobie, swearing, got up and, wrapped in his mantle, went off to check through the hospital tent. Two of his dressers were there, asleep on a pallet, and a man of the King’s, whose physician had gone with his master. Awake with a book by a candle was Abul Ismail, the Egyptian. He looked up and smiled, his bearded face folded in vertical lines. Tobie said, ‘The wind woke me.’
Abul Ismail laid down his book. ‘Your young friend will have to be careful. And your fine engineer.’
They had long since congratulated each other on the doctored beef. Tobie said, ‘The wind won’t affect hackbuts. All they want is to make noise and some smoke, while John has a close look at the walls.’
‘So I believe. But my ancestors, when beset, could defend themselves. Within the garrison may be slaves of my race, and the wind is in their favour. Wax cloth and squirrel, my friend, are convenient for silence. They do not promise a shield against naphtha.’
He had used the Arab word naft, and for a moment Tobie thought he meant firearms. Then he understood. ‘Greek fire? They may throw Greek fire?’
‘It was how the Crusaders were beaten. It is kindled and thrown in clay pots. Or shot from crossbows. The hillside would burn. Your pioneers would have little chance. Your knights, attempting to rescue, would boil like crabs in their armour. It is an unforgiving weapon.’
Tobie got up, took a step to the door, and turned back. ‘Ointments,’ he said.
‘They are here. The young man and the King have discussed this. The pioneers know of the danger. Your friend has taken what precautions he can. He is a versatile youth, but like the King somewhat heedless when hunting.’
‘He is there,’ Tobie said.
‘He wishes his plan to succeed. It is not in his nature to step aside from what he is creating. Once it is done, he will listen to reason.’
Tobie looked at him in silence, thinking of Trebizond. The Arab nodded once. He said, ‘I see you agree with me. While he is in thrall, he is mad. Perhaps a God-given madness; perhaps something quite other. I do not think you can cure it, but he requires some containment. A leash for the hawk, a halter for the colt, and the horse, and the young. Here they come.’
Tobie sprang to his feet. Then, rewrapping his cloak, he walked heavily to the tent door to watch the squadron arrive. The first person he saw was the King; the next Nicholas. They were shouting. He saw they were shouting with pleasure. Behind them, dismounting, were the pioneers. He saw John, his squirrel-vest open, his felt cap wringing wet in his fist. He was shouting as well. Roused by the noise and the orders, men tumbled out in their tunics and began to buckle on armour: the second squadron preparing to leave. A man limped up, holding his arm and complaining, and two others eased a third off his horse and carried him into the tent. He was cursing.
Nicholas, his helmet under his arm, came in raking his hair and dropped his hand, staring at Tobie. ‘That’s all we’ve got. Two wounded,’ he said. ‘You look disappointed.’
Tobie cleared his throat. He said, ‘I was getting ready to deal with your blisters. No naphtha?’
‘It was a total failure,’ Nicholas said. He dumped his helm and his gloves on an orderly, and unbuckled his sword for good measure. ‘I’m starving. Do you want to go on this foray? There isn’t much point. No one hits anybody.’
‘In that case, I’ll stay,’ Tobie said. ‘So what happened?’
No one answered directly. Presently he found himself in the firelight