Pawn in Frankincense

by Dorothy Dunnett

  ‘Then you can break the news to him then.’ Marthe studied the other girl for a moment. ‘Will you take advice?’

  Philippa’s brown gaze was direct and her answer as simple. ‘About Mr Crawford? I think you know him much better than I do.’

  Unexpectedly, the thick fair lashes fell. ‘In some things. For example … he will not, I think, find it logical to live with what he has done today. I have told him that you are his responsibility. While he believes that, he will continue to protect you. I tell you this, so that you will understand what is happening. He will measure his life by your helplessness.’

  Philippa stared at Lymond’s sister, the circles black under her eyes. ‘According to Kate,’ said the Pearl of Fortune, ‘I am the very nadir of helplessness. So is Kúzúm.’

  ‘Good. It is perhaps academic,’ said Marthe. ‘Soon the drug will. kill him unless he stops; and if he stops he will not be fit to travel.…

  And I have a feeling that, when we go, we should go very quickly.’ She smiled. ‘I shall look after your Kuzúm. Go and eat, and sleep. He will be kind to you.’

  27

  Constantinople: The French Embassy

  He was kind, for a man who had nothing left but a violent longing to be alone. From the moment Lymond wakened in the silver four-poster bed which some sycophantic Doge had sent long ago to some Sultan, his companions hovered about him, brushing him with their silent solicitude until he brought together all his self-command and addressed Jerott, an edge in his voice. ‘Tell Archie I’m getting up. It’s like being host to a sheep tick.’

  He had had two hours’ rest. Because of that, and the febrile stirring of the drug, he had recovered a flickering shadow of vigour: a nervous temper which Jerott, puzzled and anxious, could not rightly interpret. He saw only that Lymond had thrown off some of his exhaustion and was thankful. But he still would not leave him; escorting him doggedly into the larger room where they were to eat, and where Philippa had now joined Abernethy and Gaultier.

  Philippa watched them come in. She had already heard their voices: Lymond’s cutting in anger, and Jerott answering. It was obvious what was happening. She even began to say, ‘Archie …’ and he had turned his broken-nosed face and answered her quickly. ‘No. We can’t leave him alone.’ Then they were in the room, Jerott breathing hard, his lips straight, and Lymond beside him, his eyes blazing, his voice soft and detached. ‘… Be a father-figure by all means if you must. Protector of the Poor and father of Orphans; the refuge of widows and the mirror of honesty and shamefastness accompanied by Modesty. Acquire a harem. But kindly don’t meddle with me …’

  Then he saw Philippa and Archie and stopped; and after a moment crossed and dropped on the cushions Archie indicated beside him. Jerott walked straight past and went to stand at the window.

  Philippa sat, crosslegged and silent, her bent face masked by the fall of her shining brown hair, and gripped her hands, knuckle to knuckle, until her fingers went white and the bones cracked. Dear Kate, how understanding we were about funerals: how we shared in the weeping beforehand and the lightheartedness, the unsuitable laughter which followed. We’ve had a victory. We’ve won a battle whose importance perhaps no one yet knows, after a year of effort which has changed every one of us. Gabriel is dead; and we are free and alive, except for one small boy, a stranger to whom we were strangers too. And tonight there is hardly one of us who does not wish, in his remorse, that he had died in his place. She said, ‘Do we want to eat, Archie? Marthe and Kuzúm are in bed.’

  ‘Could you sleep?’ Archie said. She was going to answer when Lymond said suddenly, ‘As alternatives, they leave a lot to be desired. Could no one bring us some raki? If we must have a wake let us make it a happy one. Heureux qui, comme Ulysse, a fait un beau voyage. Let’s have Jerott’s form of decadence for a change.’ Jerott said, ‘Francis, shut up.’

  Lymond went on, ignoring him. ‘Can you recite? Tell us six dirty stories. Let’s have a sing-song, like the brave old days round the campfire. Why not be cheerful?’

  ‘Why not,’ said Gaultier viciously, ‘play chess?’

  It silenced Lymond. His head went back as if he had been struck, the indrawn air caught in his throat. He said nothing more.

  Archie Abernethy got up and, bending, wrenched Georges Gaultier to his feet with the arms accustomed to tigers. Then he slung him, protesting, out of the room into the bedchamber and turned the key in the lock. Jerott said, ‘Has anyone got any money?’

  No one had. Philippa thought of the diamonds now lying in Roxelana’s silk coffers, a fortune squandered for nothing. She said, ‘Would this help?’ and, undoing the tortoiseshell clasp round her neck, held out the jade. She saw from Archie’s eyes that he guessed what it cost. Jerott said, ‘It might,’ and, pocketing it, made for the door, his courtly manners struck from him; reduced, as they all were, to the basic humanities. Archie said, ‘What? Raki?’

  ‘If I can bribe someone,’ Jerott said. ‘He’s right. I’d rather be decadent than mad.’ Archie said, ‘I’ll come and help.’ The door closed. And Philippa found herself with Lymond, alone in the room.

  No one spoke. In the silence filling the room she could feel the blows of her heart in her ribs: her breathing made a queer noise, like the sound of weak bellows in a poor state of repair. Lymond’s arms rested on his updrawn knees and his head was bent over them, the long fingers deep in his hair. Next door, she could hear Gaultier move about, muttering; perhaps going to bed.

  Five minutes passed. The wall was just behind her. She learned back, softly, stretching her cramped limbs, the tawny silk spread all about her; and, as if in answer, slowly the tense fingers opposite relaxed, and without looking up Lymond spoke to her. ‘Temperament. I’m sorry.’

  ‘You have nothing to apologize for,’ said Philippa; but she had stirred some thought in his mind, because he dropped his hand and said, commanding his mind with an effort that could be felt, ‘Don’t wrest from me my repentance. A whoremonger, a haunter of stews, a hypocrite, a wretch and a maker of strife.… Kate is going to think I have a great deal to apologize for.’

  ‘Luckily,’ said the new Philippa calmly, ‘we aren’t talking about what Kate thinks. I don’t regret anything. Except, perhaps, all that training and I never did wriggle up from the bottom of the bed. I always wondered how one got past his feet. And my philology is superb.’

  It was the faintest of smiles on his lips; but it was there. He said, Tm sure of it. But it all poses certain problems in ordinary life.’

  ‘This isn’t ordinary life?’ said Philippa; and he shook his head, and said, ‘It’s all right. You don’t need to clown. I’m speaking of going back home. No more peacocks, but eating the milk of buffaloes and cast-down melon skins.’

  ‘Do you think,’ said Philippa helplessly, ‘that they’ll try to stop us?’

  He looked at his hands. ‘I shouldn’t be surprised. It would suit Roxelana for one thing. But at least they’ll let us get out of the Seraglio, I imagine, and back to the Embassy. Don’t worry. I shall get you back home. With Kuzúm.… Philippa, have you given a thought to the future, once you are home?’

  Kuzúm. Philippa said, her throat tight, ‘You’ll want him, of course, at Midculter. But if I could stay with him until he gets to know you all better …’ And saw by his face that she had read him quite wrongly.

  He said, ‘Kuzúm? But he is yours, of course, for as long as you want him. I was speaking of other things. They have broken to you, I imagine, the exciting news about the Venetian four-poster. Don’t worry about that either. Think of it as a camp, with Míkál and his friends. You shall lose as little privacy as possible. What I am trying to point out is that, once you are home, you will find that to some people innocence doesn’t exist side by side with experience, and adventure is a limited thing. It will be known, long before we get there, that you have been a concubine in Suleiman’s harem; that you journeyed alone through Greece with Míkál, and that you were given to me and that we shared this room to
gether. And men are conventional beings, even the best of them.’

  Philippa’s brown eyes suddenly danced. ‘You mean my reputation is ruined? No wealthy gentlemen suing for my favours?’

  ‘No respectable wealthy gentlemen suing for your favours,’ he said. She had made him half-smile again.

  It seemed such an extraordinary thing for him to be concerned about that Philippa stared at him owlishly while she considered the matter. Then she said, guessing his main preoccupation, ‘Kate won’t be troubled. I don’t know any gentlemen, anyway.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Lymond. ‘You mean that when you left home you were too young for the marriage market. Or uninterested, at least. Such are the ways of nature, I must inform you, that one day the situation is likely to change.’

  He stopped abruptly, and rising to his feet, walked to the wall and then turned, looking down on her. ‘You were ready to spend the rest of your life safeguarding that child,’ he said. ‘You faced God knows what dangers and devilment tracing him. You will no doubt in due time collect your just award in the Heavenly Kasbah, daily visited by seventy thousand angels. Until that time, so far as I am able, I intend to see that nothing which has happened to you here interferes with your happiness or prospects. I can’t say you’re being very helpful.’

  Philippa looked up at him, her narrow face grave. ‘I have helpful intentions,’ she observed. ‘Actually the Kislar Agha is the man for these assurances. Do you think he would give me a written guarantee, dated tomorrow?’

  ‘Philippa?’ said Francis Crawford. And this time, the tawny silk unrumpling slowly, she rose to her feet.

  She had grown. Kate’s vicious friend, once so elevated, was taller by little more than a head. She drew her brows together, and studied the circles under his eyes. He said lightly, ‘My dear girl; it’s Almoner’s Saturday. With six frails of figs and a sackful of almonds, I am offering you my name.’

  Philippa’s lips parted. The smith in her chest, changing a wooden mallet for a small charge of gunpowder, pulverized brain, lungs and stomach and left her standing, wan as a blown egg. She said shakily, ‘How would that help?’

  Round his mouth, the curled lines deepened, and his eyes, very blue, lit suddenly with something like the flame she had seen struck in them at other times, by other things and other people. ‘Stout Philippa,’ he said. ‘Sit down and hear.… There is no guarantee for you now except marriage. Do it now, and you go home a respectable matron of fifteen … sixteen——’

  ‘Nearly seventeen,’ said Philippa.

  ‘Yes. Well: with no money but a good many friends and enough property to keep a roof over your head and Kúzum’s. Then, as you choose, you may divorce me.’

  She cleared her throat. ‘On what grounds?’

  He looked at her directly, his voice level. ‘On very obvious grounds. We shall find another Kislar Agha, if you like, to give you a guarantee.… You must have no fears that this will be anything but a marriage on paper. But I want it done now. Tomorrow, if the Embassy chaplain can do it.’

  Philippa’s gaze was also direct. ‘You think there is a chance we may not all get home?’

  ‘There is a chance some of us may not,’ he said quietly. ‘I want to do this very much. I have very little to offer you … an irresponsible past, and a name which is … in some places questionable. But it will shelter you until you can do better.’

  ‘And you?’ said Philippa. ‘With a fifteen-… sixteen-… seventeen-year-old titular wife? What will Sybilla say? It isn’t a practical method of founding a dynasty.’

  ‘My brother has founded the dynasty.’

  Cool and curt. It ended any attempt to discuss his affairs. And yet what less could she do, when offered this prodigious bounty? He had foreseen a difficulty, which was undeniable, although she could not see it as pressing. He had further felt he owed her a duty. He had talked of the benefits to her; he had not spoken of what he might be sacrificing. Was there some woman waiting, at home or in France, who might be mortally hurt by this gesture? What indeed would his mother, Sybilla, say? And what, oh, what, would Kate? … Dear Kate. You will be pleased to learn that my hand in marriage has been sought and received by Mr Crawford, and I am happy to inform you that you are now his …

  Philippa said abruptly, ‘I’m sorry. I think it’s a magnificent gesture, but the situation really calls for nothing nearly so drastic. People would think we were crazy.’

  He was not smiling now. He said in the same quiet voice, ‘You are afraid?’

  ‘No,’ said Philippa angrily. ‘My goodness, after all those interminable lectures? I understand what you’re trying to guard against. But I don’t see why, even at the worst, it can’t wait until we get home.’

  Lymond was angry too. He said, ‘Oh, God in Heaven,’ furiously, and got up again to prowl to the wall where he stopped, running his hand through his hair. Then he dropped it, and drew a long breath. ‘All right. Let me spell it all out for you. I am doing this now because I almost certainly have no future. If I escape Roxelana, I shall see you all into safety. If the opium lets me down, Jerott and Archie will see you the rest of the way. If it doesn’t let me down, I shall take it until you are all out of danger, and then I shall cease taking it and leave you. What happens then will be interesting, but I am told the chances of a complete cure are not very high. In any case, I have no intention of going back to Scotland, then or at any time in the future. Therefore I ask you to marry me tomorrow. There will be no other chance. It may matter to you. And it matters to me not at all.’

  She had asked for it; and she had got it. She stared at him, breathing hard to keep back the tears, and knew suddenly and finally why Marthe had warned her. Philippa said, ‘I shall do it if you give me a promise.’

  He said, ‘How kind of you. What is the promise?’

  The stability of her chin became a matter of moment. She said hardily, ‘That … even married to me … you do nothing, ever, to arrange your own death.’

  There was a little silence. Then he said, ‘Whose idea was that? Jerott’s?’

  ‘I think,’ said Philippa carefully, ‘it was an inspiration of my own.… If anything would damage my chances of a good second marriage that would.’

  This time, there was no pause. Francis Crawford said merely, ‘These things have nothing to do with you. Think again.’

  ‘I have thought,’ said Philippa stubbornly. ‘No promise, no bride.’

  It was not pleasant waiting. Nor, when he spoke, was it better. ‘You bloody little dictator,’ he said. ‘You’re exactly like Kate.’

  But he gave her his word.

  In the end, all the raki Jerott and Archie brought back was in Jerott and Archie. They were quarrelsome and maudlin by turns, and Lymond turned them into the same room as Gaultier and left them alone, without trying to install either information or planning into their oblivious heads.

  By then, Philippa, aching as if she had been beaten, had slipped off her outer robe and climbed into the Venetian bed in her body linen, which was embroidered and not very long, her combed hair tidied back with a ribbon. After a moment she got out again and, pulling off the exquisite quilt, made a sleeping-bag of it on the carpet and wondered whether, as one of the underprivileged young, she should occupy it herself. Then she decided that if she were to have a new status forced upon her, she might as well learn to live up to it; and, climbing back into bed, fell astonishingly and profoundly asleep.

  She awoke an hour or two later shivering, and recalled with a great drop of the heart where she was sleeping and why. It had become very cold. Craning over the edge of the bed, she saw on the far stretch of carpet the dark shape which must be the quilt; and then, straining, the gleam of Lymond’s hair in the faint moonlight streaming through the high window. She did not reahze that he was awake until his head turned, his eyes dark as a lynx in the night, and his voice said quietly, ‘What is it?’

  All Kate’s maternal instincts and her own common sense rose and drowned Philippa’s qualms. She
said, ‘I’m cold. And if I’m cold, you must be freezing. Put that quilt back on the bed and come and sleep on the other side. I don’t mind. And who’s to know?’

  There was faint amusement in the low voice. ‘My dear girl, there isn’t a soul in the Seraglio who doesn’t believe I’m there anyway.’

  Philippa had forgotten. She recovered, and said, ‘Well, put it back anyway. You can’t sleep without it, and neither can I. Heaven knows, the bed’s big enough.’

  It was: a remarkable object running to cherubs, with a great deal of pendulous drapery. The quilt, homing back to its blankets, fell over her with a comforting sigh: laying it straight, Lymond’s hand for a second touched her. Philippa sat up. ‘You’re frozen!’

  He had moved to the far side. I’m tired, that’s all; so I feel it. Look, you’re sure you don’t mind?’

  ‘After Míkál?’ said Philippa. ‘Anyway, it’s almost legitimate. We’re going to be joined in holy wedlock tomorrow.’ She rather liked the terrible phrase. ‘Did you enjoy your bachelor party?’

  ‘Archie and Jerott both did,’ he said drowsily. The mattress had hardly moved to his weight, but she knew he was there, lying still, with the furthest extent of the big bed between them. The cold must have kept him awake a long time, for once there, he slipped almost at once into sleep.

  Silence. With warmth once more enfolding her, it was strange that she was content just at first to lie awake, thinking in peace, the moonlight slowly searching the bedchamber; the quilt, the crystal cherubs; her partner.

  Frightening, that Fate should so turn that Francis Crawford of Lymond, the source of her earliest terror, the hated intruder in her mother’s calm house, should be here, alone and asleep in her bed. How many women, one wondered, had lain adoring that fair head at rest on the pillow? Why, everywhere he goes—down through the years came her own hoarse, childish voice—he has hundreds and hundreds of mistresses. And Kate’s voice, not quite as amused as it seemed, Do learn tolerance, infant. Then Philippa herself fell asleep.