Pawn in Frankincense (83 page)

A rustle; a shifting of colour ran through the whole room. Lymond said clearly, in Turkish, ‘That is not so.’

Gabriel turned on him. ‘Is it not? Do you deny that since the death of Mustafa you have adopted the guise of a Meddáh and roaming the city have incited people to rebellion, talking to them of the innocence of Mustafa and the guilt of Roxelana, the Sultan’s own gracious wife? Have you not entered and searched my home for papers the Sultana might have written proving her guilt? Have you not placed in the Sultana’s apartments even a girl, an English girl who under the guise of knowing no Turkish could find and read the Sultana’s own private correspondence, and could listen unseen to her talk? And when the Jewess who smuggled you out such information as you discovered was killed, did you not instal yet another, a Frenchwoman, under the colour of mending the French King’s clock-spinet?’

He paused, making a little space, and so the Grand Mufti, turning
his white beard and great bushel-green turban, was able to ask his quiet question. ‘Might it be known what information, if any, they discovered?’

What the Sheikh-ul-Islâm, the Ancient of Islam, inquired must surely be answered. Gabriel hesitated, but only for a moment. Then, with respect, he replied. ‘Until Rustem Pasha is here, Hâkim, to answer for himself, it is not my place to divulge it.’

The white beard considered that. Then, gentle-voiced, the Grand Mufti supplemented his question. ‘And the matter as it affects Roxelana Sultán. Were any new facts revealed about that?’

On his throne, Gabriel’s fair face was lined. He moved a little, twisting his rings, his eyes on his fingers. Then looking up: ‘I cannot answer that,’ he replied.

‘Then I can.’ Lymond’s voice cut through the whispering rustle. ‘No papers have been found, in Stamboul or elsewhere, which support to the slightest degree the rumour you speak of, that Rustem Pasha and Roxelana Sultán together plotted to have Mustafa and his child killed.’

The green turban of the Mufti turned towards him, and the old voice was dry. ‘Should thy tongue be so forthright? Had this been true, instead of the ganching spike, honour might have been thine as one who performs a great service.’

‘With deference, Hâkim,’ said Lymond, his voice equally dry. ‘Had it been true I should be equally dead. Until it has set its own affairs to order, no nation can afford to have rumours such as these bandied abroad. I have nothing to gain either way, so I choose to tell you the truth. These stories are quite unfounded.’

‘I think,’ said Gabriel’s rich voice softly, ‘that we have perhaps slipped away from the point. The accusation is that Mr Crawford has spread certain rumours. That he has lent colour to them by certain actions. That he has incited the citizens, and not only the citizens but the Janissaries, the cream of our troops, to a point where very soon there will be an open demand for an inquiry. I ask him: does he deny it?’

Lymond glanced round the assembly. He looked, Jerott thought, undisturbed and quite self-sufficient, with no hint of the horror which had washed over him, briefly, before he came out. He said again, in that lucid, carrying voice, ‘Do you know, I wonder, with your Western upbringing, the tale of the History of the Forty Viziers?’

Someone laughed. There was a rustle and Gabriel said smoothly, ‘Of course.’

‘You will remember, perhaps, its subject,’ Lymond said. ‘A king orders the execution of his innocent son, urged to it by the false accusations of his unhappy and desperate wife. Each morning the king is restrained from killing his son by fresh advice, framed in a tale by one of his forty wise councillors. And each evening he is
urged to it again by a tale from the queen. The stories are older than time, and told in many tongues: those I tell I had once in Persian. No, I don’t deny earning my bread as a Meddáh. Attacks on the Embassy directed not at me but at my unfortunate household forced me to relinquish my post. As Jubrael Pasha has so eloquently told you, I had little money. I stayed in hopes of seeing righted an injustice concerning the children, and to stay I needed shelter and food. This I paid for with stories. And the stories, as I have told you, concerned a king far older than the present great Sultan Suleiman, and a queen long dead and far less beautiful than his wife. If men discuss these in modern terms, it is no fault of mine.…’ He paused, and then added, a hint of laughter in the clear voice, ‘Also, men were generous. I am not now short of money, Jubrael Pasha. The Forty Viziers in their day paid almost as much as your treasure-chests.’

Gabriel’s face did not relax. ‘You deny it now, but I have witnesses who can say that the History of the Forty Viziers was not all that fell from your lips in your innocent walks in the city. If you had no share in the rumours, why plant your spies? Why smear your suspicions in our very bedchambers, unless you wished it to appear that you were looking for evidence?’

‘But I was!’ said Lymond mildly. ‘I was looking for evidence against you.’

In the Seraglio, all sounds were muted. The buzzing which ran round the chamber was no more than might have come from a nest-ful of wasps; but there was no doubt of the interest he had stirred. Gabriel rose to his feet. ‘Dog and progeny of dogs! Is this proper language to me? … Take him away.’

Lymond did not move. ‘And I found it,’ he said. ‘Is that why you wish to remove me? But how can you judge me when as yet you have produced no proof and no witnesses?’

‘Witnesses?’ said Gabriel. He sat down, smoothing his gown. He is not often crossed these days, thought Jerott. ‘Since you ask, I will give you witnesses,’ said Graham Malett, his rounded voice grim. ‘I call him named Míkál.’

Amiable as a girl: lively as a fawn
. Where had he read that? thought Jerott, watching the lithe figure unfold itself and walk slowly, with grace, to the brazier.

Lymond did not look at Míkál. Jerott, glancing from the Geomaler to the man he had betrayed, saw that Lymond’s hands were folded loosely before him; his brows raised a little and his eyes on the carpet; like a man weary of excuses pitching himself to hear yet another. Gabriel said gently, ‘Disguised as a story-teller, Crawford Efendi stayed in Míkál’s house, and Míkál, of whose loyalty there can be no question, on my advice made himself privy to all his plans. Tell, Míkál, how as Meddáh this man was heard to speak to all about him,
inflaming them with hatred for Roxelana and Rustem Pasha. Tell how the English girl was installed by guile in Roxelana’s own chambers, and told at all costs to find evidence against her. Tell how he fabricated a tale first of a son of his own and then of a child of King Henry’s in order to wrest from me my only dear son. Tell how, maligning the Sultana, he has brought even the Janissaries to the point of open rebellion.…’

Míkál looked up at the Vizier and over his shoulder at Lymond’s bent head. Then turning politely, he addressed the assembled officials. ‘I would,’ he said charmingly, ‘if I could: but how can I say what is not true?’

Lymond’s head came up at that, his eyes blazing; and Míkál looked into them and laughed, and against Gabriel’s voice, beginning a sudden startled tirade, Míkál added, ‘I regret to deny it when Jubrael Pasha has paid me so much; but while my conscience is clear I can conquer the world: the waterless desert fills me not with awe or with fear; I ride over it when the male owls answer one another at dawn, and I am not afraid. This I would keep. Therefore I say it is not true. The tales of the Meddáh were told, as you have heard, in all innocence, though many spoke of them afterwards who were not innocent, arid these the Meddáh listened to, and questioned, for the truth he desired. Likewise in the rooms of Jubrael Pasha he sought what he sought for the sake of Roxelana Sultán, and not to her detriment. I have taken thy money, but in truth I must say it. He found at length what he had been seeking. That from Jubrael Pasha and none other had the rumours of Roxelana’s complicity come.’

Gabriel’s voice was no less threatening for its extreme softness. ‘Whore! What has he paid you to lie? Or did he pay you in something other than gold? He found a cheap coinage, they say, for the Aga Morat in Gabès to prevent him from spreading his favours.… My lords, the boy is corrupt as the man.’

‘Then you had better,’ said the Grand Mufti against the hum of excitement, ‘call another witness who is incorruptible? Or perhaps the prisoner should speak? What of this proof he claims, incredible though it appears, against the Vizier himself?’

‘I would call,’ said Lymond, his eyes on Míkál, ‘… I think I would call … the Agha of Janissaries.’

Then for the second time Gabriel rose to his feet. A big man, splendidly built, he stood in majesty by his throne, the rubies answering with their fire the dull fire of the brazier; his gold-sewn crimson sweeping the floor. He spoke, with all the weary charitableness of which he was capable. ‘Lords: how can I stand, your Vizier, your appointed head of administration and supreme judge, your presiding head of Divan, and while judging find myself under attack? This court is no longer a court but a strutting-place for those who wish to be notorious.… I close the session. The case, if there is still a case,
must be reopened and tried elsewhere. The accusations against myself, if anyone entertains such, must be placed in the proper way, in the proper quarter. The prisoners meantime will return to their rooms, the man Míkál with them. Make way.’

He had got to the door and the Janissaries in a sweep of blue had stood out of his way when the daylight was blocked by a massive figure: the person of the head of the black eunuchs, the Kislar Agha himself. Gabriel hesitated, and the eunuch, looking at no one else, addressed him direct.

‘Lord, I bear a summons from Roxelana Sultán, for thyself and thy prisoners, together with the women and children and all concerned in this accusation today to present themselves forthwith in the selamlìk, in the Hünkâr Sofasi. There is an escort outside.’

There was, of eunuchs and Chiausi. Gabriel hesitated. The Mufti, his green robes rustling, rose gently and stood at his side. Tray do not hesitate on our account,’ he said thinly, ‘to do thy mistress’s bidding. Thy ruling is paramount and the court is concluded.’

Then, his face set, Gabriel turned. He looked at them all: Jerott, Archie, Míkál and finally Lymond himself, still standing very still by the throne. ‘Do you think it is finished?’ said Gabriel, in English. Then he added, ‘Bring them!’ curtly to the Chiausi, and, flanked by the eunuchs, walked down the steps of the Divan and over the court to where the leaves of the Gate of Felicity had swung quietly open. A few moments later, the four men followed him through.

Half-way through the inner courtyard Lymond, who had spoken to none of them, suddenly met Míkál’s eyes and said, ‘
But why bring back the children?
’

‘She ordered it,’ said Míkál. His eyes glittered with hidden excitement. He said, ‘Tell me of the Aga Morat?’

‘Oh, my God.… Another time,’ said Lymond. He was still, Jerott saw, completely steady … refreshed somehow, perhaps, as they moved from the Divan. Jerott said perversely, ‘Yes. Tell us about the Aga Morat. He formed an attachment for you, and you used him.’ It was strange to be able to speak of it, almost in jest. He stared at Míkál, wondering how far anyone was trusting him. ‘What did you use him for?’ said Jerott.

‘All the usual things,’ said Lymond evenly; and, walking ahead, stepped through the wide door of the selamlìk. Archie, catching Jerott’s abashed eye, took his arm grimly and walked him in after. Míkál followed.

Of her two identities, it was Roxelana the Ukrainian and not Khourrém the Laughing One who elected to hold her own tribunal that morning with every harness of power and magnificence owed to her as wife of Suleiman the Magnificent. For it, she chose the largest
room in the selamlik: the room used by her husband in winter for his entertainments and his receptions, in which girls from the harem played and danced, and musicians from the outside world performed blindfolded on strange instruments, and poets, blindfolded, recited.

Today it was filled with silence: silence from the mutes and dwarves, the pages and the black and white eunuchs ringing the walls: silence from the immense dome with its ring of coloured glass windows and the speckled tesserae of glass and of gold within, blazoned with the words of the Prophet. The words of the Qur’ân, in gold and enamel, also fretted the cornice; but from there to the ground the walls were tiled in pure white, flowered with blossoms in blue, in cerulean and light and dark ultramarine, the inner petals embossed with a bright coral red, shining like satin. Rugs hung over the tiles, and delicate hangings of silver and taffeta, masked by the long hanging chains bearing lamps of wrought silver and crystal and gold, each fashioned and domed like a mosque, its hanging pendant tasselled with seed pearls and diamonds and each cut from an emerald six inches square.

There was little furniture: open wall cupboards of carved wood and ivory; a marble fountain softly playing against one wall; a few low tables in mother of pearl and cedarwood and tortoiseshell, and some round stools of brass, scattered by the great braziers on the deep carpeted floor. The windows looked on the Bosphorus, and against them a carpeted dais filled the whole width of the room and was divided from it by a low rail picked out in gold, broken by shallow steps in the centre. At right angles to this, on a smaller dais and under the carved canopy and turban of state, sat Roxelana Sultán.