Assassination in Al Qahira

by James Boschert

  The shipwreck had presented them with a harsh change to their plans, but now they might just be able to reach their destination after months of surviving on the beach.

  Talon doubted that there would be a hot pursuit, but he did not want to take any chances, so he pushed them on for the rest of the day, stopping only once before nightfall to allow the camels to take a little rest and water from their meager supply. They went on through the night, the camels tied together in line, following one another while the men on their backs slept.

  He hoped there would be another oasis along the route, but as he did not know the way he could only hope.

  * * * * *

  It was nearly a week later when they sighted human habitation and cultivated fields. They were again starving and very nearly out of water, although they had stumbled onto two small watering holes. The camels were in a pitiable condition, having had almost no food along the way. One had died a day earlier leaving them with only one mount each.

  Talon stopped his mount and squinted over the shimmering ground at the palm trees in the distance.

  Max and Montague brought their camels alongside Talon’s.

  “Why have you stopped, Talon?” Max asked.

  “I think we are close to the city of Al Iskandrȋyah. We Franks know it as Alexandria. There are many more palm trees than there would be for a simple oasis, and I see other signs of habitation. We must proceed very carefully now, as we have still a formidable barrier to cross: the great river. It is called the Nile, and I do not know it.”

  Late that night, once they were camped and had hobbled the camels, they discussed their options. Talon stared towards the east and thought he saw a dim light reflected against the sky and drew his companions’ attention to it.

  They stood and stared at a glow that seemed to wax and wane, to brighten and to dim again, but in the complete silence of the desert they had no clue and could not discern what it might be. They slept until the early hours of dawn and then continued east, still following the coastline within a few miles.

  It was around noon that they began to encounter farms and irrigation ditches full of muddy water, and the country gradually transformed itself from bleak desert into green swathes of cultivated land. Palm trees and other vegetation became plentiful.

  “I think we have arrived at Alexandria,” Talon said.

  Ivory palaces built on earth

  And mansions lined with galleries-

  With marble columns on inlaid floors

  In spacious halls that filled with parties:

  In a flash I saw them all as rubble

  And weathered ruins without a soul

  — Moshe Ibn Ezra

  Chapter 3

  Al Iskandriyah

  (Alexandria)

  The city of Al Iskandrȋyah was now in sight. They rode their tired camels along a wide spit of land that held the sea to their left, while to their right there was a huge lake bordered by irrigated fields and orchards. They stared around in wonder at the abrupt change of scenery.

  From the high vantage point of their mounts, they could see out to the calm blue sea where there were many kinds of boats: large galleys anchored, sleek sailing ships that danced lightly on the swell, and fishing boats clustered around a few ungainly hulls that wallowed rhythmically to the rise and fall of the surf.

  They filled their lungs with the salty air that came their way with the light breeze from the sea. Their tiredness lifted at the soothing sight of the well-tended green fields and the lush orchards neatly set along the lake side of the dusty road. Everything indicated that they had arrived at an impressive city. As they ambled towards the city walls, they passed by a cluster of small dwellings.

  Talon told his friends that it looked to him like a burial ground where poor people had built shelters to live among the tombs. An old, almost toothless man perched on the back of a sleepy looking donkey that was trotting the other way confirmed that it was the city of the dead.

  “I shall be there soon, waiting for you!” he called with a toothless cackle, and he waved his stick at them.

  They had little difficulty in gaining access to the city itself. Its high walls were well maintained and the gates were manned by soldiers who watched the constant stream of people entering and leaving. It was obvious they were bored, but all the same Talon tossed them a coin, and it was all that was needed to get past. After a few enquiries, Talon discovered modest lodgings for himself and his companions at a rented room that was a short walk from the main port of the city. He admonished his friends not to speak one word to anyone and to keep quiet when within ear shot of passersby. The man who rented to him wanted money up front, and clearly mistrusted the looks of these ragged scarecrows. Talon tipped a couple of small silver coins into the man’s grubby hand whilst giving him a warning glare that told their new host to mind his own business.

  As it turned out, Talon’s concerns about mingling with the crowds on the streets had little foundation; they passed unnoticed, even though they still wore their dusty stolen desert clothes wrapped about them. Their faces were covered almost completely, but so too were many others on the crowded streets.

  It seemed a little odd to Talon that no one remarked on the blue eyes of his two companions, but when he passed some other desert people at the bazaar, he realized why. They, too, had blue or gray eyes.

  However, encounters could not be avoided for long, and the first was very nearly a disaster. One look-alike desert dweller, recognizing something about the way they dressed, accosted Montague and wanted to talk; Talon hastily intervened and said his companion was dumb and they must hasten to prayers which were conveniently being called just at that time from the minarets of the mosque nearby. They hurried away, leaving the puzzled man staring after them.

  Talon sold the camels to a drover at the first opportunity. He did not want to have them in his possession and be accused of theft should the caravan they had stolen from make its way into the city and raise an alarm and a search. After some haggling with the skinny man, who wanted to pay a fraction of what the animals were worth, he managed to walk off with a few silver coins to add to his pouch. He intended that they should find a passage out of the city as soon as possible, by boat. This idea had come to mind as he watched the extent of the shipping in the harbors.

  One evening, when they were preparing to go to sleep, Montague whispered, “I have never been near the people of the Islamic east like this. It makes me uneasy and I feel threatened.

  “The crowded streets of the city do not help. I do not know whether I should draw my sword and set about me, or behave like a mouse and do nothing!” he complained. Talon snorted a suppressed laugh at his friend’s obvious unease.

  Max was more relaxed, having spent many years in the Kingdom of Jerusalem.

  “You must learn that you will rub shoulders with our enemies as much as you fight them,” he admonished Montague. “Even now you live in another world that is confusing with regard to friend and foe. There are Bedouin who are Moslem and live in the deserts to the south of the kingdom of Jerusalem, near Ascalon, which is where Sir Phillip and I met, and they are our friends. They do not like the sultans nor their Turkish mercenaries any more than we do.”

  “God’s truth, but I am a fighter, and I like to be clear who my enemies are,” Montague growled. He gave a ferocious look at his friends that made Talon and Max grin at him.

  “All the same, I find this city of Al Iskandrȋyah huge and magnificent, Talon,” Max remarked.

  Talon nodded agreement. “Max is right. We are not in a world where everything is clear. There are many eddies and currents here that are not easy to see, but a man must learn to swim in them to survive. This is an ancient city, but I don’t know much about it, my friends. We must be careful.”

  Talon observed that there were many wealthy residences; this was a rich city. Some were huge buildings that seemed more like fortresses, he noted. The one edifice that most awed them was the tall construction situated on th
e end of a sand bar on the other side of the harbor. It seemed like a fortress at its base but the tower was taller than any other building in the city. At its summit there seemed to be a fire tower. To the three men, it did not seem to be a palace, nor to have much of a function.

  They remarked, on the nights when they went up on the flat roof of their accommodation to enjoy the cool of the evening, that a great light came from it, and it shone primarily out to sea. It perplexed them, until Talon had the opportunity to finally ask one of the people in the street what it was.

  The answer was contemptuous. “You are not from here, are you? Where do you come from that you do not know of the great Lighthouse of Al Iskandrȋyah on the island of Pharos? Great fires are kept alight on the very top and reflected by mirrors; it is for the ships at sea so they can see at night when they are on course for the city. You are ignorant desert folk; it is easy to tell by your weird blue eyes and filthy clothes! By the Prophet, but you stink!” The local man stalked off sniffing and theatrically waving his hand about his nose. They watched him go in puzzlement.

  Talon had not fully understood the explanation, but he translated what he heard for his companions.

  “He called it a light tower. There is some kind of a fire house on top of the tower and the flame guides ships at sea to find their way into the city harbor.”

  “That makes some sense,” Max reflected. “It is so flat around here a ship would be half way across the desert before its captain knew he had made land, if they did not have some such to warn them off.”

  The others snickered.

  They could not stay here any longer, as their supply of money was fast disappearing and they had to find a way to continue eastward. They needed to gain passage on a boat to Jerusalem, or at the least, out of Egypt to somewhere north in that direction.

  They were strolling in the back streets of the harbor and Talon thought he saw an inn. It was a miserable affair but he guessed that it was a place where a ship’s master might hang out.

  He pointed it out and they wove their way along the crowded, noisy passage to a door of what could be a tavern. Avoiding the filth, the scuttling rats and the beggars, they ducked under a leather curtain. It took a second or two for Talon’s eyes to become accustomed to the dimly lit room, and then for his nose to adjust to the lack of air. The fetid atmosphere assailed his nostrils, while the shouts of drunken men pounded his ears. He pulled his kafeya over his nose to block out some of the stench. He noticed two scruffy looking men seated in a corner, one of whom, by the look of his dress and his wide seamed and bearded face, had to be a seaman from the north. He decided to ask them first. He made his way across the room, closely followed by Max and Montague, their hands on their sword handles.

  He realized that there were many men in the inn who looked like seamen and who had found their way to this filthy drinking hole. The sale of wine was forbidden in public, which explained why this hovel was well hidden. He supposed that the authorities turned a blind eye to this kind of place that was patronized by the Greeks, Genoese and Venetians who brought the town their valuable cargoes. It was best to know where they were entertained in this otherwise austere city of Islam.

  They were accosted twice while moving through the crowded room by painted whores who offered their services for almost nothing, baring their breasts and wriggling their hips suggestively. Shrugging them aside, Talon approached the two men, who were obviously in their cups. He tossed a small silver coin onto the rough stained table top to get their attention.

  It was clear the larger man was not an Arab, although his scrawny companion could have come from any country along the northern seaboard of Africa. The wide faced man looked up at the three ruffians standing in front of him and leaned back on his stool. He wore a greasy leather jerkin over equally well used canvas cloth shirt and breeches. Talon noted that the other man’s hand slid towards his belt, where he probably kept a knife.

  The big man frowned and asked in bad Arabic, “What do you want?”

  “Salaam Aliekom. We are looking for a ship’s master.”

  “I am a shipmaster; what is it to you?”

  “We want passage to Cyprus. Do you know of anyone going there from this city?” Talon asked politely.

  The man looked him over and then turned his gaze upon his two silent companions.

  “Where are you from?” he asked in a truculent tone.

  “That is our business. Can you take us to Cyprus?”

  “I can, but it will cost you. What do three Tuareg want to go to Cyprus for, in any case?”

  “How much?

  “Four gold Beziers.

  “That is far too much. I have silver to pay with.” Talon almost had to shout over the noise of the room. “I can pay you twenty pieces like the one on the table.”

  They haggled over the price, with Talon agreeing to work their passage to help offset the full price the man wanted. The man gave his name as Caravello; he was from Venice. Wine was delivered to their table by a servant Caravello had beckoned over from the other end of the crowded room.

  Talon begged off the drink, saying that they were good Moslems and would not sin. Caravello shrugged and took a swig of his wine.

  Then his skinny companion tried to get Montague and Max to talk. Talon intervened each time, warding off inquisitive questions, but the man persisted for some reason, and suddenly said in a sure tone, “You don’t look like a Tuareg. You are too light skinned for that, although your eyes are blue. Where are you really from? ” He addressed his question directly at Montague, who looked blankly at him.

  “I am tired of your inquisition. If you don’t want a knife in your ribs, you will be silent, now!” Talon said with a fierce look on his face.

  He turned on the captain. “Is our deal good or not? I do not want to stay in this filthy hole any longer than I have to.”

  “You pay me half now, and half when we leave the port,” the captain said.

  Talon spilled the silver onto the table and stood.

  “Where do we meet you?”

  “On the water’s edge, to the east quay where there is a galley, the biggest in the harbor this day. I am the Master. You will be expected; we leave tonight. I shall not be taking any livestock, so leave your stinking camels in the desert!” Caravello gave a bark of laughter, scooped the silver off the table into a small leather bag, and returned to his drinking.

  Talon shouldered his way out of the crowded room and into the side street, followed by his two companions. He breathed in the cleaner air of the street and then exclaimed, “By God, even the air out here in this stinking street is less foul than that of the pig sty in there!”

  Montague grunted acknowledgement. “I nearly passed out when the skinny one breathed on me. I thought I smelt a rotten whiff of sulphur!”

  Max spoke next, “That man is dangerous, and I trust neither him nor the captain of the ship we are to take. Do you think we can trust them, Talon?”

  “I trust neither of them, but they are all we have. I cannot take you clear across Egypt as we are. Each day we risk exposure and prison, or worse. We barely have money to pay for our fare. I never thought a place could be so expensive!” He scowled at the sight of how little silver remained in his palm.

  “Come on friends, we have to get what remains of our equipment, and find our way back again before dark. Besides, I am hungry,” he said, leading the way to their refuge.

  Dusk drew in and the hubbub of the city stilled somewhat, to be replaced with the call from the minarets across the darkening horizon. Talon was reminded of another time when he listened with a sense of calm to the call of the mullah as he recited the prayers to God. “Aaallah-Ackbar! God is great!”

  They had dined frugally upon some stale unleavened bread and anchovies with a half a fig thrown in for good measure; it had done little to still Talon’s growling stomach. He had been frugal with the money he had stolen, knowing they would need it to bribe inquisitive officials, and others, and to pay for the
boat. The price for the passage was too high, but he did not think they had much choice at this point.

  Montague came and stood next to the open window and listened with him.

  “I hate that sound,” he muttered. “I so much prefer the sound of the bells calling us to church. I miss that, Talon, do you not?”

  “I have spent most of my life in this part of the world. I spent four years staying alive in the world of Islam and grew to like much of it. While I do not agree with their faith, they have much knowledge that we could learn from.”

  Montague coughed and spoke in an uneasy tone, “Isn’t that heresy, Talon? Are we not dedicated to fighting everything they stand for?”

  “You should listen to Talon, Montague,” Max said. He joined them at the window to watch the red orb of the sun as it dipped below the level of the roofs and the distant palm trees. He continued while they watched the sunset.

  “He has lived not only in the Kingdom of Jerusalem, but in Persia, too. He has told me wondrous things about their way of life, and for the life of me, I am quite envious of them in part.” Then he added hastily, “But I would not give up my faith for it.”

  “Of what do you talk, Max?” Montague asked. “They are heathen, and followers of a pretender! What can they offer us in exchange for our faith?”

  “There is much, Montague, especially here; the civilization of the Egyptians far outruns that of the Islamic faith, which is new, as history goes,” Max replied.

  “The people of these eastern countries were conquered in the name of Allah, but their skills and sciences were begun long before the conquest by Islam, and now they thrive under its mantle. It is of these that I have spoken to Max. It is these things we, from our northern Christian fastness, should learn,” Talon said.

  “You should remember that their doctors make our leeches look and smell like butchers!” Max added with a chuckle.