The various scholars who interpreted the Hadith and read from the Koran would be there surrounded by their faithful students. Abbas would sometimes go over and listen to this or that scholar whom he respected, even entering into discussions that would on occasion last a whole afternoon.
Talon noticed that there was another side to Cairo. Many of the streets were not in good repair. Most of them were unpaved tracks, dotted with pot holes and ruts from the last rains, so he was forced, as were other pedestrians, to pay attention to where he trod. Many were mere passage ways, filthy and crowded with beggars: crippled and maimed ex-soldiers and other ragged people of the poorer kind who were hurrying to and fro.
He encountered the usual heavily loaded donkeys trotting ahead of their drovers, and camels which refused to be hurried and ambled along at their own pace. The air was charged with the smell of cooking oil and food, spices and baking bread, which vied with the unpleasant stinks of the hot street. Rats were everywhere, and they were huge. They were quite unafraid of people and simply sat on their hind legs and stared balefully at passersby with their beady red eyes.
The heat was constant and suffocating within the confines of these narrow streets. The walker was constantly beset by flies that seemed to come from everywhere to attack the eyes and mouth. He deemed it prudent at these times to wear a covering over the nose and mouth, both to repel the flies and to filter the putrid stinks that emanated from the puddles of stagnant water that remained in the deeper pot holes. Talon longed for the desert and began to miss the Fayoum.
As the afternoon progressed and the sun lost some of its ferocity, the city would slowly wake up and more people and their animals showed up on the streets. The racket of many hammers tapping on metal started up again, construction work intensified and vendors shouted their wares to the growing crowds emerging onto the streets. The occasional camel train would saunter by, its owner tugging at the lead camel’s chin rope, shouting for passage way. The huge loads on their backs almost filled the street from side to side and a person had to get into a doorway or take another street to get out of the way. The noise of people talking animatedly and the shouts of the drovers along with the screams and yells that came from inside the houses hurt his ears.
But his explorations always led him back towards the souk. This place was more of a caravanserai but much larger than anything he had seen in Persia. This was a warren of huge stone blocks and in some cases ancient looking pillars that denoted some extravagant building at one time, perhaps a temple, upon which masons had added mud brick to form arches and covered streets, some so narrow that only two people could negotiate the path at the same time, so that one had to move into the merchant’s open shop space to give room when a loaded donkey came by.
His next discovery was the world of the beggars.
One day while he paused at the entrance to the souk to admire the stone archway that framed the entrance to the depths of that warren of covered streets and shops, he felt a tug on his leg. He instantly looked down and saw one of the numerous beggars sitting on the ground.
This one, however, was a boy, and it seemed he had lost a leg: there was just a stump below the knee. His crudely made crutch was laid alongside him, but he had managed to shuffle right into Talon’s path from his place off the nearby wall. The boy looked desperate, and his gaunt face had none of the cunning Talon had come to associate with most of the beggars he had run into so far.
“What is it?” Talon asked.
“In the good name of Allah, can you spare alms or food, Oustez?” The boy asked him in a rasping voice tinged with desperation. He looked sick.
“I can give you a dirham, but can you go and get the food with it?” Talon asked, looking hard at the boy. The creature wore a few filthy rags and his remaining foot was bare. His hair was matted and filthy. He tossed the small copper coin to the boy, who snatched it in midair and then hauled himself up pushing his back against the wall. Talon walked over to a street vendor who was selling chicken kebabs on thin reed sticks that were cooking on charcoal.
Buying one, Talon took it back to the boy, gave it to him, and admonished him to eat it slowly and go rest somewhere.
“May Allah be kind to you, Jo Oustez,” the boy said, looking stunned, with tears in his eyes as he took the meat and began to devour it.
Talon continued his exploration of the souk without giving it another thought. But in subsequent days he noticed the boy at the same place every time he went near the place. He made a point of even walking across the busy street to give the boy a small coin or some food he had stolen from the palace, and before long the boy would smile at him and bob his head with thanks and then heap praise on him as he left.
One day, remembering his time in Isfahan, Talon decided to try something out. He was on his way as usual during the afternoon to walk the souk; the boy was at his usual place; it was quiet at this time of day with few people moving about, so he walked up and stood over him.
The boy was not paying much attention to what was going on around him, but he noticed the shadow and glanced up, squinting in the still bright sunlight. “Ah, it is you, Oustez. May Allah be kind to you in this life and the next.” His thin features registered pleasure at seeing Talon.
Talon noticed that the boy did not look as unhealthy as he had been the first time, which was good. He asked the boy, “Are you always here in this place?”
“Yes, Oustez. This is my place.”
“Can you not go somewhere else?”
“No, Oustez. The chief would not like it; he is my protector, and besides, this is a good place for me.”
Talon had to agree. The boy must receive several coins on a good day when passersby were feeling generous or their faith prompted them to provide alms. Anyone who wanted to go in or out of the souk had to pass in front of him.
“I want to meet your protector, but I also want to pay you a little more to keep me informed about what is going on in the street when I need to know.”
To reinforce his request Talon produced a slightly larger coin and placed it in the wooden bowl held in the boy’s hand.
“What is your name?’ he asked
“It is Kontar, Oustez.”
“Then, Kontar, I want to meet your chief sometime in the near future. Can this be arranged?”
The boy looked at him, his deep-set eyes wary.
“Why do you want to meet him, Oustez?”
“Because I think we can help each other. There is coin to be had for him, and I will need information from time to time.”
The boy nodded, but he did not seem very comfortable at hearing this.
“I shall talk to him, Oustez. Be back here tomorrow at the same time, and, if he wants to meet you, he will be here.”
Talon nodded and moved off casually. He didn’t want to be seen conversing with a beggar. The next day he arrived a little earlier than usual. Keeping out of sight of the main entrance, he checked to see if there were any suspicious people about who might be waiting for him. He noticed the boy propped up against the wall and observed that he appeared tense; his head was swiveling to and fro as though watching for someone.
Then he saw two other men hanging around close by and apparently idle, but their studied expressions gave them away. He decided that they must be the ones waiting for him. He searched the crowd hard for others but did not see anyone who looked as though they might be the chief. He decided that he had to take the chance that the chief, whoever he might be, was waiting for him elsewhere and he would be shown the way, somehow. He walked casually up to the boy and greeted him.
“I am here, Kontar, where is your chief?”
Just as he said that the boy’s eyes flicked onto something behind him and he felt something sharp pressed into his back near his kidney.
“You will do as you are told. My knife likes to drink blood,” someone hissed from behind him. Talon did not move or say anything.
“Move forward,” the same voice instructed him.
Ta
lon was pushed along the quiet street into the dim light of the long arched tunnel of the souk. Someone shoved him into deeper shadow off the main street. He glimpsed the frightened face of the boy as he left.
Two more men joined them, and these two checked his robes for any weapons. Talon had left his sword behind and only had the knife in his sash, which one of them removed, but they missed the one in his boot. There was a grunt and one said, “He is clean of weapons, let’s keep moving.”
A blindfold of some dirty cloth was bound over Talon’s eyes, then he was pushed forward. They walked deep into the depths of the souk; this time he was held between two men and assisted over steps and down slopes. The air was stale and dusty to breathe.
They began to move downward and the air became cooler, with a light draft flowing up from underground. His heart was beating hard and he began to question the wisdom of his plan, but he was now committed, so he mentally shrugged and walked on with his escorts.
Talon felt as if they were moving along narrow tunnels and the familiar sounds of the souk began to recede; finally there was just their breathing and the tramp of footsteps followed by a dull echo. He could also hear the rustle and squeak of rats in the darkness. After what seemed to be many long minutes of walking, they finally came to a halt. The blindfold was removed and Talon blinked in the light of many small oil lamps.
He was at the entrance of a large underground space like a nave. It had many supporting pillars, which arched into the darkness of a roof above. The lamps were smoky and could not light up the entire area, which seemed extensive. The air was dense with the smell of people, cooking cabbage, and smoking oil lamps.
There was a smell of warm, sweet, nutty baking bread; his nostrils hung on to the memories of it. There were also acrid smells of smoked meat on open fires.
He was astonished. It was an underground village.
Lying on pallets in the back he could see the forms of sleeping people, while nearer at hand there were women preparing food over small fires, the smoke being drawn up through holes in the darkness above.
He heard the sound of running water somewhere in the darkness ahead of him, perhaps from an underground stream.
Talon tried to see to the end of the room but his captors pushed him roughly forward towards a low platform strewn with red and black colorful woven mats and carpets, where he could see several men seated among scuffed and patched cushions. Some were smoking water pipes; there was a strong smell of hashish in the air, while others were sipping tea. They all regarded him impassively as he was prodded one step at a time towards them.
His captors stopped at the edge of the platform, and one of the men lounging on the platform, leaning comfortably against some huge cushions, regarded him without enthusiasm. He was a very large bearded man with only one eye; his other was covered by a dark patch held in place with a leather thong. He said gruffly, “Who are you and what do you want with my boy?”
“I learned some time ago from a friend in Isfahan that a man who had the beggars as his friends knew all that was happening in a city,” Talon replied.
There was a chuckle and the man’s huge belly heaved.
“Your friend was right.” There was silence after that and Talon sensed his captors behind him, waiting for the next sentence to decide his fate. He tensed, ready to react very quickly should his life become endangered.
Then the man said, “You are either a very brave man or very stupid to want to come here and talk about this. Why should I not just cut your throat and toss your body in the river for the crocodiles to eat? Why should I trust you, and what is in it for me?”
Talon shrugged. “I am a slave anyway and it makes little difference to me whether I am believed or not. I do know that on one occasion my lord’s family was in grave danger and they did not know from where the danger came. I am trying to prevent that happening again, and in so doing I am protecting the family.”
“Whose slave are you?”
“I am the tutor for my lord Abbas Abdul Azim. I am the teacher of his children and to some extent their guard.”
“A tutor and a guard, that is unusual. I know of Lord Abbas. It is said he is a great warrior and that he is a fair man. I suppose that is as good as one can expect from his kind.” The man motioned Talon to come forward.
The guards relaxed then, as did Talon; it was as though he had passed some kind of a test. He strode onto the carpeted platform and sat down cross-legged in front of the one-eyed man and his companions.
“Knowledge comes at a price…what is your name?”
“My name is Suleiman.”
“Is that all?”
“It will do for the moment.”
The one eyed man motioned to someone in the shadows and a very small cup of steaming coffee appeared on a tray in front of Talon. The aroma indicated that there was cardamom spice in it. He relaxed a little more. He knew that if he had not been offered anything he would have still been in danger. But these people were not of the Bedouin, so he really couldn’t be sure.
He bowed from the waist to the man and sipped his coffee. The man gave a curt nod in acknowledgement. His many jowls rippling as he did so.
“You seem very young to be wandering about the city asking questions and talking to me about knowledge, Suleiman,” the man remarked. His voice was throaty. He was well into middle age, about forty, comfortably dressed in good clothes. The people all around him treated him with respect.
“It was a hard but good lesson I learned at that time, as it saved not only my life but some of my companions as well,” Talon replied. “I am not rich, Oustez. But I am prepared to pay what I can for information from time to time, and I wanted to meet with the leader, you, to make sure that it was something we could agree upon. Insha’Allah?”
“You have looked after my boy, and he told me about the food you gave him when he was sick,” the man said reflectively.
“I am glad that Allah deemed fit to make him well again,” said Talon. “To whom do I have the honor of talking, Oustez?”
“My name is Mukhwana, and that will have to do for the moment.”
His good eye twinkled behind his beard. “I am the leader of a large group of the beggars in this area of the city. Perhaps I can help,” he offered reflectively. “But I shall want payment in silver or gold. How can a mere slave do this?” he asked. His tone was skeptical.
“As it happens, Allah has provided for me and I can… within limits.” Talon had already deposited his silver and gold with a Jewish banker in the souk some weeks before as a protection against theft. His chits were carefully hidden in the palace where he felt they would be safe until he needed them. He did not trust the eunuch or his companions.
“Do you have something you need to know at this time?” Mukhwana asked of him.
“Does the name Bahir Ibn Hakeem mean anything to you?’ Talon asked.
He was not expecting the reaction he got. The old man sat up quickly and dropped his pipe.
“Yes, I know of him!” he snarled. “He is responsible for my lost eye. May Allah curse his aristocratic hide and send him to Jehannum when he dies.”
“How can that be?” Talon asked politely, but with interest.
“Never you mind. What do you need to know about him?’
“I want to know where he lives.”
“Is that all?”
“For the moment, Oustez Mukhwana, yes.”
Talon smiled and Mukhwana laughed quietly.
The ball no Question makes of Ayes and Noes,
But Right and Left as strikes the Player goes;
And He that toss’d you down into the Field,
He knows about it all- HE knows- He knows!
— Omar Khayyam
Chapter 13
Chogan
Talon sat his restless horse Rakhsh alongside that of Abbas and of the other members of the team, listening to the excited chatter of the crowd that surrounded the large dirt maidan where the game was to be played. He patted Rakhsh’
s already sweating neck and murmured words to settle him. The horse flicked his ears back as though listening and calmed down somewhat, but then another horse behind them gave a nasal snarl of irritation and tried to bite its neighbor. There was a brief moment of pandemonium as shouting riders fought to bring their horses under control, glaring at one another as they spurred and whipped their mounts back into line. Talon held Rakhsh on a firm rein, sitting deep, and the horse listened to him, trembling but not moving from his place, even as he was jostled by other horses.
When the horses were finally quieted, Talon glanced up at the massive fortification that dominated the maidan where they were going to play. His eyes studied the high walls and he could see that it had been refurbished. Its two huge rounded gate towers flanking the front of the Citadel were, for this occasion, decorated with banners that fluttered in the light breeze, lending a festive atmosphere to the already palpable excitement in the air. Small figures stood on the battlements looking down on the crowd below. The breeze did little to alleviate the heat that blanketed the wide, flat field.
Thousands of people had come from the city, and every soldier who could escape from duty had arrived from the army barracks to watch the game, and to support Abbas, for he was a popular commander. Bets were being taken everywhere by the excited Egyptians, who loved to gamble. It was well known that this was not just an ordinary game of chogan, but a grudge-match between two well known noble houses, and the crowd was buzzing with anticipation.
The first ball would be thrown by the sultan himself, who now stood in front of them, looking down on the two teams of six men lined up in two jostling, irregular lines almost knee to knee, waiting for the ball to be thrown in to start the game.
Talon’s mind flicked back to the evening three days ago when the challenge had been delivered to Abbas.
On the way home Abbas had been raging, “That jackal, Bahir arranged this,” he growled to his men. “But I do not know why! It is as though he knows something I do not.” He said this to no one in particular, but Panhsj and Talon had looked at one another as though they were expected to reply. Neither knew what to say, so they had remained silent while their master fumed.
Assassination in Al Qahira Page 19