Assassination in Al Qahira

by James Boschert

  “My friend, I think we might have a small army to go with our other men,” Talon said calmly.

  “Pshaw! That scarecrow could not even lift a sword in his own defense,” Panhsj scoffed.

  “But they can row, and if we feed them, well… they might,” Talon said.

  He spent the next hour persuading Panhsj that there was more to be had from the rowers. “The crew will not only betray us at the first opportunity, but will probably stab us in the back if we get into a fight.”

  “You are right; they are a danger to us while free,” Panhsj mused.

  “The men at the oars can not only row, but with some food and care, they might be able to aid our cause rather than hinder it. That one is a sailor, Panhsj, which is more than you or I,” Talon said, pointing at Henry.

  Panhsj nodded reluctantly. “I shall go below and see for myself if there are any people from my country, and then we shall see.”

  He came back onto the rear deck a little while later, in a thoughtful mood.

  “There is only one from my region and he is not from the same tribe, but we communicated well enough. There are about ten men with him who would serve. The rest, well, I don’t know, Suleiman. We are taking a big chance with the lives of my Lady and my lord Kazim by doing this.”

  “My friend, Allah is on our side. I suggest that later, when Malek is with us, we subdue the crew and replace them with some of the men below who can sail a boat, and then we do not have to worry about the crewmen any more. The rest of the men down there will take care of that.”

  Panhsj chuckled; his tattoos writhed as he grinned. “Your cunning is becoming legend, Suleiman. For now, put the man back with the others and we will release them when we get to our destination.”

  Talon agreed with this and persuaded Henry to return to the filth he had lived in for months with the promise of release as soon as they had their passengers on board and had reached their destination, which was Aswan. Talon hoped that he could keep his promise.

  Go out now, to battle against it:

  Stagger and lunge about as you will,

  In drunken pride:

  You’ll be subdued in time

  By the wine of your contempt and scorn,

  Which will soon deceive you.

  — Yedaya Hapenini

  Chapter 25

  Al Muntaqim

  Al Muntaqim was still raging when he and his riders finally arrived back at the estate of the Fayoum. They were exhausted from their three days’ ride into an empty desert and the temper of their master was terrifying. No one could understand how a large party of men, women and animals could so completely disappear into the desert wastelands west of the Fayoum. Al Muntaqim was inclined to take his anger out upon his own people when frustrated, so the men gave him a wide berth.

  It was fortunate that he had not burned the buildings to the ground, Al Muntaqim reflected, or he would have had to go and rest on his Dromon tied up at the pier at Beneade. Poor comfort indeed, he thought, as he examined the courtyard and the half burned remains of the main house. Despite the fire damage, this would do nicely for his short stay.

  A pleasant surprise awaited him when he dismounted. The leader of the men who had been left behind came forward, while two of the other men dragged a woman with them. She was young and looked terrified, protesting feebly. The men threw her at his feet in the dust, where she remained, her head down.

  “Who is this?” He asked reaching down and raising her head up by the chin.

  “She was trying to escape when we arrived. She had some cloth with her that she claimed was hers. I think she is a thief, my lord,” his man said with a smirk.

  Indeed, the woman was young and pretty, Al Muntaqim thought, as he looked down on the tear-stained face of the girl.

  “You know what they do with thieves don’t you? Tell me who you are and no harm shall come to you,” he said quietly, but there was no mistaking the menace in his voice.

  Anyess was shaking with fear. She knew she should not have come back to the compound, but the thought of the precious, richly colored cloth lying about in the deserted estate had obsessed her. She had felt a degree of resentment as well, thinking she had been deserted to fend for herself with her family.

  Her mother had begged her not to go, and had her father been alive, she would have had to stay, but she stubbornly insisted that it would be safe. Finally her brother had agreed to come with her, and it was while the two of them were in the house that the strangers had arrived in the maidan.

  Her brother had called to her in desperation to come with him and leave when he heard the sound of horses, but it was too late, and she had been trapped in the house while he managed to run away.

  It did not take long for the looting men to find her hidden in a chest of linen. They had hauled her out and laughed at her stricken face and then taunted her while they passed her around from one to the other. They pawed at her, their hunger showing in their wolfish grins as they leered at her. They had not done more than that, as the leader had seen the opportunity to find favor with his Lord. He had used the flat of his sword on those who disagreed with him, even cut one who would not listen, and warned them off with the threat of their Lord’s wrath if they disobeyed him.

  So now she was half lying on the ground in front of Al Muntaqim, and he was asking the question again. This time he seized her by the hair and forced her head back, making her look up at him. “Who are you and what are you doing here?” he demanded.

  “I…I am a servant, my lord. My name is Anyess, please do not harm me!” she cried.

  “Tell me where your mistress is, and I shall be kind. Do not, and I shall have you turned over to my men, who have not seen a woman for many days.” He laughed at her fearful expression.

  Anyess thought about this, but she did not have much time, as Al Muntaqim shook her head, making her gasp with pain. She blurted out what she knew, but what she knew was wrong. She thought her mistress had gone to Alexandria; there had been a plan to either go by land or even by river.

  Al Muntaqim left the compound more or less as he had found it, as he intended to come back. There was no point in destroying a place he now owned. He had been enraged to learn upon arrival at the port of Beneade that his other ship was possibly in the possession of the Lady Khalidah, and had most probably sailed north. How he had missed it on his way upriver puzzled him, but it was missing nevertheless and the people of Beneade seemed to think there had been a fight for the ship just before it disappeared. The thought that his ship might have been stolen by this woman Khalidah only added to his fury.

  Thinking about the options open to Lady Khalidah, Al Muntaqim decided that she would probably sail to Alexandria where her father lived, and therefore set out with the intent to visit the city and find out. His mood was optimistic, for he had had a pleasant enough night with the girl, whom he had later turned over to his men for sport.

  The body of Anyess was found by her brother later in the day after the visitors had gone. He cried bitterly over her corpse and then went to find his mother so that they could give her a decent burial.

  * * * * *

  Lord Al Muntaqim was admitted to the house of Emir Al Hakim ibn Hudhafah Ghassan, father of Lady Khalidah. After the elaborate greetings had been completed and the two were seated comfortably on a priceless carpet with richly woven cushions scattered all about the floor, coffee had been served and Al Muntaqim made welcome. The old man said carefully, “We are not always as honored as this, my lord.”

  “It is not often that I have ill news to bring, my lord,” Al Muntaqim returned. There was no sign of the lady Khalidah, or the children, at the palace, at least not that he could tell. “You may recall, my lord, that terrible accident that befell Lord Abbas followed by the looting of his palace?”

  Al Hakim sighed and said, “I recall it as though yesterday. I have not stopped mourning my son Abbas and weep for my daughter every day. I pray to Allah the Almighty that he will be kind to the soul of my s
on,” he intoned.

  “I too, I pray for my comrade in arms every day at prayers,” Al Muntaqim said piously and added in a contrived tone, “My lord, it is about this that I have come to you for help.”

  “Speak, and I will do what I can to assist you. What is it?” Al Hakim’s voice was suddenly strong.

  “Your daughter has disappeared, my lord. No one knows where she is, and the sultan, may Allah protect him, is very concerned. He is asking all of us to try and find out what has happened to her and her family. It was my task to come and see you.” The old man looked stunned. “What do you mean, in Allah’s name? My daughter has disappeared? How could this be so? Is she not at the estates of Fayoum?”

  Al Muntaqim looked puzzled. “My messengers tell me that she is no longer in the Fayoum. I have come to you to ask if she might be here. There is much concern for her safety and health by the friends of Lord Abbas.”

  “But she would surely have surely gone to Fayoum. She spent the happiest years of her marriage there. I cannot think where else in the world she might have gone!” the old man exclaimed in an agitated manner.

  “Have you not had a message from her, perhaps?” Al Muntaqim enquired politely.

  “Indeed I have not, and that is a puzzle too. I am sure she would have written once she arrived in the Fayoum. She would want to reassure me that she was in good health, and the children.”

  They talked at length about the situation and of their puzzlement, and finally Al Muntaqim took his leave.

  * * * * *

  Later, when Al Muntaqim returned to the house he owned in Alexandria and had calmed down, he thought about the situation. He had heard that the Poet Umarah was gone to Al Andalusia by ship and was inclined to do the same himself. He had no idea as to whether the sultan knew of his involvement or not. His spies had told him that the sultan had arrived with his cavalry demanding to see the poet, to be told that man had gone. This left the sultan with no one to link Al Muntaqim to the plot, but all the same his absence had been noted. He needed to go back and present himself to the sultan and make his excuses. It was a risk but well worth taking, as the stakes were very high and Al Muntaqim was not lacking in courage.

  He was in a deep black anger over the disappearance of the elusive Lady Khalidah. How could a mere woman seem to be so resourceful, he wondered. He was still determined to find her. She and her son represented the last possible link between him and the conspiracy, and would provide, willingly or unwillingly, the property he coveted. Calling two servants to him he said, “You will scour the country for any trace of Lady Khalidah and her son. If she is gone to another country, I want to know. If she is still here in Egypt, I want to know immediately. I am going back to Cairo.”

  * * * * *

  Deep in the heart of the big Souk of Cairo, just off one of the busy narrow streets, three men eased their way cautiously into a second floor room. Their swords were held at the ready as they crept into the filthy, almost bare room. The leader quickly took in the pallet in one corner and the inert body lying on it.

  He moved swiftly over to the bed and knelt next to it to see if there was any sign of life left in the man. He wrinkled his nose at the stink of oncoming death and listened. Then he waved away the flies that were crawling over the blood-caked wound in the man’s side. There were maggots and encrusted blood and puss in the area of the wound, which stank of rot. He glanced around, taking in the bloody rags thrown on the floor nearby, also covered in flies, the discarded sword, and the small bags in one corner. The newcomer shook the man, who groaned, then opened his eyes blearily to see who had woken him from his stupor. There did not seem to be much time left for him. He was the assassin who had escaped from Fayoum and now lay dying in this filthy rat-infested room in the back of the Souk.

  “Water! Give me water…” he croaked.

  The leader of the men gestured to another to fetch some. The man hastened into a small attached room and dipped a beaker into a large clay jar of water. They silently helped the sick man, whose parched throat and lips were so dry he could barely swallow.

  “What happened, Yusuf? Why are you here wounded, and where are the others?” the leader of the new arrivals demanded in a curt manner.

  “They…they are dead. We were told to go to Fayoum on behalf of the man called Al Muntaqim. It was for gold, and the Master allowed it as the fee was good,” Yusuf whispered.

  “We are here to collect the gold but…you say the others are dead? Were you not successful?”

  “No. There is one there who knows our ways. He killed Hassan, and then wounded me. I have never fought one so skilled before. Someone called him Suleiman, and he told me he was a Fidai. He told me in Farsi, as though to warn me. He looked right into my eyes and told me,” Yusuf gasped, falling back exhausted onto the filthy pallet.

  “What happened to Mahmud?” demanded one of the men leaning over him, wrinkling his nose at the smell of death on their comrade.

  “I do not know, but I am sure he is dead too. He was so quick…this man Suleiman. He has green eyes like a Frans,” Yusuf said in a weak voice, his eyes closed and his face twisted in pain. They stared at one another in astonishment. They had not expected this, and Yusuf was going fast.

  Soon after, the three young men, dressed in identical loose cotton pants, short boots with wide shirts held with a brownish red waist band, took the gold that they found hidden in the room. Leaving the body of Yusuf in the room, they slipped out as silently as they had come. Their weapons were concealed on their persons, but people in the crowded streets still gave them a wide berth as they looked purposeful and menacing. They had a long and dangerous journey to make to the far north of the county of Tripoli near to Syria. They needed to get a message to the Master and deliver what gold Al Muntaqim had given in payment.

  * * * * *

  Sultan Salah Ed Din Ayyubi was seated on a magnificent throne surrounded by his secretaries and several of his senior officers. The furnishings of the room were in keeping with the high office held by Salah Ed Din, having once been the trappings of royalty for his predecessors the Fatimid Sultans, now long gone.

  The sultan did not approve of fine furnishings, nor did he use the title of Sultan for himself, preferring more the austere life of a soldier. But from time to time he needed to remind people what office he held. This was one of those occasions.

  The curtains and carpets were the finest that could be found in the entire Islamic world, having been brought by the fleets of merchant ships that once plied the middle sea. Now the sea was owned by others, and the merchants used camel trains instead.

  The last business of the day concerned his commander, Lord Kemosiri ibn Jibade, sometimes known as Al Muntaqim. The sultan was angry, but with his usual manner he was prepared to hear his officer out before passing judgment.

  Lord Kemosiri was on his knees in front of the throne, looking up at the sultan with a contrite expression on his hard, lean features.

  “My lord, all blessings be upon you this day. I know I am guilty of leaving my post. But it was to attend to the funeral of my uncle Mohammed ibn Faris Fawaz, who died suddenly of the river fever several days ago in Alexandria. There was no one else to take care of the proceedings because my nephew, as you know, has recently died. It broke the old man’s heart, as he had practically adopted him as a son, and I was the only one who could assist in the honoring of the dead.

  “I deeply regret my absence, but my lord, I did leave Lord Bahir in charge and no thought crossed my mind that there might be a terrible tragedy about to take place in my absence. As God is my witness, my lord, I would never have left, not even for my uncle, had I known what was about to transpire. This I only discovered when I returned last night. I came immediately to you today.”

  “While I respect the need to bury the dead correctly, it was because you were not here to control things that I had to leave my work in the Negev to come back. I heard there was treachery in Cairo and that the poet and several others were involved in inst
igating a rebellion against me. Did you know nothing of this either, Kemosiri?” the sultan demanded.

  “My lord, I have heard rumors, and they point…ah, my lord, they pointed at Lord Abbas. My lord, I wept when I contemplated this, as I could not believe it myself when Bahir told me of it.”

  “Lord Bahir told you of what?” The sultan was leaning forward, and there was a murmur of interest from those who stood nearby.

  “My lord, what I have is for your ears alone. I beg you to give me a hearing on this.”

  The sultan waved away everyone who was near, and when the room was empty of courtiers and only guards remained, he bade Kemosiri to come closer and be seated on a stool near to him.

  “Speak, but I am already unhappy with what I think you are about to say.”

  Kemosiri lowered his voice. “My lord, I have it on good information that Lord Abbas was a member of the group of men who were going to take advantage of your absence and capture the citadel.”

  “How could he possibly do that while he was lying in bed with a broken back?” the sultan exclaimed. He gave a small, incredulous laugh.

  “My lord Bahir and Abbas have not liked one another for a long time, it is true, and I can assure you that Bahir had to work hard to convince me too. I have always admired Abbas and not Bahir, whom I considered a much lesser man. Alas, however, there was proof, because the poet Umarah went to visit the house of Abbas often and we know he too is involved in some kind of plot to harm you. Now both men are dead, murdered by who knows whom, and where is the poet today, my lord? We should ask him.”

  “He is not in Cairo, and cannot be found,” the Sultan said. There was annoyance in his voice.

  Kemosiri almost smiled. This was going better than he had anticipated. He had known he would be in trouble for abandoning Cairo while the sultan was away, but so far there had been no indication that the sultan suspected him in anything. If he had, he knew he would not be sitting here now.