A slow march with an armed guard to accompany them along the street to the gated entrance of the house and a demand for entry… There was denial at Vecdet’s house, of course. What boys? The bey efendi had no idea of what they were saying. He had slaves, yes; this was part of his trade, but boys taken in the town? Of course not. That was against the law. It was the Welshman who wanted to cause trouble. This Welshman swore he kept no slaves but now he was searching for two slave boys? There was a long history of the Welshman’s anger against him. If he had bought worthless slaves, and one had died, that was his misfortune. He had insisted on buying them. If two had escaped, that happened. He, Vecdet, had no quarrel with the Welshman but for this gross intrusion on his privacy. There were no slaves here. The consul knew that Vecdet housed his slaves by the harbour, ready for loading in the morning. Look there, if he wished to waste his time. All was in order, all taxes paid, all accounted for. Now, it was late and he had a very early start, if they would excuse him. He was on the early morning sailing for Candia.
The consul shrugged and exchanged glances with his second-in-command. There was nothing they could do here. Vecdet Bey was within his rights. If they searched the cellars, as the foreigner was insisting, there could be problems with the Genoese and Venetian authorities who wanted to maintain a peaceable relationship with their Muslim neighbours – and profitable trading, of course. The foreigner would leave tomorrow; the merchant would be here next month and the month after, and the month after that. The foreigner refused to deal in slaves but the slave market brought wealth to Attaleia. He had great respect for Sakoura and had done what he could but more he could not do. Meanwhile, the gates would soon be closed for the night and Sakoura and his friends should go home for the evening Call. They considered the dark, angry face of the foreigner and advised Sakoura to take him away before there was trouble and his guest was the one under arrest.
Rémi-the-street-child slithered past them silently and as silently returned, his hands making small signs to Dai; a room, a dark room underground. They were there. Dai stealthily gestured thumbs up. He looked around them all, at the outraged Vecdet, the obdurate consul, the flustered officer, watchful Aziz. If he told them of Rémi’s discovery, what then? By the time all was explained and a search authorised – if it were authorised – it would be too late. They would find only an empty room. Vecdet was too clever to be caught that way. Only one way to go, wasn’t there now?
He apologised to Vecdet, to the consul, the officer of the guards and, later, to Sakoura’s armed and determined friends. He was sorry to have disturbed them all. It was worry for the two young people, that was all. He was wrong to accuse Vecdet without positive proof. He had embarrassed his friend and host, Sakoura. Perhaps the two absentees had already returned before the gates were locked for the night. He was grateful they had been granted permission to stay with their friend in the Muslim quarter and would most certainly stay within doors. They retreated.
Soon after, the muezzins’ Akşam Ezanı rang out and resonated over the city rooftops, echoing from one minaret to another, Come to prayer. Come to prayer. Allah is Most Great. Allahu Akbar. Mosques that had once been churches with bells ringing out to believers to come and worship; now, tall minarets pieced the sky and muezzins’ cries pierced the air and carried out over the harbour to the sea and the distant mountains and the sky above. Allah is Most Great. Allahu Akbar. Same but different: different but the same. In his own country it would be Vespers and it would be bells ringing come and worship. Dai muttered his own prayers to both the Muslim Allah and the Christian God. Let her be safe. Let her be safe. Contrite, he changed it. Let them be safe. God willing. Inşallah.
At first they didn’t believe it. A low-pitched whistling. Nothing more. It came from the grille high in the wall. ‘Let’s look, Niko.’ She hoped she sounded hopeful. She climbed back on to the crate and would have hoisted Niko up beside her, but he was white faced and trying not to shout with the pain of his arm. If he held it like so…he craned his head upwards and saw a shape against the dark cross-lines of the grille.
It was Rémi, lying flat on the filthy ground, his face pressed sideways against the grille and one eye glinting at them, and then his hand just visible against the fading light gesturing and signing. ‘Wait,’ it said. ‘Wait and we shall come for you.’ Then he was gone, without a sound, and only empty space where he had been so that she wondered if she had dreamed it all but if she had dreamed so had Niko. They hugged each other, carefully this time. They were not forgotten. He had come for them. He had come. Soon after, the evening call to prayer echoed around the city and into the shadowy cellar where they were imprisoned. Let him find us. Let him save us.
‘Sakoura, you should go home now before there is trouble.’
‘I shall not, Dai bey. These two young people are my guests and so I must take care of them.’ He grimaced. ‘This consul, it seems he is very friendly with Vecdet. He is not well-liked by my people. They say he takes too many bribes but he is clever. There is nothing to take to the Bey of Attaleia.’ He shrugged, his hands in the air. ‘But I have friends on the gates and they will let us through into the Merchants’ Quarter.’
Dai nodded and closed his eyes. Kazan and Niko, kept in an underground room and no way to reach them except through the house. He couldn’t think. At least Rémi had reached them; let them know that help was on its way. Help! He breathed hard. How best to help them? Get them safe out of there?
‘Dai, listen, this might work.’ Twm’s face was more intent and fine-drawn than ever. A desperate plan. How could it work?
A knocking on the door and a demand for entry: three men, one very drunk. Vecdet raised his eyebrows at the intrusion.
‘You have left Dafydd the Welshman?’ he asked. He was disbelieving. ‘On the night before you sail for your grey sorry country, you leave him? All your profit you throw away like this? And you ask me to believe you?’
‘It was today that did it,’ Tom slurred. ‘Those two boys. Runaways but he won’t have it.’ He winked. ‘Likes pretty boys, does Dafydd.’ He smirked at Vecdet. ‘Nothing wrong wi’ that but likes to pre…pretend otherways. Hypocrite. Accused you. Shpite! Enough, I shaid, and sho did my man Giles here. Enough. Pay me what you owe me. Not shtay – shtayin’ to be inshulted by a thieving Welshman. Never should have travelled wi’ him. Knew it. Knew it from the shtart. Never should ’ave…’
‘Indeed? And this other? This third friend?’
‘Roger de Comfrey, sir. I haven’t seen Thomas for years and then there he was on the quayside. What a chance meeting! We were squires together back in the twenties. I was so pleased to see him again – he invited me to join him at his friend’s house. I thought it would make a pleasant evening but…’ He shook his head sadly. ‘I was shocked when he told me of his troubles with this Welshman and then this intrusion into your own house. I would have left but it was impossible without giving offence to my host. And it was almost curfew.’
‘But you changed your mind?’
Roger grimaced. ‘It was changed for me.’ He indicated the man slumped against the cushions, smiling foolishly. ‘I hadn’t realised how much he’d had to drink until he was deep in a fierce quarrel with the Welshman. Dagger at his throat. You know that sort of quarrel – it can only end badly. I thought it best to leave them to it but his man here begged me to take Thomas with me, out of harm’s way. He said maybe you would give us shelter for the night.’ Roger’s smile was a blend of embarrassment and entreaty. ‘So here we are, rather late in the evening. We were lucky to beat the curfew and the closing of the gates.’
Vecdet watched them suspiciously from pouchy-lidded eyes. His loose-lipped mouth pursed. ‘Why are you here in this city?’
‘Me? I’m accompanying my mother on her pilgrimage to Jerusalem. We hope to be on our way in the morning now the wind has dropped. As I say, this was chance-met and now I’m wondering if it were well-met or not. He’s a good enough man but,’ a shrug, ‘truth to tell, he’s qua
rrelsome when he’s had more than he should to drink. I don’t remember him like this but we knew each other long ago. I couldn’t take him to my mother in this state. Besides, he wanted to come to you. Wouldn’t be told no.’
‘He wanted to come to me?’ Vecdet’s brows rose high in his head. ‘Not his man’s idea, then, as you told me?’
‘Giles’ idea first but Thomas took it up.’ Roger smiled, helplessly. ‘You know how it is with men in his state. He was insistent. To tell you the truth, sir, I didn’t know what else to do, what with the curfew and all.’ He sighed. ‘It seemed a small thing to do for an old friend but now…’ he sighed again. ‘I am afraid we have inconvenienced you.’
‘Not at all. I am just wondering why he was so – er – insistent.’
‘More profit to be made from slaves than silk, he said. He seems to have some idea of offering you his services but I think he should go home.’ He scratched his neck, more embarrassed than ever. ‘Maybe not home – there’s war brewing between England and France. Best out of it. I could perhaps persuade my mother to let him accompany us on pilgrimage. There’s always a place for a man handy with a sword.’ He sighed. ‘Not a hope if she sees him like this. Very particular, my mother.’
‘I see.’ Vecdet was silent, stroking the wisps of beard that clung to his jowls. ‘I am flattered you came to me. And his man?’ A quick glance towards Giles standing aloof and expressionless.
‘Oh, Giles goes with his master. Knows which side is best served.’ Roger’s eyes opened wide. ‘You do not know? Thomas is the son of a wealthy man. He has been amusing himself, travelling like this, but this is enough. Giles agrees with me.’ He hesitated. ‘I truly think it would be best if he came with me tomorrow. Perhaps, once he is sober, he may agree. Perhaps,’ he eyed the broad bulk of the man, ‘you could persuade him so? His father would be relieved and – er – generous.’
Vecdet’s small eyes bored into Roger. ‘You think so?’
‘I am certain of it.’
‘You give me much to think on.’ Vecdet was silent again, lost in thought. ‘Much. Meanwhile, you must have sleeping quarters for the night. Aziz!’ he called, sharply, ‘have our guests taken to a bedchamber.’ He turned back to them. ‘Perhaps you have not eaten? You will join me?’
Roger smiled and smiled. ‘You are very kind. We left before the evening meal. We would be grateful for your hospitality.’ Giles hoisted Thomas upright, steadying him as he lurched badly. Roger sighed again. ‘I would be grateful,’ he amended. ‘Nothing for my friend, I think, except a bed. Giles will stay with him, of course – perhaps some food and drink could be sent in to him?’
‘Of course.’
‘Sir, I cannot tell you how grateful I am for your hospitality and forbearance. This is a great embarrassment for me. If I’d had any idea the evening would end this way…’ He let his words tail off, a strictly brought-up young man mortified by the company he was keeping. ‘My mother must not hear of this,’ he said worriedly.
Vecdet sneered quietly:. ‘She shall not hear of it from me,’ he promised. ‘Now, about that supper?’
It was quiet in the streets after the curfew. Every now and then dogs howled in the darkness. Small waves lapped the harbour shore. A man laughed in the house across the street and a second later a woman’s softer laugh echoed his. Giles could hear it all clearly through the window of the small chamber they were to sleep in. It was a barred window with a straight, steep drop down to the street below, but that was nothing unusual in these houses. It was a comfortable enough room with, unexpectedly, a sleeping platform piled high with quilts and cushions. A servant brought a tray of food and drink. ‘That’s a welcome sight,’ Giles told him. He gestured towards the huddle in the bed. ‘Asleep, thanks be to your God and mine. He’s not an easy master.’ He pulled a face at the unresponsive servant. ‘All the same, he is my master and I am bound to him. No,’ as the man betrayed his surprise, ‘I’m no slave but it is the custom in our land to swear an oath of fealty. I am sworn to serve him.’
‘I understand. We have this also.’ The man struggled between his orders and sympathy because he also was bound to a difficult master. ‘Goodnight, sir,’ he said.
‘Wait a moment.’ Giles stopped him. ‘I need to ease myself.’
The man smiled. ‘Of course sir. If you would follow me.’ He paused outside the thick wooden door elaborately carved with scrolls and flowers. A key in the lock, Giles noted.
‘We are to be locked in?’
‘Master’s orders, sir.’ He looked uncomfortable. ‘He doesn’t trust strangers.’
‘And why should he? We may be cut-throats, for all he knows. Though I don’t see why you’re bothering with it now – he’s going nowhere.’ He jerked a thumb towards the bed.
‘True,’ the servant said, and left the key unturned in a sudden gesture of goodwill towards the man who, like him, served a difficult master. No one need know.
Outside the room a wooden balcony stretched around three sides of the upper floor; wooden steps led down to a small courtyard. It was similar in layout to Sakoura’s house but smaller, with no pool or dancing fountain, and an air of neglect lay over all. Some of the wood, Giles noted, was rotten and some of the stair treads creaked, the second and fifth in particular. The servant had relaxed, was becoming talkative.
‘It’s a good house but he doesn’t look after it as he should. He’s a better house in Alaiye. It’s a pity to let this one fall into ruin. There’s many would be glad of such a house. There are so many of you merchants and travellers needing lodgings that there aren’t places enough for you all. That house of Sakoura the Slave’s, I’ve been told that’s like a palace.’
‘It’s very comfortable,’ Giles said. ‘Fine carpets, a pool and a fountain and a well-tended garden.’ They both looked at the one great mulberry tree that grew in a corner of the unkempt courtyard. In the light of the rising half-moon, and the flickering glass lamps hanging from hooks under the arcaded roof, the spreading branches cast intricate shadows over walls and mosaic-paved floor and the barely visible side-gate that led into a narrow access street.
‘It still gives good fruit,’ the servant said at last. ‘Come, this way.’
Giles blessed the Turks for their love of hygiene, even in small, run-down houses like this one. He’d grown fastidious since he’d been in this country and wrinkled his nose in disgust as he thought of the evil stink and stench of the world he was returning to. As he expected, the servant had waited and accompanied him back to the bedchamber and opened the door. Thomas was still motionless, lost in his drunken stupor. ‘Hasn’t moved,’ Giles said, ‘and I pray he doesn’t till dawn. Me, I’m so weary I could sleep through the night and all next day but we must both be awake before dawn. Where is the delicate Roger to sleep?’
‘There is another small chamber next to this, sir.’
‘If someone could wake us before the dawn Call, I’d be grateful.’
‘Of course, sir.’ The man hesitated. ‘I think, sir, the young man will be late to bed. My master keeps late hours.’
‘Oh yes?’ Giles snorted. ‘I can’t see our Roger keeping them with him. Pity. It would do the boy good. Too tied to his mother’s strings, that one, from what I can see.’
‘Yes sir.’ The servant’s face was wooden.
‘No need to look like that. I only met the man today. Man! He’s a mother’s boy, more like, running away from his country when it’s on the brink of war. I suppose I owe him thanks for helping get that one here safely – and speaking for him.’ He stretched. ‘Lock us in, then. Remember to wake us early.’
He sat down on a wooden bench under the window and waited. An old fashioned clay lamp flickered and guttered. The half moon was well risen; he could see it beyond the window bars where the street lay in darkness with darker shadows in corners and gateways. It had risen to the height of the window bars when he heard the steps creaking and two sets of footsteps pausing outside the room next to him. Lamplight glimmered under
the door. A loud yawn and a sleepy ‘goodnight’ and a higher pitched ‘sleep well’ in answer. A long, listening pause and soft breathing outside the door. A key stealthily, soundlessly turned. One set of footsteps. Giles counted: one step – creak – three, four – creak – continuing down to the courtyard. ‘Aziz!’ The piping voice carrying clearly in the night air. Giles held his breath, waiting for the sound of heavier footsteps climbing the stairs but there was nothing. No sound. No sound either from the sleeper in the bed. That didn’t surprise him. He waited until the moon had journeyed past the window, waited for faint sounds from outside the door: a whisper of a footstep; the muffled, scraping sound of a turning key. He watched the outline of the door shift, move slowly inwards. A dark shape slid silently round the door and into the room.
‘All well?’ murmured Tom.
*
He waited, hidden by the wall under the shadow of the great mulberry tree. He was in a narrow side street running alongside the massive wall dividing the Merchants’ Quarter from the Christian Greek. Easy to see, so close up, how the wall had been repaired again and again, old stones making good the damage done by time and war: the round ends of one-time pillars; old door lintels wedged between massive stones; a square inscribed with a circle and the sign of a cross carved diagonally into it. The elegant curves of Arabic script, holy words carved in stone. Like the church-mosque all over again, this was a city that lived side-by-side with other times, other rulers, going back and back until he was dizzy with the hugeness of it all.
He waited. One by one, lamps went out in windows and gateways. At the end of the narrow side street he could see light flickering from the street lamps kept alight throughout the night on the main streets. A dirty black-and-white cat rubbed itself against his legs then vanished through an invisible opening into the courtyard. If only it were that easy for him. He heard the cat yowl, and another answer.
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