Anthony gazed at him. “I was inquiring, sire, as to the punishment you have in mind for a man who has besmirched not only my honour but that of all Turks.”
Selim’s frown deepened, and there was a nervous rustle amongst the viziers.
“I should be grateful,” Anthony said, “if the Padishah would grant me a private audience.”
“Are there things you are afraid to utter in public?” Nasi inquired.
“I will say my words wherever the Padishah chooses,” Hawkwood retorted.
Sokullu gave a sign of despair.
“I have no wish to hear any complaints or squabbles between Pertau and yourself, Hawk Pasha,” Selim said. “You have gained a great victory. I have rewarded you. Be satisfied with that.”
“And the Venetians who were massacred after surrendering upon my promise of safe conduct? Their governor, who was brutally executed? I promised those people their lives, on my honour!” Anthony shouted.
Selim was on his feet. “Your honour!” he shouted back, arm outflung, finger pointing. “You have no honour, Hawk Pasha, save what I choose to give you. You have nothing save which I choose to give you. Now you have nothing! Get you from my sight. I shall not look upon your face again. Get you to your palace and remain there until the end of your days. Begone!” His voice rose to a shriek. “Begone!”
Hawkwood stared at him in amazement, never having seen a man so lose control of himself. Sokullu grasped his arm and hurried him from the chamber.
“Oh, what a fool you are, Anthony,” the Vizier sighed. “What a fool. I doubt I can any longer protect you.”
“Do I need protection?” Hawkwood shrugged himself free.
They were now in the Porte, and the men waiting there were shifting away from him — rumours of what had happened in the council chamber were already beginning to spread.
“Yes,” Sokullu told him. “You need my protection. Our master may not have had the resolution to order in public the execution of so famous a pasha in the moment of his triumph. But he will certainly seek to have you killed clandestinely. Remember that you are married to a Venetian. Would you have your wife follow her parents to the grave?” He bit his lip, realising the enormity of what he had just said.
Hawkwood gazed at him almost in disbelief…as if he could ever again disbelieve anything involving Turkish infidelity.
“You assured me they were safe and well?”
Sokullu sighed. “They were then — but our master had them executed the day you sailed for Famagusta.”
Hawkwood’s fingers curled into fists.
“Anthony,” Sokullu begged. “We live in cruel times, under an uncertain master. The dead are dead. Only the living matter. I will do what I can for you, but…farewell, Hawk Pasha.” ‘
He held out his hand. Anthony merely looked at it, then turned and walked away.
*
Hawkwood hurried from the palace, into the streets of Istanbul. Following his arrest at Famagusta, his staff and servants had been dismissed, and he had not seen them since. Thus he walked alone, though distinguished alike for his size and his colouring. The flags still flew, and to the people he was still the conqueror of Cyprus. They applauded him as he moved through them.
They would learn the truth, soon enough.
And then? The swirling resolutions which had been making him dizzy had at last hardened into determination. Sokullu had spoken the truth. In Istanbul he could do nothing more than wait to die. Whatever the risks involved, he must act immediately.
Besides, there was much to avenge.
He took the ferry to Galata, where the cheering crowds were even denser. They followed him up the hill to the Hawk Palace, and gathered in a great mass before the gates, shouting his name.
His mother stood in the portico to greet him.
“Anthony!” Felicity was in his arms. “Oh, but it is wonderful to see you. And with such news. They are saying the Sultan has restored you to favour.”
“No doubt,” Anthony said, and kissed Ayesha’s hands. “I would have you join me in my apartment in ten minutes.”
They frowned at him; his tone was hardly that of a happy man.
But he strode past them, to where Kalil waited.
“Welcome back, Chelebi.”
“You too, Kalil,” Anthony replied. “I wish to see you shortly. In my chamber.”
Kalil looked thunderstruck. He would not oppose Hawk Pasha’s wish to conduct his household in his own peculiar way — but to invite to his bedchamber a male servant who was also a whole man…that was unheard of.
Hawkwood took the stairs, three at a time, and flung open the doors of his apartment. The boys were waiting there to greet him. John was now nine years old, and looked every inch the Ottoman. His brothers matched him in their garb, with play scimitars dangling from their belts.
“We offer you our felicitations, Father,” John said, and bowed.
His brothers followed his example.
Anthony embraced them all, while looking past them at their mother.
“I am to congratulate you,” Barbara said sadly. “All Istanbul rings with your praise.”
“It is a temporary adulation, I assure you. Will you send the boys away.”
She frowned at him.
“Only for a few minutes.”
She clapped her hands. “Off with you now. Your father wishes to be alone.”
Again the three of them bowed, and they slowly left the room.
“They are fine children,” Barbara said. “They are young Hawks. You should be proud of them.”
“I am proud of them.” He took her in his arms, kissed her on the mouth. “I have committed a great crime.”
Her frown returned. “I had not supposed you agreed with me on that.”
His wife remained in his arms as he described the treacherous massacre. Now she stepped away from him. “You did that?”
“No. I wish you to believe me. But my plenipotentiary powers were ended as soon as the citadel surrendered.”
“But did you not protest?”
“I did — and was bound prisoner for my pains.”
Barbara stared at him. She had never thought of her husband other than as the strongest of men.
She collapsed on the divan.
“And now I have been sentenced to perpetual house arrest,” he continued.
Barbara opened her mouth, and then closed it again.
“What will you do?”
“Leave this place — but you must come with me.”
She hesitated. “Leave Constantinople? Leave my parents to suffer for me?”
“Your parents are dead. They were executed by command of the Sultan a fortnight ago.”
She clasped her throat in horror.
“You never told me!”
“I never knew, until an hour ago. Now, will you come with me?”
Her eyes had filled with tears, even if it was several months since she had last seen Pietro and Beatrice Cornaro — since the day of their imprisonment — she had sent messages to their prison every day. But she did not weep. Instead she said, “I will come with you to the ends of the earth, my lord, if you will avenge the dead.”
“That is my intention. But first it is necessary to risk the living.”
She glanced at the door through which the boys had disappeared. “If you die, then do we all die. It were best we did so at your side.”
He sat beside her, held her hands.
“Where will we go?” she asked.
“Venice.”
“Anthony, they would chop off your head!”
“Then you will have to save me. Is not one of your uncles currently Doge?”
“Alvise Mocenigo? I know nothing of him, nor he of me.”
“But he will remember, at least, your mother — his own sister. You will tell him that I now have much to offer Christendom, knowing as much as I do about the Turks and their intentions. And especially about the Turkish navy.”
She demurred no longer. �
�Who will accompany us?”
“The fewer the better. The boys, of course, and my mother. Ayesha and Kalil, too…it is a small boat.”
Her jaw sagged. “You mean to sail in your yacht?”
“There is no Turk can match me for seamanship; many can match me on a horse, especially if we are encumbered by children.”
“But they will follow you with galleys.”
He smiled. “They are welcome to try. August is a windy month.”
She gulped. “My maids… I must take my maids.”
“All of them?”
“They are only three. They are Venetians, Anthony. I cannot leave them here to be torn to pieces by the Janissaries.”
He hesitated. “They will have to work their passages.”
“They will do that willingly.”
There came a knock on the door.
“Enter,” Anthony said.
His mother and Ayesha came in, followed somewhat diffidently by Kalil.
“Close the door, Kalil, and guard it,” Hawkwood said.
The servant obeyed.
Felicity looked at Barbara, and then around the room, seeking the children.
“What is happening, Anthony?” she asked.
“Sit down, Mother.”
The two women sat beside Barbara.
“Now listen to me very carefully,” Anthony said, and he explained to them what had happened — and what was likely to happen in the future.
Felicity’s face paled as she listened; Ayesha clasped her neck, in dismay.
“I have decided our only course is to leave Istanbul and flee to the West.” Anthony gazed at them intently as he spoke. “Barbara is agreed with me on this.”
“To the West,” Felicity whispered. Here was her oldest dream threatening to come true. “Can we manage it?”
“I believe we can. If we fail, we die. But if we remain here, equally will we die.”
Ayesha stood up. “You mean to desert the Sultan,” she said in agitation. “The Sultan is lord of all. If you desert him, you will be outlaw and traitor. Every man’s hand will be against you.”
“That is a risk I must take.”
“My lord,” she begged, “you cannot do this.”
“I must.”
“Then you must leave me behind.”
They stared at each other.
“I cannot do that. We need the advantage of as much time as possible.”
“And you suppose I would betray you?”
“They would tear the knowledge from you with hot irons, Ayesha.” He turned to the manservant. “Kalil, are you with me?”
“You are my master,” Kalil replied simply.
“Then fetch silk cords to bind the lady Ayesha.”
Kalil left the room.
“Will you permit this?” Ayesha implored Felicity.
“My son has no choice. We have no choice.’ Felicity turned to Anthony. “When will we leave?”
“At midnight,” he told her. “Each of you may take only a single change of clothing. Barbara, you must alert your women and the boys an hour before we leave.”
“But they will have settled for the night.”
“Then they will have to be awakened. We cannot risk any of our discussion reaching the other servants,”
She nodded, her face pale with determination.
Ayesha suddenly ran for the window. Anthony had no idea what she had in mind, to shout for help or commit suicide, but he swiftly seized her round the waist and hauled her back. She turned in his arms and struck at him, her breath hissing. Then she attempted to kick him, but he held her at arms’ length so she could not reach him, and a few moments later she was exhausted.
The other women watched in amazement.
“What will become of her?” Barbara asked.
“She will become reconciled,” Felicity assured her, “when it is done.”
Kalil returned soon with the cords, and Ayesha was bound hand and foot, then gagged and placed on Anthony’s divan. Her eyes were huge with anger and fear.
Anthony set about accumulating whatever he could take with him. Money, mainly, as much gold coin as could be carried in two leather bags. He did not anticipate charity from the Venetians, and his family would have to live on something until he secured new employment.
He knew the yacht would be partially stocked with food and water, but he ordered Kalil to gather what fresh food he could, without arousing suspicion from the other servants. The future, down to only a few months ago so settled and certain, now loomed as a dark path beset with dangers and uncertainties.
He was so busy deciding what to take and what to leave that the cry of the muezzin surprised him. Going to the window to look out, he wanted to shout for joy. It was a typical August evening. It had been very hot during the day, and there had been a strong sea breeze. Now the breeze had dropped with the approach of dusk, but to the north great banks of cloud had built up, and that there would be wind later on this night seemed certain, perhaps a great deal of wind.
They ate their evening meal as usual, and retired as usual; the servants made no comment on the absence of Ayesha.
Anthony joined Barbara on her divan, as Ayesha remained on his, and they lay anxiously in each other’s arms.
“I used to dream of adventuring at your side,” she said.
“Then your dream is coming true.”
At eleven he roused her, and sent her to summon her Venetian maids, while he returned to his own apartment for his weapons and the money. Ayesha stared at him with hostile eyes.
It was a great temptation to take a few more of his male servants; they had a long and dangerous voyage ahead of them. But the yacht was only designed for a crew of six, and there would be six women in any event, not to mention the three children. Nor could he be certain of the loyalty of any other of his people, once they realised he was abandoning the Sultan. The women would just have to work.
But at least one of his prayers was answered. There was a wind, a strong one, whipping out of the Black Sea and howling around the minarets of Istanbul.
“Can we really put to sea in such weather?” Barbara asked.
“It is the safest, for us,” he assured her.
Just before midnight he roused his mother Felicity, who, remarkably, was in a deep sleep. Kalil was already awake. They joined the women in his apartment, while Barbara roused her sons.
“What is happening, Mama?” John asked sleepily.
“There is a journey ahead of us,” Barbara told him. “One we must undertake secretly.”
“Will Father be coming?”
“Father will be leading us.”
*
There was always one male servant stationed in the downstairs porch, to repel undesirables. Kalil and Anthony went ahead to deal with him. The man sprang to his feet at the sight of his master, but before he could utter a word Kalil had struck him on the head and laid him out — his turban saving his skull from serious damage.
“He were best killed, Chelebi,” Kalil suggested. “He will recover in a few hours, and be able to give the alarm.”
Anthony shook his head. “I will murder none of my own people.”
They bound the watchman hand and foot, and placed him out in the yard. Then Hawkwood returned for the women.
He hefted Ayesha on to his shoulder, and the little boys stared at their father with enormous, puzzled eyes.
“Now come,” Anthony said to them, “and remember, not a word.”
The maidservants were clearly terrified, and he toyed with gagging them as well, but decided to rely on their understanding that if their escape failed, they would probably wind up in the slave market.
He led the way downstairs. His mother was at his shoulder, Barbara came behind with the three boys. The maids followed her, and Kalil brought up the rear. All were wrapped up in their haiks, and the women wore yashmaks as well.
They left the house and set off down the hill. Now the wind howled, and snatched at their clothes. At least
the looming storm kept people off the streets. Those they did encounter cast sidelong glances at the hurrying party, but made no attempt to accost them.
At the harbour the wind was whipping the sheltered waters of the Golden Horn into wavelets, and the moored boats and ships rose and fell, warps and timbers creaking.
Above all it was utterly dark.
Hawk Pasha’s yacht had a mooring of her own, alongside one of the many docks that thrust away from the Galata waterfront. As they hurried towards it, they saw an armed man, wearing a red and blue uniform with a white horsehair plume in his turban, sitting just in front of the gangway.
The Janissary rose as they approached.
“Identify yourselves,” he said.
Anthony set Ayesha on her feet. “Hold her,” he told Barbara, who threw both arms round the Arab woman, who could only utter a shrill squeak, instantly lost on the wind.
Anthony loosened his scimitar in its scabbard and stepped forward.
“I am Hawk Pasha,” he said. “And that is my ship you guard.”
“A thousand apologies, my lord,” the man said, “but I have been told that no one can board this ship tonight.”
“Then you must die,” Anthony growled. His scimitar was already drawn, and before the soldier could defend himself, his head had been all but whipped from his shoulders, and his lifeless body fell into the water.
The women gasped. None of them had ever seen Hawkwood in violent action before.
He hastily led them on board. “Go below,” he told them, “and stay there. Kalil and I will manage for now. When the wind drops, then you may help us.”
The maids obeyed without question.
Barbara gazed out of the mouth of the harbour towards the Bosphorus, a mass of little whitecaps. Their holiday sailing had always been enjoyed in fine weather. “I am afraid,” she confessed for the first time.
He put his arm round his wife and squeezed her against him. “There is no need to be.”
“You say that because you have survived such desperate situations often before. There are so many aspects of your life in which I have had no share.”
“For that you should be thankful,” he told her. “Now, go to the boys, and reassure them.”
Hawkwood and Kalil reefed the sail while still alongside the dock. Then they set it, causing the little ship to buck and heave. A few slashes of their scimitars cut the mooring warps, and the yacht fell away from the land, immediately gathering way.
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