by Rehan Khan
‘Stay away, if you know what’s good for you,’ he warned, then he turned and ran.
Will was now dangling by one hand, his lower body swinging from side to side. He heaved his other arm up and gripped the railing under the roof, before nimbly hoisting himself up and back onto the roof. His training had saved his life. The crowd below cheered.
The thieves were escaping in the direction of the Bosporus. They must have a getaway planned. The sun was setting in the background, the thieves silhouetted against it. Will charged on, gaining ground, as he observed the green-eyed thief with the staff vault off the side of the roof. What! The injured thief was standing on the edge, waiting to jump, as the swordsman leaped before him. They were going to escape. The injured thief hesitated. Will still had the knife: he drew it, aimed and threw.
The blade hit the man in the back of his right leg, causing him to collapse on one knee. He yanked the knife out and held it up threateningly as Will approached. But he was now in too much pain to fight, and Will kicked it out of his hand before punching him in the face, knocking him flat. Will then swung his gaze out towards the Bosporus, where the two escaping thieves had boarded a cargo ship, the crew oblivious to the presence of their new passengers. Whatever they had taken from the Topkapi Palace was slipping away from him – disappearing in plain sight.
12
KILLING FOR ENTERTAINMENT
IN THE WOODEN SHELTER BESIDE the arena, some twenty or so women sat on the bench, some rocking back and forth, others biting filthy nails as they awaited their turn to go through the doorway of death. Only Wassa sat calmly, her eyes closed. Awa followed suit, praying for God’s protection.
Two women had already been paired and gone out to fight: only one had returned. The survivor sat, head in hands. Why were they subjecting women to this? Awa asked herself. The holy book made it clear that violence was only permitted in order to defend one’s land: a believer is never an aggressor. Was God going to forgive her for what she was about to do? But if she refused to fight, what then?
Roars of approval erupted from the crowd outside. The amphitheatre held a few hundred spectators, but from the noise it sounded more like a thousand. Awa shuddered.
The door at the back of the cabin opened and two familiar figures entered - Odo and the giant Ja. They stopped beside Tome, and Odo spoke to him. The Spaniard acted surprised by what he said. Awa caught Ja staring at her. He smiled and his big teeth shone in the semi-darkness of their surroundings. Awa turned away, closing her eyes, reminding herself to breathe. Footsteps came down the line of women. Don’t stop beside me. Don’t . . .
‘Awa.’
She opened her eyes to see Odo’s crooked face. His thumbs were hooked into his belt, his blades and knives on display.
‘Everyone’s looking for gold. So, I’ll be the one collecting the silver,’ said Odo grinning at her. ‘You’re up next.’
Her throat went dry and she felt her heart quicken. Who was she going to be paired with? Please let it not be Wassa.
‘The betting is going well, particularly when we announced you’re fighting a man,’ Odo said smugly.
‘What?’ whispered Awa. The women shuffled uncomfortably. They were making her fight a man!
‘Oh, don’t worry. You’re more than capable. You took on all those men in the bandit camp and I’ve heard stories of how you slew ten Moroccan soldiers at the Battle of Tondibi. Fighting one man in an arena should be a piece of cake. The gamblers don’t know this, of course, and they’ve put down big odds against you. Win this, Awa, and you’ll make us a lot of money.’
Awa clenched her fists. Part of her wanted to lose to spite him.
‘Remember,’ he went on, ‘this is a fight to the death. Don’t let me down.’ He gave her a chilling look, then turned and was gone, along with Ja, who stooped to go through the doorway.
Sweat dripped from Awa’s brow. The woman sitting beside her said gently, ‘I will pray for you, my sister.’
‘Thank you,’ said Awa, feeling stronger for those words.
There was a deafening uproar from the arena - the previous encounter had ended with the death of one participant. Awa heard the sound of a body being dragged across the earth. It was now her time.
When Tome approached and gestured to her, she rose and walked to the door. Through the gaps in the wooden slats, she could see the amphitheatre - circular, with five rows running around it. Every space was taken up with bodies, jostling and harrying one another.
‘Choose,’ Tome commanded, motioning to an assortment of weapons hanging up against a wall, guarded by two men.
‘Curved sword.’
Tome showed his approval. One of the men got up and handed the weapon over to her, along with a shield. She spun the hilt in her hand. It was light and flexible, the way she liked it.
‘Remember, don’t let him get close,’ said Tome.
Awa nodded, recalling the manner in which the Spaniard had thrown her off on more than one occasion when they sparred. The door was unbolted and a moustached man poked his head around the corner.
‘Ready?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ Tome told him. The door opened and Awa stepped through, hearing it lock behind her. Her opponent was a man of medium build, tight and muscular, brandishing a spear and long shield. He was much darker in complexion than her, so was probably from somewhere in the interior. Their eyes met and she noted how forlorn he looked.
‘You will march to the centre and salute your lords,’ cried a voice from behind them.
Awa did as instructed, taking ten steps to the middle of the arena and turning towards the right, where the patrons of this event sat with their bodyguards, their women and their colourful entourage. Awa and her opponent held up their weapons and saluted them. When the announcer clapped his hands together, her opponent took that as the start and immediately attacked her with the long spear, coming close to connecting. She jogged away.
Awa stared into the man’s eyes, assessing him. She could tell he was not a trained killer. She twirled her weapon, acquiring a feel for the hilt. He jabbed at her, the spear tip glancing to her right. She easily avoided it. Once more he plunged the weapon at her, but she dodged it.
‘I’m sorry, my sister,’ he whispered.
Awa gulped. He felt just as bad as she did. Two human beings, neither wanting to hurt the other, but forced into combat for the entertainment of these brutes. It made no sense. Jeers erupted at the lack of action. Neither fighter had struck a blow.
Then her opponent sprang at Awa. She deflected his spear upwards, then slashed right with her weapon, blocked by his shield. The crowd bellowed. This was what they wanted. Entertainment. Awa leaped slightly to the right, before twisting back and hammering her sword against his shield. The blow took him by surprise and he staggered. As he tried to poke her with his spear, she swept downwards with her blade; her weapon caught his exposed ankle, slicing the flesh. The crowd thundered in delight. He hobbled back, relying on his shield for support. Awa drove her weapon at him again. He blocked it with his shield, but as he raised his spear to retaliate, she slashed upwards and knocked the flint off the wood. The spear was useless. In a desperate bid to save himself, he charged at her with his shield, but his ankle was badly wounded and instead he fell flat on his face, on top of his shield. He lay there, his back to her, arms sprawled across the shield.
‘Kill! Kill! Kill!’ the crowd shrieked. Awa raised her weapon - just as the man rolled onto his back, his face exposed to her. She heard him praying and froze.
‘Kill!’ the crowd urged her on.
This man was like her, she thought, a breathing human being, reluctantly thrust into a fight neither of them wanted. She wouldn’t do it.
Awa stepped away.
The crowd booed. Her opponent breathed a huge sigh of relief – but it was his final breath, for as he rose up, an arrow went straight through his chest and he crashed back onto his shield. Awa twisted round and saw that it was the giant, Ja, who had fired it. The n
ext arrow was aimed at her. Ja looked at Odo, and Odo looked to the chief patron. After some thought, the crowd totally silent, the man pointed upwards with his thumb, to the noisy delight of the onlookers. Ja lowered the bow.
The door to the cabin opened and Awa saw Tome beckoning her in. She jogged across, as the crowd continued to cheer her victory. Awa handed the weapons back and was about to sink onto the bench with the other women when Tome grabbed her by the elbow and led her past a concerned-looking Wassa and out through the back door, slamming it behind him.
Awa looked around. They were in a small enclosed area, with stakes in the ground, penning them in. She turned to question the Spaniard, but his slap brought her to her knees.
‘Stupid!’ shouted Tome. ‘It’s a fight to the death. If you don’t kill the opponent, the bets are scratched. Odo is going to be furious.’ He spat on the ground beside her, just as a gate opened and Odo and Ja marched in.
‘You just lost me a lot of money, girl,’ said Odo, kicking her in the chest. Awa felt dizzy, the wind knocked out of her a second time. He raised his boot to stamp on her, but clearly thought better of it. ‘You are skilled. You will make me money. But try anything like that again and I will personally cut off your head.’
Ja hauled her back on her feet and marched her out of the closed pen into a large courtyard. As they strode past some tethered goats, she could see where he was heading and tears rolled down her face.
13
FEED THE TURBAN
MILITARY BOOTS CLICKED AGAINST STONE as Will was led down a corridor in the Rumelihisarı fort, located on the shores of the Bosporus. The imposing structure, originally built to control traffic along the river, now also contained the offices of Commander Mehmed Konjic. The Grand Vizier insisted on the Rüzgar, the new covert Janissary force, being housed at a distance from the Topkapi Palace and its toxic atmosphere.
Beside Will strode Captain Kadri, whose silence since they took the short horse ride to the fort had struck a sombre note. Was Will in trouble? The previous night after he’d captured that thief, he had been applauded by onlookers around the Grand Bazaar. The Topkapi Janissaries, after initially grilling him, decided not to throw him in prison for questioning. Later in the evening when word reached Kadri, the Captain told him that by not imprisoning him, the Topkapi Janissaries were saying thank you. Yet this morning the Captain’s expression was severe. Will didn’t want to go back to the life of a galley slave, but knew it was in the power of these men to dictate such a future.
They emerged into an open space, beside which was a courtyard. Kadri asked him to take a seat then disappeared around a corner.
Will waited, listening to seagulls squawking overhead, perched on top of the walls of the fortress. The courtyard had a small fountain with water dripping into a basin below. Will sat with his fingers clasped reading a piece of Arabic calligraphy set into the wall: the words were from the last Sura of the Qur’an, in which mankind asks God for protection from the whisperer of evil. He was grateful to Hakim Abdullah for insisting he learn written Arabic as well as spoken, for the quartermaster often received detailed handwritten instructions, consisting of comments and measurements.
‘Will Ryde,’ said a familiar voice.
Will turned in his seat to see the turbaned Huja. For a moment, he failed to recognise him, for the man was dressed like a beggar. His clothes were ripped and stained, his sandals partly broken, his robe patched. Was this really the same man he had seen at the procession when Sultan Murad III had passed by? ‘Master Huja?’ he said uncertainly.
‘I am the most unceremonial of the ceremonious, so do not stand for me,’ Huja said, taking a seat beside Will on the stone bench.
‘Sir,’ said Will. ‘I was left quite mystified by what you told me the other day on the road, about losing your soul.’
Huja gave Will an odd stare. ‘I said that?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, I was smarting over some trifling matter. Best you ignore such frivolous talk,’ Huja said, offering a languid wave of the hand.
It hadn’t sounded trivial when Huja mentioned it previously, but Will decided not to press the matter. ‘What happened to your clothes?’ he enquired.
Huja held out his arms, the holes in his sleeves on display. ‘Clothes are a fine thing, Will Ryde. They make us appear something we are not.’
‘How do you mean, Master Huja?’
Huja tucked his legs up on the seat, sitting cross-legged in his beggar robes. ‘I was once invited to a great banquet in a palace where all were welcome. Upon entering the magnificent hall, the ruler’s chamberlain took one look at my ragged cloak and broken sandals and placed me at the furthest table, away from any important persons.
‘Realising it would be hours before I received any food, I went home, dressed myself in a splendid cloak and turban, glittering with jewels, and returned to the feast. Upon seeing me, the heralds sounded the drums and I was welcomed as a visitor of high standing. Why, the very same chamberlain came out of the palace himself, and showered me with platitudes. He then proceeded to sit me in a position very close to the ruler himself.
‘Waiters hastened to bring a delectable dish of food and placed it in front of me. Instantly I began to rub handfuls of the food into my cloak and turban. When the ruler asked what I was doing, I replied, “It is the cloak and turban which secured me the food. Irrefutably, they have earned their serving”.’
Mouth open, Will was about to ask a question, when Huja announced that he was most urgently needed somewhere by someone important, yet he had no idea where the place was nor who that person might be. Before he disappeared from view, Huja spun around and said: ‘Remember, Will Ryde, the human soul is like a torn garment, attached to the divine by a single thread, yet yearning for wholeness.’
And then he was gone.
Will was still feeling baffled when he noticed Captain Kadri approach, beckoning him over. Will rose and Kadri guided them down a series of corridors before halting outside a room with an oak door. He knocked.
‘Come in.’
They entered. Lighting was poor in this western-facing room. Strands of sunlight crept through, spreading narrow spindly rays across the office. Mehmed Konjic sat on a chair behind a desk; two empty chairs with cabriole legs were set before him and a divan against the wall on the right.
‘Will Ryde,’ said Konjic. ‘Please, sit.’
Kadri drew up the chair next to Will, opposite the Commander.
‘I understand that some of the Janissaries from the Topkapi were rough in how they dealt with you,’ said Konjic.
‘I’ve had worse, sir,’ Will replied carefully.
‘I would like to thank you for apprehending one of the thieves. The man has been rigorously interrogated throughout the night and finally broke this morning. Though I do not approve of the methods used by my peers, they have borne fruit.’
‘Who is he?’ asked Will.
Konjic puffed out his cheeks, placing his palms down flat on his desk. ‘Unfortunately, he is a Janissary.’
‘What!’ Will sat bolt upright in his chair.
‘As were the other two who escaped,’ Konjic said heavily.
Will looked over at Kadri. The Captain nodded, giving him permission to speak.
‘Why? Who were they working for?’ Will asked.
Konjic smiled. ‘I see the inquirer in you. Good. We do not know at this time, but thanks to your brave work, we have a trail to follow.’
Will felt a great sense of relief. He wasn’t in trouble – was not about to be sent back to the galleys.
‘Commander Konjic,’ he said, ‘when I chased them, it was clear that the thieves were in possession of some type of staff. I’m assuming this is what was stolen. May I ask what it was?’
Konjic drew a long breath, before coming to a decision. ‘Since you have been instrumental in capturing one of the thieves, it would pain me not to tell you.’
Will waited. He heard footsteps outside the door, but these continu
ed on down the corridor. Konjic glanced at Kadri, who rose and went to the door, swinging it open and squinting up and down before closing it and taking his seat once more.
Konjic leaned forward, arms on the table, and said in a low but carrying voice: ‘The Staff of Moses has been stolen from the Topkapi Palace.’
Will gulped. He knew of the religious artefacts within the Topkapi Palace. These had been brought to Istanbul from Cairo when Sultan Selim I defeated the Mamluks. Amongst the treasures were the Pot of Abraham, the Turban of Joseph, the Sword of David, the Scrolls of John the Baptist, the Banner of Muhammad.
‘Understandably, the Grand Vizier is furious with this lapse in security and the Sultan will be informed later this morning, when a rider reaches him at his summer palace. His anger will know no bounds.’ The Commander then revealed: ‘The Grand Vizier has asked me to use my new Rüzgar unit to retrieve the Staff.’
Will recalled Huja’s story about Sultan Murad III murdering his brothers when he ascended the throne. A man such as this should not be angered. Will felt sorry for the messenger riding to tell him the news. The Grand Vizier ran the Sultan’s government and though Will had never seen him, he imagined an austere-looking fellow, accustomed to getting his own way. Yet there was something bothering Will.
‘Begging your pardon, Commander,’ he said, ‘but aren’t there more experienced Janissaries who can perform this duty?’
‘That is a good question, Will Ryde. Yes, there are - but at this moment they cannot be trusted. Let us not forget, the thief was a Janissary and when confessing, he implicated others. The net has been cast wide. We have traitors in the Topkapi Palace and until we know who they are, this investigation will be conducted by an outside agency.’
The Ottoman court was a confusing place. Favours were given and received with an unending eye on jockeying for political favour. Losing favour, Will had heard, usually resulted in death or banishment. When the stakes were set so high, it was little wonder the worst traits of human behaviour bubbled to the surface. He himself had absolutely no intention of getting caught in these machinations.