by Rehan Khan
‘You also work for the Levant Company?’ enquired Konjic.
‘No, my patron the Earl of Rothminster has established his own concern, which goes by the name of the Orient Company. We are currently building trade routes, hence my trips to Istanbul and to Alexandria.’
A man approached, holding a portfolio of papers and a ledger. ‘Sir Reginald.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Rathbone, taking the quill from the hand of the officious clerk, who held the ink-pot, and signing the papers one by one before handing them back.
‘Thank you, sir,’ said the clerk, scuttling off.
‘A merchant’s work is never done,’ said Rathbone, smacking his lips.
Konjic rose from his stool, placing a hand on Will’s shoulder. ‘Why don’t I leave you with my apprentice, Sir Reginald? I’m sure he is eager to ask you questions about England. Besides, I need to check on another of my apprentices, who has fallen foul of a bout of sea-sickness.’
Once Konjic had departed, Rathbone fixed Will with a hard stare. ‘Where are you from, lad?’
‘London - just beside Smithfield Market. I was taken when five years old from my mother, who is a seamstress. I then worked for a Moroccan quartermaster in Marrakesh, before joining Mehmed Konjic in Istanbul, where I serve him in his trading ventures.’
Rathbone stroked his chin. ‘Do you miss England?’
‘Every day.’
‘Given the chance, would you return?’
Will bit his lip. This was a dangerous question to ask. He wanted to shout out: ‘Take me home!’ but he did not know Rathbone well enough to be open with him. ‘I serve Mehmed Konjic. I am at his disposal,’ was all he said.
‘I understand. Loyalty is an important virtue - I admire it. However, if the opportunity came up to serve England, would you consider it?’
Will wasn’t entirely clear what Rathbone was getting at. ‘How do you mean, Sir Reginald?’
Rathbone leaned forward and spoke in a softer tone. ‘My patron, the Earl of Rothminster, is a rising star in the court of Queen Elizabeth. He may not hold influence over the Queen to the extent that Robert Dudley, the Earl of Leicester, does - but his word carries considerable weight. And one thing I know is that he is always looking for Englishmen abroad who are willing to share information with him which could be of political - and particularly of commercial - value. Hmm?’
Rathbone was asking him to spy on his behalf!
‘Of course,’ the man went on, ‘the rewards for sharing sensitive information and documents would be quite handsome. A lad like you, if you played your cards well, could set himself up for life: a manor in the countryside, land to go with it, and maybe even a wench to keep you warm at night, what?’ He chuckled softly.
Will disliked Rathbone’s conniving tone, but his desire to be reunited with his mother was strong. Imagine if he returned to her as a successful gentleman! All the years apart would be worth it if he could save them from squalor. His mother would not need to sew garments for a living ever again.
‘What do you say, young Will?’ Rathbone asked. ‘Will you do it?’
Will’s palms were sweating and he wiped them against his breeches. ‘I will.’
‘Good,’ nodded Rathbone, drawing a signet ring from within the folds of his doublet. ‘There is a fellow by the name of Poulter based in Istanbul. He works for the British Ambassador, Sir Edward Barton, but the man is incompetent and Poulter’s true loyalty is with the Earl of Rothminster. Whenever you have anything to report, go and meet with him. Show him my signet ring and he will know I sent you.’
As Will took the signet ring, Rathbone noticed Konjic circling back in their direction. ‘Not a word of this to anyone,’ he hissed, his expression forbidding.
Will nodded, still inwardly unsure. By accepting Rathbone’s proposal, was he breaking his oath of loyalty to the Sultan? It seemed like it. If so, he was a marked man and his days were numbered.
17
CALL UP
WITH AGONISING SLOWNESS STRENGTH RETURNED to her limbs. It had been two full days and one night since they hauled Awa out of the tin box and placed her into the dormitory to recover. The dorm contained two rows of pallet beds running along opposite walls. At one end was a curtained-off area where the women could relieve themselves. In the midday heat it reeked. However, to Awa, after her incarceration, the dorm seemed like a palace.
Gingerly, she had started to walk, but she still felt light-headed.
‘Here,’ said Wassa, ‘drink this. The Mandinka woman over there, Ida, says it’s a remedy her mother used to make for her father when he was full of aches and pains.’ Her friend was sitting cross-legged on the ground beside her bedding.
Awa lifted the herbal concoction to her lips, saying, ‘I smell ginger, eucalyptus, and something else . . . I can’t be sure.’
‘Cinnamon,’ said Wassa.
Awa peered over at Ida. Raising the cup, she acknowledged her gift. The Mandinka woman smiled and nodded, placing a hand over her heart. The company of strangers was proving to be kind, more so than Awa expected. Perhaps it was the situation they found themselves in which bound them together. The women were living on borrowed time, aware that their final hour could arrive at any moment. In fact, some of these women were going to die this very evening at the next contest.
‘I was sure I was going to perish. I even saw my father, come to me in a vision,’ said Awa. Her voice broke.
‘I lost all hope. But he spoke to me, told me I should hold firm to the Lord of the Worlds, for He will return me to my parents. Why would he say that, unless he was dead too?’ She wept.
‘No! You must not think in such a way. Your father lives and waits for you in glorious Timbuktu. The daughter will return to her father. I promise you this, Awa, I will do everything I can. I will be your support when you need it.’
Awa took her friend’s hand. ‘You have already done more for me than you could ever imagine. Thank you.’
‘You are my sister, you walk beside me. I will always be there for you,’ said Wassa.
At that moment, the door at one end of the dormitory was unlocked, letting in sunlight and dust. The women quickly sat up; those who were partially dressed covered themselves and the room went silent. A man was about to enter. Everyone knew who it was going to be, for he had this habit of turning up when least expected.
Odo’s form was silhouetted against the sunlight and at his side was Ja. The pair entered, smiling at the women, eyeing them rather too keenly for Awa’s liking. They had not taken any for their own pleasure since they were, after all, trying to make money out of the women winning gladiatorial competitions. They didn’t want any upset. How terrifying, Awa thought, if these two vulgar men suddenly changed their minds.
With his sword in its scabbard and a swagger in his step, Odo paced down the narrow space in the centre of the room. It was easy for a man with a weapon to look threatening amongst defenceless women. If Odo ever came in here without his sword, Awa reckoned they could collectively take him out, and Ja too. The women had all huddled together for protection; not a single one was by herself.
Odo stopped in the centre of the room, swinging his gaze to right and left. ‘After this evening’s competition, for those of you who make it through, there is good news. We’re travelling north, to the port city of Alexandria, named after the famous Macedonian conqueror. You will compete in the glorious venue there and make me lots of money. Some of you will die and I am grateful for your sacrifice. For those who cannot bring excitement in the ring, we will find other ways for you to bring pleasure for paying customers.’
With a sadistic grin, he scanned the room and finally his eyes rested on Awa. He approached her. ‘You made it out of the box, I see.’
Awa kept her head lowered, avoiding eye contact. She had learned her lesson - she was no longer going to be disobedient to Odo, other than when she had a dagger in her hand and his throat to slit.
‘Ja,’ said Odo, ushering the giant to his side. ‘What
do you think? Does she look well enough to compete today?’
The giant shrugged his shoulders.
‘She is still very sick,’ said Wassa.
Odo took a threatening step toward the young woman, brandishing his dagger. ‘Silence! Did I ask for your opinion, girl?’
Wassa cringed and Awa clenched her fists. Odo noticed and was gratified. ‘The rage returns. Good. Use it effectively next time I put you in the arena. Kill - or else Ja will string you up and cut you in half to die a slow death.’
He turned to the giant. ‘Let’s put this one,’ he said, pointing at Wassa, ‘in the ring tonight. See how she fares.’
Swivelling round to address the women, Odo warned them: ‘If there is any insubordination tonight, the next person going into the tin box will be left there for a week. And trust me, I know you won’t come out alive.’
He gave them one final threatening glare before departing with Ja in tow. Once they had gone and the door was chained shut, there was a collective sigh of relief, mixed with fear.
‘Don’t anger him,’ said Awa.
‘We have to stand up to him. How else will we escape?’ said Wassa.
‘Not when we have nothing at our disposal to fight with. Better to be submissive. When the right moment arises, then we strike.’
The afternoon stretched out. Half the women were summoned and they prepared themselves, putting on the clothes they had been given for combat. The apparel was deliberately revealing. As most of the women came from a background where modesty in attire was a virtue, this left them feeling humiliated. As they reluctantly lined up to leave, the chain was slipped away. Outside, Tome waited to direct them. He peered at Awa and nodded. She was left confused by his manner. He was brutal with her, yet she had seen concern in his eyes when he carried her from the tin box.
Wassa started to leave, but Awa pulled her back and hugged her tight. ‘Be careful,’ she cautioned.
‘Remember, my sister, even the light of a thousand splendid suns falls short of the majesty of the Creator. He will save us,’ Wassa replied.
Her friend departed and Awa said a prayer for her. Awa needed to sleep but rest would not come. Being unable to see what was happening made it all the more difficult. The sun went down and still the women did not return. Awa shared anxious looks with her companions. All had friends competing.
Suddenly, the chains were yanked off the locks. It was dark outside and Awa could not make out how many women had returned. Ten had left. One by one, the women entered, heads lowered. Some were still bloodied. Others had not fought. Only seven came back.
‘Wassa,’ said Awa.
None of the women replied.
‘Where is Wassa?’ asked Awa.
Ida, the tall Mandinka woman, entered last. She sat Awa down and took her hand, saying gently, ‘I’m so sorry, my sister.’
‘No!’ Awa buried her head in the woman’s shoulder, weeping. Ida held her, letting her grieve.
Why did it have to happen like this? Every time there was a shard of light, it was extinguished. For a time when Wassa was with her, Awa had not felt alone, but the truth was, she would always be alone. She continued to weep until the tears ran out, then she wiped her eyes and thanked Ida. If only she could go back into the ring right now, unleash her feelings on someone, fight the person who had slain Wassa!
The women around the room were silent. Two others had fallen: they also had friends. When everyone was asleep, Awa herself remained awake. She knew now that nothing mattered any more: they were all going to die. It was then she swore a solemn oath to herself that she would either die in the ring - or die trying to escape. Whichever came first, she no longer cared.
And if it involved slaying Odo and Ja, so much the better.
18
PERMISSIONS
RUINS OF GLORIOUS YESTERDAYS ADORNED the street corners of the world’s former greatest city of Alexandria. From the Bibliotheca Alexandrina to the Roman amphitheatre, Will was filled with wonder at the achievements of peoples from so long ago.
When they arrived, Konjic divided them into three units. He took Kostas with him, since the black-haired Greek had a smooth tongue and a flair for negotiation. The merchants of Alexandria were notoriously difficult to deal with, Konjic knew. They still behaved as though their port city was the centre of the world.
Konjic and Kostas set off to meet local guilds and merchants, to see if they could find out whether the Staff of Moses was going to be handled by someone within this community prior to being sold. The two men wore headgear studded with gems and their tunics were heavily embossed in the Ottoman style: everything about their attire expressed wealth. Konjic said that despite the way these fellows blustered, they would nevertheless want to hear from businessmen arriving from Istanbul, to learn all about the requirements of customers further afield.
Mikael and Ismail meanwhile went off to mix with ruffians and petty criminals, to determine whether any of these undesirable elements were running the Staff through underground channels. They dressed accordingly, with an assortment of blades stuffed into their clothing. Will didn’t envy them their dangerous task, but both young men were streetwise and knew how to look out for themselves: they came from less privileged backgrounds, so would fit in well with their roles.
As for Will and Gurkan, they were given freedom to roam the city, visit the stalls in the Souk, go to any other places where the public congregated. Primarily their role was to observe. The more people they encountered, the higher the prospect of them bumping into the green-eyed Janissary. Their day passed without success, however: there was no sign of the former Janissaries nor any whispers regarding the Staff.
As the Maghrib prayer after sunset was being recited, Will waited outside the Mosque of Sidi Gaber for Gurkan. He sat perched on a small wall, behind him the sound of a fountain trickling into a pond of water. When the prayer ended, the faithful came out in clusters, chatting and offering salutations of peace as they departed. Gurkan took a while to emerge and when he did he was with another fellow, who seemed to be trying to make a point to him. Will watched Gurkan hand over some dinars before finishing his conversation. Only after the other man had departed did Gurkan rejoin Will.
‘Can you believe it!’ he said, taking Will by the elbow as they left the mosque precinct. ‘There’s an illegal gladiatorial competition taking place near the docks.’
‘You learned that in the mosque?’
‘Yes - disgraceful. What’s more, that fellow I was speaking with, he was selling tickets.’ He shook his head. ‘Can you believe it!’
‘When is it?’ Will asked.
Gurkan raised an eyebrow. ‘You want to go?’
Watching a gladiatorial contest to the death did have a base appeal, Will acknowledged. He was training as a warrior, and watching live combat could prove a useful learning tool. He caught himself: was there really any justification for watching human beings kill each other for money?
‘We might meet some interesting people, some of whom may know the Janissaries we’re hunting,’ he said aloud.
‘Good. Because I bought two tickets.’ Gurkan held them up. ‘It’s happening late tonight and could be the perfect place for our rogue Janissaries to meet potential buyers.’
Will grunted. ‘I think they already know who their buyers are. Why come to Alexandria, otherwise? Right, for now, we need to get back to the lodging. Konjic asked us to return after Maghrib to compare notes.’
The walk to their accommodation took an hour. The others were already back and soon they all gathered around the table in the main living area downstairs. The small villa was sparsely furnished, with three bedrooms on the upper floor. Mikael had bought food and spread it out on the table: baba-ganoush made with aubergine, tabbouleh - vegetarian salad, humus, and harrias - flatbreads stuffed with minced meat.
As the six of them sat at the wooden table, tucking in to the food, it struck Will that the Janissaries were the closest thing he had ever encountered to a family.
The young Greek finished his mouthful and addressed the group, speaking in a softer tone than usual. Will noticed that the windows were open; Kostas did not want his voice travelling.
‘The merchants were cautious with the information they shared, although they were keen to understand how to secure trade routes to the Balkans. Commander Konjic being Bosnian turned out to be very useful for us today. As for the Staff, no one let on they knew anything, other than the Hamidi family, who said they had heard of an unusual trade taking place in the city between a Venetian buyer and mercenaries from Istanbul.’
Konjic cleared his throat and took over the story. ‘When we questioned them further, they clammed up, but we think the mercenaries they mentioned may well be our rogue Janissaries. Why buyers from Venice are interested is puzzling; we assumed the thieves came to Alexandria because of the lingering Mamluk factions.’
‘Why would the factions want the Staff?’ asked Mikael.
‘Bargaining chip with the Sultan, perhaps?’ Konjic suggested. ‘Anyway, what did you two learn, Mikael?’
‘We learned that loosening tongues isn’t easy here. Some saw straight through us, so that was a waste of time. The ones who talked were those desperate for a few dinars. Mostly they gave us a load of rubbish, and the leads we followed ended nowhere . . . except for one unusual piece of information. Ismail, you take over,’ Mikael said.
The curly-haired Ismail took up the story. ‘There is a group calling themselves the Sicarii, who were referred to by more than one informant. We could see fear in their eyes at the mere mention of them.’
Konjic rubbed his chin.
‘What is it, sir?’ asked Mikael.
‘The Sicarii are hired mercenaries. Originally, they were Jewish zealots, like the notorious Assassin sect that was an offshoot of the Ismaili Muslims. The Assassins were so resilient, even Saladin was unable to destroy them. It is said that after the Mongols defeated them at their mountain stronghold of Alamut, they just disappeared, reappearing when the need arose . . .’