A Tudor Turk

by Rehan Khan

  Gurkan threw the canvas over them and they lay flat, shielding themselves and the raft. Waiting. Minutes passed with no sound. Eventually, Will peered out from under the covering, craning his neck upwards towards the battlements. No one was there. He waited for a few more minutes, before retrieving the hook from the moat.

  ‘Try again,’ Awa breathed. ‘Give it more width before you throw.’

  Will nodded, doing as she instructed, before launching the hook. This time it sailed up and over, lodging on the battlements with a faint clang. He tested the rope. It held. He gave it a yank. It remained firm.

  ‘I’ll go first,’ he said. ‘If anything happens to me, just get out, head to London, find the East Mediterranean . . .’

  ‘Yes, we know,’ Awa interjected. ‘But nothing is going to happen to you, Will.’ She placed a hand on his arm. ‘Now start climbing - before I decide to go first.’

  He took a deep breath, checked his weapons, gripped the rope and hauled himself up the sheer surface, his knees bent, boots firmly on the wall, walking up at a near-vertical angle. It was hard work, far tougher than he had expected. By halfway up, his calves were aching, his shoulder muscles on fire. He almost stopped, but forced himself on, and didn’t look down. The ascent continued, until he reached the top of the battlements, where he paused, manoeuvring himself into a position where he could peer over the edge. All clear. He then heaved himself up and rolled over the parapet. Without pausing to catch his breath, he leaned over and motioned for Awa to follow. Within a few minutes both Awa and Gurkan had joined him.

  Gurkan puffed out his cheeks. ‘Hard work.’

  Bent double, they shimmied along the low battlements till they came to a doorway in the northern tower. It was unlocked. Opening it with a creak, they cautiously descended the spiral stone staircase in the pitch dark, feeling their way down the uneven steps, aided by the occasional shaft of moonlight entering the arrow slits in the walls. At the bottom, they set off down the corridor, the way ahead illuminated by cressets - burning torches set at intervals into the walls. Will was at the front. Rounding a corner, he held out a hand to stop them and put a warning finger to his lips.

  ‘Heavily guarded. Outside a room. Let’s work our way around from the other side.’ They followed the corridor back, and after circling the entire tower, returned to the same room from the other side, only to find guards placed at a second entrance.

  ‘This must be where they keep the treasures,’ whispered Gurkan. ‘How are we going to get in?’

  ‘There might be a window,’ said Awa.

  Gurkan’s eyes widened. ‘What, you mean enter from the outside?’

  ‘What choice do we have? I can do it,’ said Awa.

  ‘Likely be locked,’ said Gurkan.

  ‘Might not be,’ Awa argued.

  ‘Look, you two . . .’ Will was saying, when they heard footsteps approaching. They dived into a recess, pushing themselves back against the wall, out of the glow of the cressets, holding their breath as Stukeley’s ferocious form stomped past, heading for the guarded room. At least it confirmed their suspicions: something valuable must be inside. Was it the Staff of Moses? They slipped back down the corridor, picking up a lantern before ascending the spiral stairway once again and returning to the roof. Awa led the way towards the far side, where a window, if it existed, would show on the outer wall.

  ‘Wait,’ hissed Will. ‘Look at these - skylights.’ There were at least half a dozen, one built over every room. ‘One of these must be over the vault room.’ They fanned out, searching.

  ‘Here,’ whispered Awa. ‘I think this is the one.’ The glass had a layer of grime over it. She wiped it clear, then breathed excitedly, ‘I can see it! They’ve placed it inside a glass cabinet, right below us.’ Frustratingly, three iron bars were fixed into stone, above the leaded glass.

  ‘We need to get these bars off,’ said Will, gripping an iron bar with each hand and tugging on them as hard as he could. They barely moved. He tried again, his cheeks becoming hot with the exertion.

  ‘My turn to try,’ said Gurkan. He did his best but it was useless.

  ‘Let me take a look,’ said Awa, resting on her knees, the lamp placed beside the metal rods. Gurkan let out a humph, as if to say, What chance do you have if we can’t loosen it? ‘The rods are mortared into the stonework,’ she noted, ‘but this one in the middle . . . Both of you, pull this central rod together, see if you can loosen it. If we can get it out, I might be able to slip through.’

  Will and Gurkan gripped the metal rod and pulled. Again, and again. ‘Keep going,’ Awa urged them. Eventually there was a grating sound, as the rod shifted, mortar crumbling. Little by little, the central rod loosened, till Awa was able to insert her dagger under the rod and lever it up. They repeated the manoeuvre on the other side and were able to lift one entire rod clear. The space was tight, but Will reckoned Awa was going to fit.

  ‘Now for the glass,’ said Will, applying Awa’s dagger to the corner of the frame upon which the glass was fitted. He dug away at it till he reached the joint into which the pane of glass slotted. After scraping clear the opposite side as well, he was able to remove one pane of glass, then repeated the process with the other three, carefully handing each pane to Gurkan, who placed them at a safe distance.

  ‘Lower me down with the rope,’ said Awa.

  They dropped a few feet of rope down. Awa then slid off the edge of the window, grasping the rope firmly as they lowered her into the darkened room. She signalled for them to stop when she was directly over the glass cabinet. There she saw the Staff they had been seeking: displayed lying on a pure white cloth. With luck, it would only be a matter of seconds before she retrieved it - and then they could escape to London., having taken it right under the noses of the Earl of Rothminster and Sir Reginald Rathbone.

  Commander Konjic would be proud of them.

  * * *

  Awa was dangling right over the cabinet. Any further and she would be touching the top with the soles of her boots. The room was circular, with recesses built into the walls; some were occupied by pieces of elaborate armour in glass cabinets, others with coins shining inside glass boxes. As she twirled around on the rope, she caught sight of a cache of jewels glittering inside another locked cabinet.

  She swung her body backwards and forwards until she could drop to the ground without crashing into the cabinet. Silent as a cat. Or so she thought. Barking ferociously, an enormous mastiff came charging at her. She stumbled back, her hand going for her weapon, but the beast was already upon her. Its jaws opened, then it abruptly stopped, as the chain tied to its collar pulled taut.

  ‘Oh God!’ said Awa, darting an anguished glance up at her friends’ horrified faces.

  The mastiff snapped away, growling and barking at her, but it was out of range. The guards, hearing the disturbance, had opened the door behind her. Scrambling up, Awa smashed the glass on the top of the cabinet with the hilt of her sword and snatched up the Staff. For the second time in her life she was holding the rod of the Prophet Moses.

  ‘Stop!’ someone shouted. Guards were pouring into the room - too many to fight.

  Stukeley marched into the room. ‘What the hell is going on here, eh?’ he bellowed, then bared his teeth when he saw her clutching the Staff. ‘You!’

  Awa threw the Staff up, straight as an arrow, flying towards the skylight. Nimbly, Will caught it.

  ‘No!’ Stukeley yelled. ‘Get ’em.’ Two guards raced out of the room, with Stukeley behind them. The others remained, advancing towards Awa.

  ‘Come on, Awa!’ Gurkan shouted.

  Awa bounded up onto the broken cabinet, grabbing the rope as Gurkan hauled her up. She might have got away, had a quick-thinking guard not thrown a knife, slicing it through. Awa plummeted back onto the shattered glass of the cabinet, hitting it hard, before falling off and landing on the stone floor.

  Will watched in dismay as Awa plunged back into the room. No. She’d almost been free! He bent to sque
eze through the space between the rods, when Gurkan stopped him.

  ‘You need to get the Staff to the East Mediterranean Company in London. Go,’ ordered Gurkan.

  ‘You do it,’ Will objected.

  ‘You’re English, you won’t be noticed in London,’ said Gurkan, shoving Will away. ‘Now go!’

  Will held the rope for him, before Gurkan leaped the final few feet, landing amongst the guards below, whipping his blade out as he did.

  Will couldn’t leave his friends. Not like this! He examined the Staff once more. So much tribulation this holy relic had caused - the death of his friends, the capture of others. Surely God would not want this. Then he remembered Konjic telling him about the perils of returning to Istanbul empty-handed. Will felt the turmoil inside him. Awa and Gurkan were certain to be captured. Likely to be tortured. Could he bear the guilt?

  Only if he made their suffering count for something

  ‘Damn it!’ Will cursed. Then he turned and ran, ran for his life and for theirs.

  38

  SACRIFICE

  AWA SPRANG TO HER FEET as Gurkan fell into a fighting stance beside her. At least she was not going to die alone in this desolate land, where the sun never shone. The mastiff howled, the eight soldiers circled, weapons drawn. She noticed the door was left open, then one of the soldiers slammed it shut. Silly. She shouldn’t have eyed it.

  ‘Let the dog loose!’ cried one of the soldiers.

  Another guard walked over to the beast, hand out. The dog stopped barking and licked the fingers of its trainer. The soldier crouched down beside the mastiff, rubbing its forehead, speaking into its ear. The man smiled through crooked yellow teeth at Awa and Gurkan, before reaching down and letting the beast loose. The hound bolted at her, jaws snapping, ready to kill.

  Daggers drawn, Awa rammed both her blades through the head of the beast. Its jaws were inches from her face - she could smell the rank stink coming from its drooling saliva. Its legs gave way and it collapsed. Awa ripped the blades out. It was the first time she had killed an animal and she was sickened by the thought.

  ‘My dog,’ the trainer whined. ‘My poor boy - the witch has killed him.’ He charged at her, sword swinging. She ducked, twisting her body so her heel stuck out and tripped him, after which she brought her daggers down on him.

  Gurkan was busy, fighting the soldiers. Awa went to help him. The strange stillness, the sakina, consumed her once more. Every movement seemed to be in slow motion, allowing her to predict the next attack and be able to counter-strike. She and Gurkan were holding their own - but for how long? Their only way out was through the door, which was presently closed. She had to manoeuvre them in its direction.

  One of the soldiers tripped over the mastiff’s body. Awa swung around and kicked another guard in the face, sending him sliding across a pool of the dog’s blood and slamming into the wall. Awa reached for the door handle and pulled it open - but sensing a weapon was close, instinctively side-stepped, as a sword thrust whistled past her ear and through the open doorway. She elbowed her attacker in the stomach, making him drop his weapon.

  ‘Gurkan!’ Awa shouted. The Konyan rolled under a strike and threw himself through the open door, out into the corridor. Breathing hard, Awa pulled it shut and locked it. Fortunately, the soldiers in their haste had left the huge iron key in the lock. The guards pounded on it from the other side. The door, shook, but held securely.

  ‘Come on, let’s get out of here,’ panted Gurkan, dusting himself off.

  They sprinted around the circular corridor, heading for the roof. Then: ‘Wait,’ said Awa. ‘I forgot - Will has already taken the raft. We’ll have to get out through the main entrance.’

  ‘Oh no!’ Gurkan moaned.

  They bounded back down the spiral stairway, nearly tumbling in their haste. The steps were oddly designed, some higher than others, and Awa hesitated a number of times, making Gurkan bump into her. To their dismay, they heard footsteps coming the other way. Two soldiers were clambering noisily up towards them. Being above them, Awa and Gurkan had the advantage. She was able to bring her sword around in the constricted space to strike down the first, as Gurkan dealt with the second.

  Climbing over their bodies, they stole through the exit and under an ancient archway to reach a larger courtyard, where they saw a stable block. They crept over to it, pushing open the wooden doors without a sound. A brown mare neighed at Awa and she patted her on the nose. She buckled a saddle onto the mare’s back, as Gurkan readied another horse for himself. Holding their mounts by the reins, they left the stables and made their way towards the postern gate, dreading discovery at every step.

  Unfortunately, the horses’ hooves clattered on the stone. Awa felt anxiety rising in the pit of her stomach. This was too easy, for ahead of them she could see that the drawbridge had been lowered, connecting the castle to the land. Beyond that was the countryside. If fate wished it, they would be free in moments.

  As they reached the postern, however, there was a sound of metal sliding through stone, as an iron portcullis crashed down in front of them, blocking their way out with its vicious spikes. She spun around, and at the other end of the small courtyard, another portcullis thundered down, trapping them inside. Her mare panicked, rearing up on her back legs. Awa tried to bring the horse under control.

  ‘Take aim,’ someone shouted. Behind murder-holes set into the walls of the small courtyard, Awa could see at least a dozen arrows pointed at her and Gurkan. There was nowhere to hide, they were going to be shredded. She let the horse go and it trotted across to the portcullis. Was this how she was going to die? They had been so close to escaping. Gurkan reached out and held her hand. She squeezed it.

  ‘Wait!’ The voice boomed through the archway. It was Stukeley, Rathbone’s henchman. Beside him stood his master, resplendent in a crimson doublet.

  ‘My goodness, these young Janissaries are awfully resourceful, don’t you find, Stukeley?’ drawled Rathbone.

  The bodyguard shrugged his huge shoulders.

  ‘I have to commend your master, Commander Konjic,’ Rathbone went on, addressing Awa and Gurkan. ‘My sources do speak highly of him. He seems to have connections in the most unexpected places - even in London. Incidentally, did Konjic make it out of the Stag alive?’

  ‘Don’t say anything,’ Gurkan whispered, gripping her hand.

  ‘Young Will seems to have turned Turk and run off with the Staff.’ Rathbone chuckled gently. ‘Annoying - but we’ll find him. In the meantime, perhaps you can arrange a session in the dungeon, Stukeley - if you would be so kind?’

  The henchman smiled.

  39

  INTERROGATION

  DARKNESS CREPT IN AROUND HER. The dungeon contained other cells, and she heard the muffled cries of men and women. The earth below her feet was damp. She imagined the cell flooding in heavy rains. Avoiding the withered straw mattress, trying to ignore the all-pervasive stench of human waste, Awa chose to sit on the ground with her back to the bars. At least there she was closer to the light.

  Time passed. Awa was not even sure if dawn had broken, but she performed her Fajr prayers. To keep despair at bay, she kept reminding herself that this world was a bridge, as Prophet Jesus had said, to be crossed to the everlasting abode of light and peace. The vision gave her comfort.

  Earlier, Stukeley had dragged Gurkan off for interrogation. She feared for the Konyan, and for herself. Was she going to receive the same fate? What would they do to her, these warped men, with their hunger for domination? She recalled the conversation she had had with her friend Suha at the Battle of Tondibi. If only women sat on war councils, there would be less fighting and more reconciliation in the world.

  A sound made her jump. The flames of the torches on the walls outside revealed two guards, dragging a man along, his feet barely touching the ground. To her horror, Awa realised it was Gurkan. The guards stopped outside her cell.

  ‘Get back!’ one of them barked.

  The other unl
ocked the cell door, keeping a wary eye on Awa, who shuffled to the rear wall. They pushed Gurkan inside and he collapsed as they slammed the iron bars shut, turning the key.

  ‘Witch!’ spat the guard with the key, as he stomped away.

  ‘Gurkan!’ Awa lifted his head onto her lap, pushing back the hair from his forehead. ‘What did they do to you?’

  He winced, arching his back. His right eye was partially closed and the left had a bad cut over it. ‘I tried to stay silent, but I couldn’t hold out.’ Gurkan raised up his left hand, to show that two of his nails were missing, his fingers bleeding. He burst out crying, tears streaming down his face. ‘I’m so ashamed.’

  ‘There, there,’ said Awa, wiping his tears. ‘It’s all right.’ She had never seen him in such a pitiful state. He was the gregarious one with the carefree spirit.

  ‘Don’t let them take you, Awa,’ he mumbled feverishly. ‘They have tools they use for torture, it’s . . . horrific. Try and run, get away. Death is nobler.’

  ‘No, don’t say such a thing, Gurkan. God is watching over us.’

  Gurkan nodded. Awa remained silent, comforting him, holding his undamaged right hand. It was shaking. Eventually he grew calmer, albeit still in considerable pain and torment.

  ‘What did they want to know?’ she asked.

  ‘Everything. About the Janissaries, the Sultan, Commander Konjic, all of us.’

  ‘What did you tell them?’ But Awa knew the answer before he replied.

  ‘Everything,’ Gurkan said, his brow strained, bruised lips quivering. ‘I tried to resist, but I was scared. I . . .’

  ‘Don’t blame yourself, my friend,’ said Awa.

  ‘But I must, Awa,’ Gurkan responded, agitated. ‘I betrayed everyone. I’m a coward.’

  ‘You are no coward,’ she said firmly. ‘I have seen you fight: you are courageous, and a good person. Strength is about pulling yourself together, even after you’ve been shattered into a thousand pieces. Falling is merely the first movement we take before rising.’