by Rehan Khan
It was a mêlée and there in the centre was the enormous Stukeley, who had got up once more. He was snarling at Will. Awa stood to Will’s right and Gurkan on his left.
‘Nice to have you back,’ said Will.
‘Let’s fell this oak,’ Gurkan quipped.
‘Why not,’ Awa said, advancing with her daggers.
Stukeley sprang at Will, broadsword coming down with all of his brute strength. Will sidestepped and the weapon broke the floorboards below him and was stuck there. Will advanced: the giant caught his arm in an iron grip. Gurkan attacked from behind: the giant dodged out of the way. Awa stabbed her daggers into his back and then yanked them downwards, tearing at the flesh.
Stukeley groaned in pain. Will then hit him in the face with the hilt of his weapon and Gurkan sank his blade into the Goliath’s chest. Even then, Stukeley only dropped to his knees. It required another sword strike in the neck to finish him off. Gurkan happily obliged.
The brawl around them was still in full flow. Bones cracked, sinews split, blood dripped.
‘Mother!’ Will ran over to her, holding her tight. ‘We need to get you to safety.’ He swivelled as a sword came in his direction. Gurkan pushed the assailant back into the crowd and one of the black- and blue-liveried men dealt with him.
‘Rathbone - I need to stop him. Awa, please look after my mother,’ Will instructed her, before racing off.
Awa turned to Gurkan. ‘Since you are still recuperating, please take care of Mistress Ryde,’ she told him, then shot off after Will.
Will charged out of the back of the Pike’s Head. Word had spread about the fight and a crowd had gathered around the front of the inn, so the way to the north of the river was blocked. He had no choice but to leave the bridge on the Southwark side. The many passers-by made the going slow. He jumped up a couple of times, but couldn’t see Rathbone. Where had the man gone? It was then Will noticed a staircase on the outside of a building, leading to a roof on which more tarred heads on spikes were displayed. Someone was moving towards the heads. Rathbone!
Will barrelled headlong, taking the wooden stairs three at a time. He spotted Awa close behind him. She must have left Gurkan with his mother. He was pleased she was there, as she was the most skilled warrior of the three of them. He ran onto the roof. They were roughly in the middle of the bridge. Behind him he could see the tower of St Paul’s and the city of London. Ahead was the district of Southwark. All of the roofs along the bridge were of differing heights. Rathbone had vanished from view, jumping onto a lower roof. Will rushed across, avoiding the grisly heads. There was space between the buildings and he leaped, landing safely. It reminded him of the crazy pursuit across the roofs of the Grand Bazaar. And Will didn’t even like heights!
When he approached the next rooftop, he stopped dead. Rathbone’s sword was drawn and he was duelling with another person. Commander Konjic! How could this be?
Awa caught up with Will and they both stared down at the clash between the two men.
‘What were you thinking, Rathbone, stealing the Staff from the most powerful man in the world?’ said Konjic.
‘The Turk is decadent; the Ottomans have passed their peak,’ Rathbone sneered.
‘Perhaps your hatred of the Turk is due to your lack of understanding him,’ said Konjic, as he blocked another attack. Rathbone’s two guards, weapons drawn, stood within striking distance, ready to move in.
‘The West is rising,’ said Rathbone, springing another attack on Konjic. It was obvious to Rathbone that his opponent was nursing a wound; he was protecting his left side and his movements were restricted. Rathbone took advantage; it was an uneven fight.
‘Come on,’ said Awa, springing down to the rooftop below.
They drew the attention of the two guards, who came for them. Will tripped, colliding with Awa. They righted themselves - saw their opponents about to strike them. Will blocked the blow from Awa’s enemy and she did the same from his. In his frustration, Will’s adversary overreached himself. Will fell to one knee and was able to come under his foe’s sword strike and drive his own weapon into the stomach of his enemy, causing the man to double over, before Will finished him off.
He rose to see Awa dispensing with her opponent. Konjic meanwhile was losing the duel with Rathbone. Only seconds later, as Will watched in horror, their Commander lay sprawled on the ground, having lost his weapon. Rathbone was about to deliver the killer blow.
‘Commander!’ Will shouted.
Konjic peered over, as did Rathbone.
‘Blast!’ Rathbone rumbled, leaving Konjic and racing to the side of the bridge as though he were about to leap off. Instead he removed the Staff of Moses from his back and prepared to throw it like a javelin. What was he doing?
‘No!’ Will started forward.
Rathbone threw, but so did Awa. The dagger left her fingers moments before the Staff left Rathbone’s, and her steel struck him in the wrist, causing him to drop the Staff so it landed safely on the ground. His momentum, however, had carried him forward, to the edge of the rooftop. He momentarily regained his balance, before his costly boots slipped on the wet surface, sending him toppling down into the river.
‘Arghh!’ Rathbone screamed as he plummeted down into the Thames.
Will and Awa raced across to Konjic. ‘Commander!’ Will cried, helping Konjic back to his feet.
‘The Staff,’ gasped Konjic. Awa ran across to pick it up, holding it firmly, before handing it to Konjic. They inspected the river, but couldn’t see Rathbone. There were ripples in the water, but no sign of the man.
As they waited to see whether Rathbone was going to emerge, Will noticed a boat about twenty yards away from the bridge. It was a small wherry, with a couple of men rowing. On it stood a man dressed in black, a hood over his head, watching them. Whoever he was, Rathbone had been trying to get the Staff to him. The figure examined them impassively, arms behind his back, statuesque in his posture. The boat did not stop to look for Rathbone. It moved away, down the Thames, heading east out of London and on to the sea.
46
AN INVITATION
A BRASS FALCON PLACED ON a steel globe and attached to the top of a wooden pole, caught her attention. Beside it was a depiction of a pyramid, also made from brass. The gardens of Nonsuch Palace were exquisite, full of sculptures and ornaments. Awa was a desert dweller, used to arid heat, and sporadic oases. Here, she thought, even the grass seemed luxurious, as though each blade was cut from the finest silk. It had rained nearly every day for the past month since the incident on London Bridge, when they had retrieved the Staff of Moses. There were an inordinate set of bureaucratic hurdles to overcome and Konjic said they must all remain in England until everything was cleared with the authorities.
Awa eyed Gurkan approaching. He was regally dressed in a fine woollen kaftan, embossed with red and yellow patterns. ‘Ready for an audience with the Queen?’ he quipped.
Awa herself wore a rich silk tunic and matching pantaloons under a floor-length coat made of the richest materials. Her Ottoman waistcoat was lined with fur, for which she was very grateful in this cold weather. ‘I think so,’ she smiled, and they walked side by side, out of the garden.
Gurkan still had a sparkle in his eyes, but after their ordeal at Leeds Castle, much of his confidence had been dented. Awa hoped he would eventually recover and get back to his normal, cheerful self. ‘How are you coping?’ she asked.
‘Nights are difficult. I wake up in terror, remembering the torture.’
‘It will pass with time.’
‘I hope so,’ said Gurkan.
‘I was once locked in a tiny metal container in the desert for nearly three days without food and water. I was close to death.’ Awa wanted to share this with him, thinking it might help. ‘Weeks later, I would jolt awake and cry out, thinking I was still confined. Only now is the memory fading in my dreams.’
‘I didn’t know. I’m sorry they did that to you. Was it Odo and Ja?’
To hear their names still sent a shudder through her. It made her want to glance over her shoulder, ensure they weren’t sneaking up on her, terrified they were going to snare her once more. I should have finished Odo off when I had the chance, she thought.
‘Yes.’ Her voice was so faint, he could barely hear it.
Will sat upon a stone bench in the grounds of Nonsuch Palace. He held his mother’s hands, his head resting on her shoulder. It felt so good to be with her. In the past month he had spent every available moment with her. They had years to catch up on. Anne wanted to know everything that had happened to her dear little boy in the time away, and Will obliged, though he missed out some parts - such as the suffering he had endured in the galleys. Anne listened patiently, hearing about the architecture and buildings of Marrakesh and Istanbul, other times biting her lip, when learning how Will was torn from his kindly master, Hakim Abdullah, and sent to the galleys. On and on Will recounted his adventures . . . Eventually, he realised that he had barely asked his mother what she had done after he left. It was her turn to talk.
He learned about her frantic search for him, which had continued for years; she clung onto hope, but about a year ago, she had resigned herself to never seeing him again. However, Anne refused to move from Smithfield. If Will ever returned, this was the place he would come back to. So, she stayed in her humble dwelling, as close as she could to the market where she plied her trade.
She kissed him on the head. ‘My little love. My boy Will.’
Will sat up straight and looked into her eyes. ‘Mother. I love you so much.’
Anne hugged him. ‘And I you.’ She let him go, but still held his hands. ‘You remind me so much of your father. He would have been proud of you.’
It was difficult for Will to show love to someone he couldn’t remember. His father had died in mysterious circumstances when Will was two.
‘Have you decided?’ asked Anne.
Will nodded. ‘I’m not going to leave you again.’
‘Commander Konjic is an honourable man. You and your friends are fortunate to have such a decent human being as your leader. He saved you from the bonds of slavery. My son, you owe him your allegiance.’
‘But . . .’ Will felt tears welling up in his eyes
‘It will be all right,’ his mother promised gently. ‘I’ll be fine. You can visit.’ She stood up. Straightened her dress and held out her hands for Will. He took them and rose up. She kissed him on the forehead. ‘Come, son, we’d best meet up with the others. Can’t keep royalty waiting, can we now!’
They walked in silence, arriving at the broad terrace situated at the rear of the palace. Tables and chairs were spread across the stone surface. Many of the guests due for an audience with the Queen waited in this area. Awa, Gurkan and Konjic were already present.
Awa watched Will and his mother approach. Konjic had given Will an advance, so he could buy fabric for Mistress Ryde to stitch into a fine dress to be worn on this royal occasion. Will’s mother was quite striking in her outfit. Her golden locks of hair came down around her neck. Anne seemed like a kind-natured woman, and Awa liked her. She had visited Anne’s home in Smithfield and was shocked when she saw the poverty and destitution amongst the Londoners. There was wealth in this nation, but it did not benefit the common people.
Will had been withdrawn over the past few weeks. Awa could see the choices he needed to make tearing him up inside. Was he coming back, or was he going to request Konjic for a release?
She took a quick look over at Konjic. The Commander appeared distracted, staring about, waiting for someone. Among the other guests congregated on the terrace, a fellow with a well-groomed beard kept peeking in their direction. He seemed quite taken with her and Gurkan. When Awa made eye-contact with him, however, he turned away, pretending he hadn’t been studying them.
‘To think I’m going to meet the Queen. Never would I have dreamed of such a thing,’ Anne was saying.
Just then, an old man approached Konjic. The Commander bowed and exchanged pleasantries with him. They conversed for a few minutes before Konjic presented him to the group.
‘This is Lord Burghley, High Treasurer to Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth.’
None of them was certain how to greet the Lord, so they bowed and curtsied.
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ said Burghley. ‘Save all that for Her Majesty.’
‘Lord Burghley has been an advocate for an alliance with the Sultan for many years. Our officers at the East Mediterranean Company were in contact with him. When I arrived in London, I went straight to see him,’ Konjic told them.
‘Terrible business, what happened to your men,’ Burghley said gruffly.
‘Lord Burghley, may I introduce Mistress Anne Ryde and her son Will, who is one of our finest young Janissaries. This is Gurkan, a dashing swordsman and Janissary from the city of Konya. And finally, Awa, the most skilled female warrior I have ever met.’
‘Delighted,’ said Burghley.
Konjic nodded. ‘Will, the men in black and blue livery are part of a spy network established by the late Francis Walsingham, a close acquaintance of Lord Burghley’s. The spies detected the arrival of Awa and Gurkan and brought them to me.’
Of course, Awa and the others had already heard this before, but not in the presence of Lord Burghley, and Konjic was using this as an opportunity to formally present their group to the Lord.
‘If you ever find yourself in a tight spot, come and find me,’ Burghley advised.
A footman emerged onto the terrace to invite the guests inside and to usher them through into a decorative hall, with dozens of ornate glass mirrors running along the wall. Gold leaf trimmed the glistening crystal chandeliers. The hall connected to an inner chamber, of equal size, before they were shown into the Throne Room, in a narrow file. Once inside, the guests were led to pre-assigned positions.
Awa gazed around, taking in the luxurious décor. Thick velvet drapes hung heavy on the side; gold and silver trimmings were fixed to all furnishings; the tiling on the floor shone black, blue, red and yellow. The Queen was already seated on her throne. Face as white as porcelain, chin held high, regarding all before her with a regal gaze. She was much older and frailer than Awa had imagined. Was this the same woman who only a few years ago had defeated the Spanish Armada?
Once all the guests were in position, standing some ten yards removed from Her Majesty, the first invitee was requested to present himself. It was the curious bearded fellow from the terrace. He was announced as a playwright.
‘Your Majesty,’ he declared in a dramatic pose. ‘With your continued support and the blessings of Almighty God, I would like to announce that I have completed the next instalment of my play Henry VI. As such, I humbly request that I and my fellow actors be permitted to perform the drama for Her Majesty.’ The playwright handed what Awa assumed was an invitation to the Chamberlain, who presented it to the Queen.
Her Majesty seemed pleased at having received the invitation and when she smiled, Awa got a good look at her black rotted teeth. Awa had seen such teeth in Timbuktu. Those who consumed too many sugary dishes and failed to perform the daily oral cleansing with a miswak twig ended up with teeth like that.
Having listened to the Queen’s reply, the Chamberlain announced: ‘Her Majesty accepts your invitation, Master Shakespeare. We will make the necessary arrangements.’
The playwright bowed low, then came back to stand with the other guests. Awa caught him observing their curious unit once more. Were she and her companions inspiring him in the development of his future characters? Awa frowned at the thought of an audience watching the depiction of a true person on stage. It was quite undignified, in her estimation.
The Chamberlain motioned to Lord Burghley and Commander Konjic. The two of them stepped forward, to stand a few feet from the Queen. Elizabeth began to speak.
‘Travellers from the East, know that I, Queen of England, desire to send greetings of peace to the Honourable Sultan Murad, Lord of
the East, presider over Ottoman lands, monarch to people of all faiths. It makes me rejoice, knowing that God hath sent such a wise and compassionate ruler to reign over the land of the Turks, with whom we desire good will and friendship. I send with you words of hope, praying for your safe return. As Queen of this realm I bequeath you two gifts from the people of this fair nation: a carriage of the finest craftsmanship, and an organ, which I know will delight the Sultan with its melodious resonances.’
Awa had absolutely no idea what an organ was. The Queen turned to her Chamberlain, who nodded to Konjic.
The Commander stood tall and said: ‘On behalf of Sultan Murad, ruler of the Ottoman Empire, Majesty of the East, law-giver to all those who reside in his realm, I gratefully acknowledge Her Majesty’s gifts, and shall with the Will of God return to Istanbul, to present these offerings of friendship to His Majesty. May Elizabeth, Queen of England have a long and blessed life and may her kingdom forever be protected from tribulation.’
Konjic and Burghley stepped away once more, but as they did so, the Chamberlain handed a wrapped object to Konjic. It was the Staff of Moses. The Commander had said their mission was secret. Lord Burghley, it seemed, had been able to ensure that the necessary discretion had been maintained.
The next person to approach the Queen’s presence was the Earl of Essex, who was presented with some papers to take to King Henry IV of France. He was followed by some other earls, until the Chamberlain announced: ‘The Earl of Rothminster.’
Awa stiffened when she heard the name, as did Gurkan, Will and Konjic. She had been kept prisoner in his castle; Sir Reginald Rathbone was his man. They watched the Earl approach. He was a man in his early thirties, with jet-black hair, slightly wavy, a well-proportioned beard. He was quite handsome. The Earl strode forward, his cloak swishing behind him as he bowed before waiting for the Chamberlain to approach.