‘That’s not a legal move,’ said Prince Ahmet, in surprise.
‘It is a European variation – arrocco.’
‘It’s interesting, but not exactly fair, when you play by different rules from your opponent.’
‘You may think differently when you are Sultan,’ replied Suleiman, flatly.
Ahmet looked as if he had been slapped, but said nothing. Suleiman picked up his king. ‘Shall I take it back?’ he asked.
In response, Ahmet rose to his feet. ‘Suleiman,’ he said, ‘I know it has been hard on you, watching your father and me quarrel over Bayezid’s throne.’
The young man shrugged. ‘Grandfather has chosen you, and his word is law – kanun. What is there to argue about?’
Prince Ahmet looked at his nephew in grudging admiration. ‘Your father and I were close once, but his cruelty and ambition have—’
‘I have heard the rumours, Uncle,’ Suleiman cut in, hotly.
Embarrassed, Ahmet looked away across the park for a moment, before returning his gaze to the chessboard. ‘Well,’ he said finally, ‘I have a meeting with the council of viziers shortly. Shall we continue another time?’
‘Whenever you wish.’ Suleiman was cordial.
He rose, and bowed to his uncle, who bowed in return, before leaving with his bodyguard. Ezio waited a moment, watching Suleiman as he sat down again contemplating the chessboard in his turn.
Then he moved forward.
Suleiman saw him approach, and gestured to his guards not to hinder his visitor.
‘Ezio,’ he said.
Ezio came straight to the point. ‘Tarik has been selling guns to a local miser – Manuel Palaiologos.’
Suleiman’s face darkened. He clenched his fist. ‘Palaiologos. That is a sad sound in my ears.’ Once again, he rose to his feet. ‘The last Byzantine emperor was Constantine Palaiologos. If this heir of his is arming a militia of some kind, there will be conflict and it will escalate. All this at a time when my father and grandfather are at odds with one another.’ He trailed off, and grew thoughtful. Ezio imagined that he must be brooding over one of the hardest decisions he’d ever had to make in his short life.
‘Tarik knows where the rifles are headed,’ he said. ‘If I find him first, I can follow the weapons straight to the Byzantines.’
Suleiman looked at him. ‘Tarik will be with his Janissaries, at their barracks. So, if you want to get close, you will have to become a Janissary yourself.’
Ezio smiled. ‘Not a problem,’ he said.
‘Güzel,’ said Suleiman. ‘Excellent.’ He thought some more, and it was clear that the decision he was coming to caused him distress; but once he’d made it, he was firm. ‘Get the information you need – then kill him.’
Ezio raised an eyebrow. This was a side of Suleiman he had not seen before. ‘Are you sure, Suleiman? You told me Tarik and your father were close friends.’
Suleiman swallowed hard, then looked defiant. ‘This is true. But such naked treason against my grandfather deserves death.’
Ezio looked at him for a moment, then said, ‘Understood.’
There was nothing more to discuss. Ezio took his leave. When he looked back, Suleiman was studying the chessboard again.
47
With a little help from Yusuf’s Assassins, Ezio was able to isolate and corner an unsuspecting off-duty Janissary in the Bazaar, and relieve him of his uniform. But it was not without a price. The Janissary put up stiff resistance, and badly wounded two Assassins before he was overcome; but not before he himself had sustained a mortal wound. It was necessary for Ezio, with Azize’s help, to wash the bloodstains thoroughly from the white garments before he put them on. Then he could pass for a Janissary guard without any question, provided he was careful to keep his beard covered with a white scarf, exposing only his moustache.
As he made his way to the barracks, he was amused and, at the same time, disconcerted at the response he evoked among the local population, both male and female, Ottomans and Byzantines alike, though the reactions were the same mixture among all the nationalities he encountered. Some were apparently admiring, even ingratiating. Others were subtly dismissive, and yet more reacted with fear and uncertainty. It was clear enough that the Janissaries were at best tolerated, at worst loathed. There was not a hint of genuine affection or regard. But from what he could gather, the greatest disdain seemed to be levelled specifically at the Janissaries belonging to Tarik’s barracks. Ezio stored this experience in his memory, certain that it would prove useful at some future date, but for now he concentrated on his goal.
He was relieved that his uniform allowed him to pass unhindered and uncontested as he made his way to the barracks, the more so as he was soon to discover that the Assassins’ killing of the Janissary had already been discovered. As he drew close to his destination, he passed a square where a Seljuk herald was announcing the man’s death to a crowd of interested onlookers.
‘Dark tidings, citizens of Kostantiniyye,’ the herald was proclaiming. ‘A servant of our Sultan has fallen at the hands of a criminal, and been stripped of his garments.’ He looked round and raised his voice a notch. ‘Be on the lookout for any suspicious activity.’
Ezio crossed the square as discreetly as possible, but eyes inevitably fell on him. He prayed that he would be able to enter the barracks unchallenged. If they knew about the murder and that the man had been killed for his uniform, they would tighten security faster than a man could say ‘knife’.
‘Woe betide the murderer who took the life of a beloved Janissary,’ the herald continued to intone. ‘This enemy of civilization must be found, and brought to justice! If you see something, say something!’ He glared around at the crowd impressively, and shook his scroll for additional effect, before going on: ‘Citizens, beware! A killer stalks our streets, a man without conscience, targeting the servants of our Sultan. The Janissaries have dedicated their lives to the protection of the empire. Return the favour they have done us, and find this killer before he strikes again!’
The postern gate of the Janissary Garrison stood open, though flanked by a double guard. But they came to attention as Ezio arrived, and he realized that he had had the luck to waylay a senior NCO or junior officer – for the dress he wore clearly commanded respect, though to an uninitiated eye, the Janissaries’ uniforms looked virtually indistinguishable between officers and men. He entered the compound without difficulty, but no sooner had he done so than he began to pick up snippets of conversation regarding the killing.
‘Khardeshlerim, one of our own was found murdered and stripped of his garments not an hour ago, and his body, they say, was dumped on a dunghill like so much rubbish,’ one said to a couple of his brother soldiers, who murmured angrily at the news. ‘Keep a close watch on these streets as you move through them,’ the first to speak continued. ‘Someone is planning to strike, using our uniform as cover. We must be constantly on our guard until the culprit is caught.’
‘And disembowelled,’ added another.
Ezio decided to be as cautious a possible for as long as he was in the compound. Keeping his head down, he moved around the barracks, familiarizing himself with them and, as he did so, eavesdropping on various conversations. What he heard was most revealing and of great value.
‘Selim understands our plight. The Byzantines, the Mamluks, the Safavid – only he has the courage to face the threats those peoples represent for us,’ said one soldier.
‘You speak the truth. Selim is a warrior like Osman and Mehmet before him,’ another replied.
‘So – why has our Sultan Bayezid chosen a pussy-cat over a lion?’
‘Prince Ahmet shares the Sultan’s calm temperament. That’s why. They are too much alike, I fear.’
A third soldier joined the conversation. ‘Sultan Bayezid is a good man, and a kind ruler … But he has lost the fire that made him great.’
‘I disagree,’ said a fourth. ‘He is still a fighter. Look at the army he has raised again
st Selim.’
‘That’s just further evidence of his decline! To take up arms against his own son? It’s shameful.’
‘Do not bend the truth to match the contours of your passion, efendim,’ the fourth man rebuked him. ‘It was Selim, after all, who attacked our Sultan first.’
‘Evet, evet. But Selim did so for the glory of the empire, not for himself.’
‘Speaking of the war, is there any news from the north?’ a fifth soldier chimed in.
‘I hear that Selim’s forces have fallen back to Varna,’ said a sixth. ‘Heavy losses, I am told.’
‘Incredible, isn’t it? I pray for a swift conclusion.’
‘Yes, but in which direction?’
‘I cannot say. My heart sides with our Sultan, but my head hopes for Selim.’
‘And what of Selim’s young son, Prince Suleiman?’ a seventh Janissary put in. ‘Have you met him?’
‘‘Not personally,’ an eighth replied, ‘but I have seen him. I know he is a remarkable boy.’
‘Hardly a boy – a capable young man. With a magnificent mind.’
‘Does he take after his father?’
The seventh Janissary shrugged. ‘Perhaps. Though I suspect he is another sort of man altogether.’
Two more Janissaries came up and joined the conversation as Ezio lingered at its edge. One of them was clearly a bit of a joker. ‘Why does Prince Ahmet linger in this city?’ he asked, wryly. ‘He knows he is not wanted.’
‘He’s like a moth hovering around an open flame. He is waiting for his father to perish, so that he may take the throne.’
‘Did you hear,’ said the joker, ‘that he offered Tarik a bribe in return for our loyalty?’
‘God damn him for that. What did Tarik do?’
The other guard laughed. ‘He spent half the money on horse feed, and sent the rest to Selim!’
48
Several ornate tents were pitched within the broad compound, protected by the high walls which surrounded it. Leaving the Janissary soldiers, Ezio moved on, getting ever closer to the centre where he guessed Tarik’s quarters would be found. Sure enough, as he approached, he heard the familiar tones of Tarik’s voice, as he spoke to a courier. They were in the company of a third Janissary, evidently an adjutant.
‘Tarik bey,’ said the courier. ‘A letter for you.’
Tarik took the letter without comment, broke the seal, and read it. He was laughing in a satisfied manner even before he had reached the end. ‘Perfect,’ he said, folding the paper and putting it in his tunic. ‘The rifles have arrived in Cappadocia, at the garrison of Michael Palaiologos’ army.’
‘And our men, are they still with him?’ asked the adjutant.
‘Evet. They will contact us when the Byzantines break camp. Then we will meet them when they reach Bursa.’
The adjutant smiled. ‘Then everything is falling into place, efendim.’
‘Yes, Chagatai,’ Tarik replied. ‘For once.’
He waved the men away and started to walk among the tents. Keeping at a safe distance, Ezio shadowed him. But he could not remain completely unnoticed, and was glad of the little Turkish he had already picked up since his arrival in Constantinople, as guards either came to attention or soldiers of similar rank to his own greeted him. But it was not all plain sailing. Once or twice he lost his trail and noticed suspicious looks directed at him before he picked it up again; and once he faced a direct challenge. Two guards blocked his way.
‘What regiment are you from, efendim?’ the first asked him, politely enough, though with just enough edge to his voice to make Ezio wary.
Before Ezio could reply, the second cut in, ‘I do not believe I know you. I do not see your imperial insignia. Are you cavalry?’
‘When did you get in?’ asked the first, his voice openly unfriendly now.
‘Where is your captain?’
Ezio’s Turkish wasn’t up to this. And he saw that, in any case, their suspicions were more than aroused. Swiftly he unleashed his hookblade and tripped one up with it, sending him crashing into the other. Then he ran, darting between tents, jumping guy-ropes, and still keeping one eye on the now distant Tarik.
There was shouting behind him:
‘Imposter!’
‘Deceiver! You will die!’
‘Stop him!’
‘It’s the outlaw who killed Nazar! Grab him!’
But the compound was very large, and Ezio took full advantage of the fact that, in their uniforms and with their almost identical moustaches, one Janissary looked very like another. Leaving confusion in his wake, he soon picked up Tarik’s trail again and located him in a quiet corner of the barracks where the senior officers’ map rooms were to be found.
Ezio watched as Tarik entered one of the map rooms, glanced around to ensure that the man was alone and that he had thrown off the last traces of pursuit, and followed Tarik in. He closed and bolted the door behind him.
Ezio had already collected all the information he believed he needed. He knew that Tarik planned to rendezvous with Manuel at Bursa, and he knew that the arms shipment had arrived in Cappadocia at Manuel’s garrison. So when Tarik immediately drew his sword and flung himself at him, he did not need to ask questions first. He stepped neatly aside to his left as Tarik thrust with his sword, then unleashed his left-hand hidden blade and plunged it into the right-hand side of the Janissary captain’s back, ripping through the kidney as he cut in hard with the blade before withdrawing it.
Tarik crashed forward onto a map table, scattering the charts which covered it, and drenching those that remained with blood. He caught his breath and, drawing on his last reserves of strength, heaved himself up on his right elbow and half turned to look at his attacker.
‘Your villainy is finished, soldier,’ said Ezio, harshly.
But Tarik seemed resigned, almost amused. Ezio was suddenly seized by doubt.
‘Ah, what bitter irony,’ said Tarik. ‘Is this the result of Suleiman’s investigation?’
‘You collude with the Sultan’s enemies,’ said Ezio, his confidence ebbing. ‘What did you expect would come of such treachery?’
Tarik gave him a regretful smile. ‘I blame myself.’ He paused, his breathing painful, as blood flowed steadily from his unstaunched side. ‘Not for treason, but hubris.’ He looked at Ezio, who had drawn closer to catch his voice, which had now sunk to little more than a whisper. ‘I was preparing an ambush. Preparing to strike the Byzantine Templars at the precise moment they felt safest.’
‘What proof do you have of this?’
‘Look. Here.’
Painfully, Tarik pulled a map from his belt with his left hand. ‘Take it,’ he said.
Ezio did so.
‘This will lead you to the Byzantines in Cappadocia,’ Tarik continued. ‘Destroy them if you can.’
Ezio’s voice had sunk to a whisper too. ‘You have done well, Tarik. Forgive me.’
‘There is no blame,’ Tarik replied, struggling now with the effort of speaking at all. But he forced himself to go on, knowing that his next words would be his last. ‘Protect my homeland. Allah ashkina! In God’s name, redeem the honour we have lost in this fight.’
Ezio put Tarik’s arm over his shoulder and lifted him onto the table, where he hastily tore the scarf from his neck and tied it as tightly as he could around the wound he had made.
But he was already too late.
Outside, he heard the hue and cry for him taken up once more, and close by. There was no time to repine over his mistake. Hastily he tore off the uniform until he was stripped down to the simple grey tunic and hose he wore underneath. The map room was close to the barracks wall. With the help of his hookblade, he knew the wall would be climbable.
It was time to go.
49
Ezio regained Assassin headquarters, changed, and returned to Topkapi Sarayi with a heavy heart. The guards had clearly been given orders to let him pass, and he was ushered into a private antechamber, where, after a fe
w minutes had passed, Suleiman came to meet him. The young prince seemed surprised to see him – and agitated.
Ezio forestalled the question in his eyes. ‘Tarik was no traitor, Suleiman. He, too, was tracking the Byzantines.’
‘What?’ Suleiman’s distress was evident. ‘So, did you … ?’
Ezio nodded, gravely.
Suleiman sat down heavily. He looked ill. ‘God forgive me,’ he said, quietly. ‘I should not have been so quick to judge.’
‘Prince, he was loyal to your grandfather to the end; and through his efforts we have the means to save your city.’ Ezio briefly explained what he had found out, told him what he had learned from listening to the Janissaries and showed him the map Tarik had given him.
‘Ah, Tarik,’ whispered Suleiman. ‘He should not have been so secretive, Ezio. What a terrible way to do a good thing.’
‘The weapons have been taken to Cappadocia. We must act immediately. Can you get me there?’
Suleiman snapped out of his reverie. ‘What? Get you there? Yes, of course. I will arrange a ship to take you to Mersin – you can travel inland from there.’
They were interrupted by the arrival of Prince Ahmet. Fortunately, he called out to Suleiman in an impatient voice before he arrived, so Ezio had time to withdraw to a corner of the room where he would be less conspicuous.
Ahmet entered the room and wasted no time at all in coming to the point. ‘Suleiman, I have been set up, and made to look like a traitor! Do you remember Tarik, the Janissary?’
‘The man you quarrelled with?’
Ahmet showed signs of getting seriously angry. ‘He has been murdered. It is no secret that he and I were at odds. Now the Janissaries will be quick to accuse me of the crime.’
‘This is terrible news, Uncle.’
‘It is indeed. When word of this reaches my father, he will banish me from the city!’
Suleiman could not suppress a nervous glance over his uncle’s shoulder at Ezio. Ahmet noticed this and spun round. His manner immediately became more reserved. ‘Ah. Forgive me, nephew. I was not aware that you had a guest.’
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