The following morning, rested and refreshed, Kidd explored the town. He enjoyed the crunch of earth and gravel beneath his feet, the sight of palm trees swaying gently in the breeze, and the commotion of the street. Famagusta had an excessive number of churches, in his opinion, which discomforted him. They stood as a grim reminder of how this adventure had started in the first place. He moved on to the town square and lost himself in the delights of the morning market. The merchants were rich, with abundant wares and news about recent happenings in the world. Kidd purchased a round of ripe cheese, some salted fish, and a loaf of bread from a talkative trader. He ignored the local gossip, but his ears pricked up when the trader began to chatter about the possible threat of war.
“There’s a great host gathering along the Ottoman borders,” the merchant cautioned. “You mark my words, the Empire is planning to expand and it’ll come sooner than you think!”
“You seem to be very well informed,” said Kidd.
“And you’re a long way from home, stranger. What business do you have with the Turks?”
“Trade,” Kidd replied. “There’s plenty of coin to be made in their lands.”
“And plenty of trouble to boot,” the trader added. “War is bad for business.”
Kidd reached into his pocket and counted his remaining coins. “Maybe you can help me. I’d appreciate any news you’ve heard about a certain important individual.”
The trader grinned. “You’re talking to the right man.”
After a lengthy conversation with the merchant, Kidd returned to the Masala. There was a bustle of activity around the old galley. Kemal was engaged in an intense negotiation with a textile dealer over the sale of the silk bale.
Kidd felt a hand slip gently under his arm, and a mouth draw close to his ear. He smelled rum on the speaker’s breath. “So, when I last slipped away I was lectured. How should I return that favour, Will? Are you hiding something?”
“I haven’t been sleeping well and needed some time alone.”
Flint wore a sour look. “Well, while you were catching up on your beauty sleep, I’ve been doing my job and catching up on the competition.” He paused as a loud cheer sounded from the gathering. Kemal and the dealer had arrived at a price. They shook on the bargain and uncorked a bottle of wine to celebrate the sale. “We aren’t the only ships these men have traded with recently. Three more warships passed this way, all bound for Beirut. ‘Generous’ was the word the locals used to describe them. The Spaniards came first, in a ship not typical of the fleet. Fast, lightly-armed, named the Mano Del Dios, of all things!”
“The Hand of God. Were the Warriors of God seen with them?”
Flint drew a sharp breath. “Without a doubt. They described men in grey uniforms with masked faces. The next day our old friend The Caretaker arrived with a boatload of French soldiers. Last was an English ship, the Excalibur, and by all accounts they’re prepared for a fight. Big boat, lots of guns.”
“At least we won’t be taken from behind.”
“Oh, we’re certainly last place in the race. I hope you’ve got something cunning hidden up those iron sleeves of yours, because we’ve given the competition a two week lead!” A painfully serious expression passed over his face. “If you want my advice, which you never do, I’d start preparing for the day the Cardinal signs your death warrant. There’s a good chance The Tears are already lost.”
~ Chapter 28 ~
BORDER OF THE EMPIRE
The city of Beirut, Syria, in the Ottoman Empire
After several more days, the rugged Syrian coastline filled the horizon and consumed the sight of the sea. It looked to Kidd like it should be the end of the earth itself. He felt ill-at-ease as they approached the borders of the Ottoman Empire. Beyond the green-brown mountains, the inhospitable desert would bring victory, or doom. The chill of night seeped into his hands and they ached. During the day the intense sun seared his flesh. Rashes broke out all over his body, and he had no way to soothe them, not even a good scratching with metal fingertips brought comfort.
The Masala sailed around the sandy bays until square towers and golden domes appeared from behind the weathered hills. They passed a number of boats, with local men fishing for a meal, or food to sell at market. Larger ships were also anchored in the harbour, sleek and brightly painted Turkish warships, and a variety of foreign trading vessels.
The lands around Beirut looked as close to Hell as Kidd could imagine. The soil was barren and cracked by the relentless heat. The trees were twisted, barely able to hold on to their few precious leaves. It was a wonder people could manage to maintain existence in such a place.
Travel-weary but with her task complete, the Masala lowered her anchor. Kidd was filled with mixed emotions at the prospect of saying goodbye to Harissa and her crew. There were many aboard the old galley he now considered friends.
Harissa spun the wheel gently through her hands as the galley slowed to a stop. “Speaking as an honest sailor, we’ve not made the best time, but we’ve delivered our cargo nonetheless. Disembark at your leisure.”
“Thank you, Captain,” said Kidd. “I don’t know what dangers we’re about to face, but I hope we cross paths again.”
“I dare say we will.”
Kidd found Flint, packed and eager to depart. “I won’t be sorry to see the back of this old bucket. I’ve not taken to boats since the day you took me to Dover.”
“Yes, there are many wrongs in life I would like to correct.”
Flint fed the straps through the buckle of his pack. “There’s no time for regret, Will. We need to get the writing on the medallion and sword translated.”
“Already done. I know where The Tears are.”
Flint scowled. “I see. When exactly were you going to share that tiny, but somewhat important scrap of information with me? What happened to trust?”
Kidd strapped the Damascus blade across his back and tucked the medallion into his coat pocket. They were safer there. “Hamilton Rush, that’s what happened.” He fastened his pack and slung it over his shoulder.
Flint fumed, but he lifted his pack and followed Kidd. The top deck was empty. A few sailors clung to the rigging, but no one waited to say goodbye. Flint snorted. “I guess they’re happy enough to see the back of us.”
One solitary oarsman waited in the rowing boat to take them ashore, and he also had little to say. Kidd thanked him and wished him well. They paused to adjust their packs for the long journey before setting off.
Flint finally broke the silence. “So, will you at least tell me where we’re going?”
“Damascus. The Tears are there. I’ll tell you everything when the time is right.”
Flint raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to object, but his attention was drawn elsewhere. A number of men stepped from the deep shadows cast by the boulders. Naked steel glinted in their hands. They weren’t Turks, but familiar faces from the Masala, including Bay, Kemal, Ramiro and Harissa.
“Hello, what’s the good captain up to now?” Flint primed his pistol. “If indeed she is good at all! I always thought there was something fishy about her set-up.”
Kidd strode forth with an eye fixed on their unsheathed weapons. “This is an unexpected farewell.”
“Farewell!” Harissa’s laugh was shrill. “Our journey is far from done. We have something of a vested interest in your affairs, and we’ll not let you travel these lands without aid. I’d not wanted to discuss this with you aboard ship. I count every soul aboard the Masala as my family, but even family members can have their loyalties bought.”
“You look like you came ready for a fight.”
“We did,” Harissa replied. “You may not have noticed, but this isn’t your grandmother’s sitting room. We’re in the Ottoman Empire and Turks don’t like foreigners. We’d best get you ready before we attract unwanted attention. You’ll never pass safely through these lands dressed as you are.” She passed them each a set of gauzy robes worn by the Turks. “Put
these on.”
While Kidd and Flint dressed, the men set three linen bags before them, filled with more equipment and supplies.
Kidd eyed the load. “We can’t carry all that.”
The Moor lifted two bags onto his back. “It shall be my honour. And you ain’t going nowhere without giving me the honour of a rematch.”
“Kemal shall be your guide,” added Harissa. “He’s familiar with these lands and speaks Turkish fluently.”
Kemal was a fearsome sight unarmed, but armed he looked truly terrifying. A long knife hung on one side of his belt, and a sabre on the other. He wore a musket on his back and two pistols strapped across his chest. He stooped down to lift the last pack onto his broad shoulders.
“I trust each of these men with my life,” said Harissa. “Now I trust them to you for guidance and protection. I’ll be waiting to carry you to Rome victorious.” She smiled, but seemed sombre as they prepared to depart. “Good luck, Iron William Kidd. Kemal knows how to find us on your return.”
“Goodbye, Captain. Steer clear of enemy warships. With a little luck we should return within a week.”
“Aye, let’s hope luck is on your side.” She embraced Kemal, pressed a small bag of coins into his hand, and whispered a few final instructions. She also embraced Bay, her head coming only as high as his chest. Finally she turned to Flint and spat into her palm. “Good luck,” she said extending her hand. “Know that I am sorry for any harsh words or ill-will between us. I hope to count you a friend.” Without a word, Flint spat in his own hand and they shook on the bargain.
The four men said their farewells and made their way through the nomadic camps surrounding the fringe of Beirut. Kidd kept his eyes fixed on Kemal’s boots. Every time he dared to look around, eyes stared back at him, and he heard strange mutterings in the Turkish tongue. Many men lingered around the tents. Canvas flapped gently in the breeze. Some men wore knives with curved blades in their belts, and frequently he saw a hand reach for a pommel as they passed.
“It looks like the Turks can smell your English blood,” whispered Kemal. “I hope we do not have far to travel.”
“Our goal is Damascus. The item we seek is there.”
“This is good. I have been to Damascus often, but we’ll require horses. It is a slow journey on foot and the desert is treacherous.” Kemal set about purchasing four horses, and by nightfall had struck a bargain with one of the nomads. He returned with the mares in tow.
Kidd looked over his horse. She was in excellent condition and untroubled when he slung his pack over her back.
Kemal petted the horse’s nose. “The Turks are great horsemen. Your mare is bred from Spanish stock and Esperanza is her name. She will bring you luck.”
Kidd gathered the reins and pulled himself onto Esperanza’s back. She stood attentively waiting for his guidance.
Kemal mounted his own horse. “We should avoid using the roads unless it’s absolutely necessary and travel only by night. The heat of day is taxing and will slow us down.” He took a bearing from his compass and nudged his horse forward, leading them out of the city and into the night. Bay took the rear, his eyes glittering in the torchlight.
After riding for some hours, Kidd pulled up alongside Flint. “You’re awfully quiet.”
Flint hissed under his breath. “I’m surprised at you, Will. First I find out you’re keeping secrets from me, and now this! Did you give a moment’s thought as to why Harissa sent her men with us?”
“I trust her. She’s saved both our lives more than once.”
Flint shook his head. “Iron William Kidd. Never took a wife they say because he loved his sabre more. And here you are now, no blade, and fallen victim to the captain’s pretty green eyes.” He cut Kidd’s retort short. “We’ve come too far to accept this aid blindly. Consider the lengths that men—and women—will go to for The Tears. Harissa may shun the idea of keeping slaves, but they’re still privateers by trade. They live to make a profit, and The Tears will fetch a fortune.”
Kidd couldn’t refute Flint’s argument. “Very well,” he said in hushed tones, “I’ll indulge this notion. Who do you think they’d negotiate with for the sale?”
“What difference does it make?” Flint glared at Kemal and Bay in turn. “We should dispense with them as soon as we can. I don’t wish to find myself with a knife in my belly.”
Kidd eyed the long knife hanging from Kemal’s belt. “Agreed.”
~ Chapter 29 ~
THE WALLS OF DAMASCUS
The city of Damascus, Syria, in the Ottoman Empire
In the maddening desert, troubled by sore eyes and a dry mouth, Kidd struggled to understand why Kemal and Bay would volunteer for such a miserable journey. They had traded the ocean for a sea of sand. It got everywhere, into clothes, food, and especially the joints of his armour. All signs of life, even the gnarled trees and woody plants of the coastal region, had vanished. All Kidd could see was endlessly shifting waves of sand. The hazy light played tricks on his eyes, promising a watery oasis that wasn’t there at all.
After four days, the water in their skins was stale and what was left of their rations was unappetisingly gritty. They rested during the day in a tent made from an old sail propped up on a stick. Sleep proved difficult. The sun was fiercely bright and Kidd was awoken by the constant flapping of canvas in the wind. He even began to miss the gentle rocking motion of the Masala and the damp salty smell of his mattress.
As twilight approached, the walls of Damascus rose above the dunes. Kemal reined in his horse. “The city gates are closed at sunset. It is too dangerous to sleep out in the open now. We must find safe lodging for the night.”
Small settlements were scattered along the road to the ancient city. Turks emerged at the clip-clop of horse’s hooves, eager to be the first to part a weary traveller from his money. As they came within earshot, the men beckoned for business, proclaiming their offerings in a ritualistic chant. Kemal soon negotiated a fair price for a room. That night they had fresh water and a meal of hot roasted meat, cooked grain and vegetables. Kidd devoured the spicy dish in large mouthfuls, too hungry to find out what kind of meat they had been served. Regardless of locks and solid walls, they maintained a watch throughout the night.
As the sun rose the following morning, the temperature again grew uncomfortably hot. Mercifully, it was a short ride to the narrow bridge that crossed the Barada River to meet the city battlements. Dozens of Turks passed in and out of the gate, some on horses, some with camels, and others driving wagons. Kidd counted a number of soldiers patrolling the wall, all equipped with bows and muskets. It would take an invading army with war machines to breach such fortifications.
“Damascus is the hub of trade in the Empire,” said Kemal as the city drew closer. “All caravan routes converge here. I suspect the bazaar is unlike any you will have seen. Foreigners frequent it often, but are still treated with suspicion. We will pose as traders looking for new opportunities if questioned by the guards.”
Sure enough, they were stopped at the gate by a small garrison of lightly armoured soldiers and asked what business they had in the city. Kemal protested loudly in Turkish and waved his arms about with exaggerated gestures.
Kidd felt his composure slip. “What the hell is Kemal doing? He’ll only make things worse with all that noise.” He balled a fist and prepared to knock down a guard who was rummaging through their packs.
Flint restrained Kidd’s arm. “Settle down. The guards think we’re wealthy because we own a slave.” Bay was oblivious to the discussion about his liberty. “Kemal is haggling over the price of the bribe. Everything is bargained for in this part of the world, even the price of making guards look the other way.” Their conversation caught the guard’s attention and Flint shouted something at him in Turkish with more gesticulations. Finally Kemal reached into his pocket and parted with his coin purse to settle the quarrel.
“I hope you have enough money in your purse to bribe our way out when it comes
time to leave.”
Flint winked. “No need. Kemal prepared a number of purses last night for bribes. You need to be more observant. He’s practised in negotiation and trickery.”
All of a sudden, the guards stopped hustling the merchants. They formed ranks to barricade the traffic passing through the gate.
A head taller than anyone else in the crowd, Bay saw the reason for the blockade first. Further down the street, a contingent of Turkish soldiers led a procession through the streets to the slow rataplan of a drum. The people parted as the procession passed, clearing the way respectfully. The low murmur became a cheer, for they were being treated to a rare glimpse of the man who had made the Ottoman Empire rich and powerful.
Their Emperor was enjoying the moment too, resplendent in rich red robes lined with leopard fur, and a magnificent turban encrusted with jewels. He greeted the onlookers with a regal wave. The procession drew closer. Kidd felt a wave of confused emotions as he laid eyes on Suleiman the Magnificent, Sultan of the Ottoman Empire. For a man of fifty years of age, he looked remarkably youthful, save a hint of grey in his immaculately groomed beard. He had an unearthly quality. Kidd wondered how old he really was; for he was the owner of the sword Kidd had removed from Lawrence’s chest, even though he spelled his name differently nowadays.
Although Kidd couldn’t see The Tears of Christ, he was certain the bright stone was on Suleiman’s body. He felt his temples throb. He had only to reach out and take The Tears from Suleiman and it would all be over. With The Tears in his hands, no Turk would be able to stop him.
Kidd lurched forward and reached out. The ground rushed up to meet him. He tasted sand in his mouth and his arms were twisted behind his back by powerful hands. “What the hell are you doing?” hissed Flint. “Are you trying to get us killed?”
Iron William and the Carpenter's Tears Page 21