Kidd struggled against the hold, but Bay held him tight. Flint slapped him hard across the cheek and his vision cleared. He was sprawled across the road half way to Suleiman’s carriage, surrounded by Turkish soldiers aiming muskets. Kemal stepped forward and began to appease them, while Bay dragged Kidd back into the crowd.
“I’m all right,” said Kidd, “let me go.”
Flint grabbed Kidd by the jaw and peered into his eyes. “You nearly had us all shot, you crazy bastard!”
“I would like to say that I didn’t know what came over me, but I do. It’s a discussion for later though.”
Flint nodded and Bay released his hold.
Kidd dusted off his clothes. He looked down the street after Suleiman, but the parade had moved on, and so had The Tears. “I need to know where that procession is going.”
They gathered the horses and traversed the boulevard into the heart of the city. Damascus was rich with culture, and throbbed with noise and colour. From every window and street corner, somebody was selling something, from enamelled glass trinkets, to exotic wares from distant lands. The houses were built two storeys high with balconies looking out onto the street. Every one had pots with brightly flowered vines to decorate the handrails. They soon caught sight of the parade, and matched pace at a discreet distance.
Flint spoke softly so that Kemal and Bay could not hear. “What was that all about? Missing the old times, eh? Fancied hobnobbing with the Sultan?”
Kidd shook his head. “I apologise, Tom. For a moment, The Tears were within my grasp. It might sound peculiar, but I could almost hear them speaking to me. I forgot myself.”
Flint’s scowl softened. “Ah, we all have moments of madness. Within your grasp you say? You’d better explain.”
“The medallion is actually a crest for the cross guard of the sword. Your translation for one side, ‘King of Kings and Bringer of Truth’ is correct. The other is only a partial word revealed when fitted to the sword. It is not ‘layman’, as in a commoner, but an older spelling of ‘Sulayman.’ ”
Flint grinned. “Well I’ll be damned. You do have a brain in that thick skull of yours after all.” All of a sudden there was a spring in his step. He looked focused, more like the man Kidd remembered. “While you figured all that out, I hope you also came up with a plan.” His eyes widened. “A good one!”
They followed the procession until it stopped outside the walls of the Umayyad Mosque. While the grand structure had been built as a place of prayer and worship, recent renovations had adapted it for use as a fortress. High walls had been constructed around the courtyard, and the minarets now served as watchtowers. The procession passed inside, disappearing from sight beyond a massive gate.
Kidd dismounted. “Wait here with the horses while Tom and I have a look around,” he told Kemal. They merged with the flocks of people striving to catch a final glimpse of Suleiman.
“Hell, I’ve lost count of the soldiers already,” grumbled Flint.
Kidd slapped him on the shoulder. “We’ve done this before. It’ll be just like the old days.”
Flint rubbed his chin while he inspected the stronghold. “I’ll be the first to admit I miss those times, but this is different. The Sultan is in a different league to the castles and palaces we infiltrated in the past. He will be well protected, and we are poorly resourced. We’ll need disguises so we can scout the grounds and draw a map. We’ll have to plot the movements of the guards and find Suleiman’s chambers. After that, all we need to do is figure out how to get inside, grab The Tears without being killed, and make good our escape. That’s a lot of risky work. When were you hoping to give it a try?”
“Right now,” said Kidd. “There’s no time to lose.”
~ Chapter 30 ~
THE CARPENTER’S TEARS
“Are you out of your damned mind?! That’ll be suicide!” Flint’s outburst caught the attention of every person within earshot. The sharpness in his eyes dulled to the now familiar distracted gaze. He fingered the handle of his pistol nervously. “If you’re so eager to die, I’ll shoot you myself and save everyone a lot of trouble.”
Determined to keep his partner focused, Kidd pulled him under a shadowy eave. “Listen, if Suleiman gets news that the hunt for The Tears has arrived on his doorstep, he’ll protect them with everything at his disposal. We may not have time to prepare, but he also doesn’t know we’re coming. We lose that advantage as soon as any of our competitors find out we’re here.” He secured the gauze scarf over his nose. “It’s risky, but I don’t think we’ll get another opportunity, Tom. If you don’t want to help me, I’ll go alone.”
“I need to think,” Flint grunted. “Ditch the stowaways and I’ll try to cobble up a plan.” He drifted back onto the street and casually struck up a conversation with a Turk who was leaving the mosque.
Kidd rejoined Kemal and Bay. “We’ve found what we came for. Find somewhere safe near the city gate. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”
Kemal frowned. “Are you sure we can’t be of assistance?”
“This is something Tom and I must do alone.”
Kemal was unsatisfied with the reply and gathered Esperanza’s reins reluctantly. “Where shall we rendezvous?”
Kidd pointed across the rooftops. “There, watch for us at the foot of the citadel tower. If we don’t return by dawn, we won’t be coming back at all.”
“Well, I’ll wish you good luck,” said Kemal. “Watch your back.”
Kidd wasn’t sure how to take the remark, but he thanked Kemal and said his farewells. He found Flint in the middle of a hasty reconnaissance of the mosque. They took note of the entrances, the positions of the guards, and blind-spots in the views from the minarets. The Turkish soldiers were clearly visible in their cobalt tunics, puffy breeches, and white kerchiefs. They were ever-watchful, lurking in alcoves, around the gates, and along the upper wall. There was a small army camped in the mosque.
Flint peered at the fortifications intently from under his hood. “Only the southern tower has been strengthened against bombardment. I’d bet you the King’s inheritance that Suleiman is there.” His brow furrowed. “Listen, getting inside isn’t going to be a problem. Muslims are rather particular about prayer and people are still being admitted during the day. Getting out is going to be the tricky part. The Turk I spoke to told me the mosque is secured at sunset. We certainly can’t seize The Tears during daylight. Under cover of dark, we’ll be two rats in a trap.”
Kidd joined the Turks queuing at the gate. “We’ll work something out.”
Flint trotted after him mumbling a torrent of curses. They followed a group into the courtyard. Kidd averted his gaze from the impressive sight before him, and focused on his feet instead. Only a foreigner would stare in wonder, and even a brief glimpse of the inner sanctum was enough to make the breath catch in his throat. Suleiman had surrounded himself with more than walls and soldiers. The mosque contained a wealth of delicately-wrought beauty. He placed one foot in front of the other until they reached the entrance to the prayer hall. The Turks paused outside to remove their sandals, so they did the same. The hall was rich with the smell of sweat and incense, and filled with lines of worshippers, ducking and bowing on all fours. Despite the dramatic wailing of some men, Muslim prayer was essentially a private ritual. They found some floor space against a wall and knelt down as if to pray.
Kidd surveyed their surroundings while he feigned supplication. The walls were decorated with elaborate mosaics of coloured glass and enamel, depicting both Christian and Islamic scenes. It made him realise that despite the bloody conflicts between the faiths, they actually shared the same roots. Perhaps The Tears also held a spiritual significance to Suleiman greater than just the divine gifts they bestowed. At any time, he may decide to wage holy war legitimised by his ownership of The Tears. Many of his enemies would become his allies. No wonder the Ottoman army had advanced so far, expanding the borders of the Empire.
The session of prayer came to
an end with a gathering of robes and a contemplative silence. Kidd and Flint dissolved into the shadows while the chamber was still dense with devotees and crept along the wall to a small archway. After a quick glance, Flint slid through with Kidd close behind. He pressed his back against a pillar. “Gets the old heart pumping to be doing this again, eh?”
Kidd nodded and exhaled slowly while he waited to see if they had been spotted. He counted to ten before he dared to steal a look from their hiding place. A high-vaulted chamber stretched away before him, vacant except for a small shrine and a single guard. It was an odd sight, a building within a building, complete with a copper dome, marble columns, and emerald-tinted windows. Kidd raised two fingers to his eyes and pointed in the direction of the guard. Flint nodded and they emerged from cover together.
The guard seemed barely awake, using his long musket as a crutch, but his eyes were half open nonetheless. He snapped to attention and demanded something in Turkish as the two men approached.
Kidd continued walking. He didn’t understand the words, but he’d heard the same tone from many guards in many different languages before. The guard raised his musket as Kidd drew close and repeated the command in a strong voice. Kidd stopped abruptly, and with an exaggerated gesture, pointed at the guard’s feet. The guard looked down instinctively, long enough for Kidd to knock him senseless.
“Sometimes old tricks work best.” Kidd lifted the unconscious guard and dragged him into the shrine. He closed the doors to a crack and kept watch while Flint swapped clothes. Once dressed, Kidd inspected his friend and nodded approvingly. Flint’s hair was dark enough to pass as a Turk, and wearing the guard’s white kerchief, the disguise would stand up to casual inspection. Flint assumed the guard’s post and the tense wait began for night to fall.
“Useful shrine,” Kidd whispered through a crack in the door. “Who’s it for?”
“John the Baptist,” said Flint over his shoulder. “Now shut your gob or I’ll chop your head off and you can join him.”
While he waited, Kidd tore one of Flint’s discarded robes into thick strips, and he set about binding and gagging the unconscious guard. The man was so limp he felt as though someone had stolen his bones. He rolled the guard onto his side. This poor Turk hadn’t asked to be clobbered and bound. He would not allow him to die by choking on his own tongue. At the outset of this mission, Kidd had been content to respect Vllen’s plea to spare life out of a sense of gratitude for the Bavarian’s treatments. As a spy, he hadn’t given a thought to those who had suffered as a consequence of standing between him and his objective. Now, he felt he understood Vllen’s request, in part at least. Since the moment The Tears had been shed, too many men and beasts had become causalities in the quest to claim them, in total contradiction to their life-giving purpose. Kidd was determined not to contribute to that tally.
He paced back and forth for the next hour or so, playing out various strategies in his head, but it was a pointless exercise. He simply didn’t know what they were coming up against.
Eventually the mosque fell silent. The sun’s light faded from the windows and was replaced by the flicker of torches. All Kidd could hear was occasional footsteps on stone and grunted greetings. There came a tap on the door. “Time for us to move,” said Flint.
Kidd handed Flint two strips of cloth, to wrap the soles of his boots and soften his footfalls. While both men were practised in the art of stealth, in the still of the night, the smallest sound would carry. Flint pulled the knots tight and they began to explore, passing in and out of the deepening shadows. For almost an hour, they ducked in and out of hiding, playing a deadly game with the guards, while the mosque was secured against the outside world. A shrill voice broke into a wailing song from one of the minarets. The sound was so hauntingly beautiful Kidd was compelled to stop and listen.
“Evening prayer,” whispered Flint. “Take cover.” They retreated to the nearest alcove as Turkish soldiers descended on the prayer hall. They huddled in the dark scarcely daring to breathe. Once they were satisfied it was safe to press on, they drifted like shadows along the fringe of the courtyard, heading for the southern tower. Two guards were defending an arched doorway, the only entrance.
“The big one is yours,” whispered Flint.
“Thanks,” muttered Kidd. “After you.”
Flint emerged from the shadows, reached for his man, and twisted his neck until the bones snapped. Kidd felled the second. He dragged the bodies out of sight with deep regret, having already broken his resolution at the shrine.
Flint worked his way through a ring of keys. He was nervous, the keys rattling in his hands. He found the right one and the tumblers of the lock opened with a snick.
Inside, a spiral staircase wound its way to the upper levels. Kidd crept upwards one step at a time with his back pressed against the marble wall. He paused at the top and held two fingers aloft. Flint nodded and crept up beside him. On a silent count of three they charged. This time, Kidd made sure the men lived, although they would not be grateful for the bruises when they woke. He stripped off a pair of puffed breeches and a doublet and donned the outfit. The remaining clothes were used to bind and gag the guards.
They passed through a solitary doorway into a room that had perhaps once been the living quarters of a general or a priest. It was now the study of someone very learned. The shelves were full of books stuffed into every available space. The room was unoccupied, so they dragged the guards inside and pulled the door to a crack.
The chamber also contained a huge canopied bed dressed with silk sheets and cylindrical pillows, all crimson and edged with gold thread. Another closed door lay beyond. Kidd’s interest was taken by a large desk, carved from dark wood, and strewn with thick sheets of paper in disorderly piles. There were also jars of coloured ink, quills for writing, and wax tapers for sealing letters. A quick examination of the papers revealed they were poems written in a number of different languages; Turkish, Hebrew, French, Spanish, English, and others Kidd didn’t recognise. Only a man with an extraordinary gift, or one who had lived for a very long time would command so many languages in which to write verse.
Flint beckoned for Kidd to join him at a table along the opposite wall. It was covered with more documents and letters. Flint showed him a map of Europe, covering the Ottoman Empire to England. A spider-web of lines had been carefully plotted with a fine pen. Various cities along the path had been circled. It marked the progress of Suleiman’s army as his empire expanded into Europe. Kidd followed the threads with growing unease. Suleiman was planning to conquer all Europe. Hungary had fallen not two years before. His next target was marked with a thick pen stroke. Rome. Suleiman intended to set a sword in the heart of Christendom, in the same way he’d killed Lawrence so many years before. After that the Duchy of Savoy would fall, and then France. Kidd felt a dull ache in the pit of his stomach to see London similarly marked.
Flint’s voice cracked. “Will! We can’t let him take England.” It was the first time Kidd had seen Flint show concern for anything other than his own skin, or Rosa. “We may be exiles, but we’re still Englishmen.”
The whisper was loud enough to be heard, and both men realised they weren’t alone. From beyond the door, they heard a man call out in Turkish, not harshly, but in a tone filled with such authority that Kidd felt compelled to obey even though he didn’t understand the command. Flint pointed to a butler’s table waiting by the door. There were a number of items resting on a gold tray; a jug filled with attar of frangipani, a bowl of rose petals, and a long-handled spoon. The time spent in Vllen’s tub had taught Kidd something useful at least. They were luxuries for a royal bath. He crept back to Flint and whispered in his ear. “I have some expertise in this area. Watch the door.” He secured his turban, hoisted the tray, and stepped through the door into the chamber beyond.
The sensation of steam on Kidd’s face conjured vivid memories of Vllen’s bathing room, with the elaborate copper basin above the fire piping hot wa
ter to the wooden tub. This chamber was less elaborate, but more decorated, with tiles and mosaics surrounding a large enamelled basin. Dozens of candles filled the room with soft light, and Kidd noticed soap, soft towels, and fresh linen. Such pleasures were only for the very wealthy. He caught sight of Suleiman in the steaming water. He was completely naked except for a brilliant blue jewel hanging on a thick gold chain around his neck. The Tears sparkled in the water with a light of their own. Awe replaced Kidd’s fear and again he felt the powerful urge to step forward and wrestle them away. Keeping his emotions in check, he took the last few paces to the tub and rested the butler’s table on the tiles.
Suleiman uttered a few words and turned his head. His eyes were blue and clear, totally unlike those of any Turk Kidd had ever seen. They had a penetrating stare. Kidd felt more naked than Suleiman, as if the Ottoman Emperor could see through his disguise and read his thoughts. He dropped to his knee and supplicated himself before Suleiman the same way he had seen the guards do so when the Imperial procession had passed at the city gate.
Suleiman mumbled more words and sloshed the water about. Kidd stood and hoped it was an invitation to add the perfumes to the bath. He lifted the bowl and carefully sprinkled the petals into the water. Suleiman closed his eyes and sank up to his neck as the subtle scent of roses filled the air. He breathed deeply through his nose and a satisfied smile passed over his face.
Kidd’s heart beat faster. He reached into his pocket and withdrew the gourd of snake venom. He gripped the stopper and prised it loose as quietly as he could with his clumsy fingers. It came free with the softest pop. He poured every last drop into the bath oil and mixed them together with the long-handled spoon. He raised the jug and poured the contents into the bath, taking a deep breath as he did so. The scent of frangipani blended with rose. Suleiman smiled again and lowered his head into the water to wet his hair.
Iron William and the Carpenter's Tears Page 22