“These are your body guards, Macrobius and Aquila, who are experienced at what they do and will be reliable protectors,” Kastamonites stated firmly to the appalled secretary. “They will accompany you from the time you take ship. The ship leaves at dawn tomorrow.”
Both secretaries bowed low and prepared to leave. Aeneas felt slightly ill. Being hustled off, in the company of ruffians, had not been part of his plan at all. He had wanted to go as a merchant who would be virtually invisible to any government officials in Cyprus. Alexios’s agent might have helped him in that regard.
“One more thing,” Kastamonites said. “The fleet will be just three months behind you, which means you have a limited time to find the gold. I don’t want hoards of soldiers ransacking a palace and stealing that which should be back here in our national treasury. So be quick about it, and find a way to secure the gold before the fleet arrives. You can trust these men. They work for me.” There was emphasis on the last sentence.
The voyage to Cyprus was uncomfortable and tense. Aeneas tried hard to ingratiate himself with Macrobius and Aquila, but they maintained a reserve that he could not penetrate. He became increasingly aware that they held him in contempt, which he found humiliating. He could feel their eyes boring into his back when he turned away, and once overheard Aquila say, “Look at ‘im. We’re nursemaids to an abacus-slider! What was the Prince thinking?”
Aeneas’s entire head and face became bright red with mortification.
Eventually, he turned the tables on them by suggesting that they read a letter he had written. His pretext for the test was that he wanted their opinion before he sent it back to the City. He was pretty sure that neither of the former mercenaries could read. Aquila took the thick paper, covered with Aeneas’s scrawl, and held it upside down pretending to read it, while Macrobius looked sour at being tested thus. It didn’t improve their relationship, but now Aeneas knew he could best them in at least one dimension.
His two minders spent a considerable amount of time during the long and uneventful voyage competing with one another by throwing knives at a wooden panel tied to the base of the mast. They were very good at this. Even hardened sailors were appreciative of their skills; but Aeneas grew sick of hearing the thud of knives hammering home into the panel, which became pitted and shredded from the impact of their heavy-bladed knives. The captain, a grizzled old hand who had seen much in his life, muttered sourly to Aeneas that the two thugs had better not use their skills on his crew, or there would be trouble.
They pulled into Rhodes to fill up the water casks and to take on fresh vegetables, live chickens and goats for the long crossing to Cyprus. Aeneas, who had been sea-sick for much of the voyage and had kept to his cabin, was persuaded by Marcianus, the captain, to take a turn around the quayside to refresh himself. His two minders insisted upon following him no matter where he went.
Before they even made it to the main street Aeneas had been accosted by a dozen beggars, and not long after by several young women, one of whom who called out to him, “Want a quick one, Senator?” Another came up to him with a leer on her painted face and tugged insistently on his toga.
He kept on walking, pretending not to notice her; but Aquila gestured to the woman, and then vanished for a good half-hour. Aeneas didn’t notice his absence; he was goggling at the huge pillars and ruined temples that dominated the skyline of the city. It was not long before one of the eager tourist guides, who were seated on a low wall looking like a line of hungry vultures, spotted him, and there arose a clamor for the attention of this senatorial-looking visitor to the island. Before he knew it, and to the sardonic amusement of his bodyguard, he was being shown around the temple of Apollo at the Acropolis, then taken to see the gigantic plinth where the colossus of Rhodes had once stood.
“Some say it fell into the sea, but others say that the Arabs stole it, curse them to hell. No one has a clue where they took it,” the guide informed him with an unctuous smile while rubbing his hands together. “That is why there is, well… not much to see any more, ha ha!” he added, waving his fingers about. Nevertheless, Aeneas was delighted with his tour and, feeling very superior, he tipped the man far more than he should have.
Then it was back to the ship and they were sailing out past the plinth with its gigantic missing statue and past the massive fortifications of the citadel. Off to the south he could see the shipbuilding yards in the distance, which he had been told were the most modern in the whole of the Inner Sea.
A week later, Aeneas noticed that Aquila was looking more morose than usual and very hangdog.
“What’s the matter with him?” he asked Macrobius. He noted with some relief that the practice with the knives had fallen off sharply since Rhodes.
“He got the pox,” Macrobius answered shortly. “Them poxy bints in Rhodes is what did it. Claims it’s like pissing broken glass. Silly beggar, I told ’im not to do it. I’m surprised it hasn’t dropped off!”
Aeneas grimaced in disgust. “We’ll find a physician for him in Famagusta,” he suggested. “Meanwhile, keep him away from me. I don’t want to get what he’s got.” He sighed. Home with his mother seemed a long way off, and here he was with two thugs, one of whom was diseased. It didn’t bode well for the rest of the trip.
It took ten more days to reach the port of Famagusta, because they ran into one of those sudden storms which appear out of nowhere in the Mediterranean in springtime. It was a harrowing experience for Aeneas, leading him to conclude that sailors were madmen and the sea was to be avoided at all costs in the future. By the time they arrived, Aeneas had lost a fifth of his original weight, and he had had quite enough of the sea, of sailors, and the ships they sailed in.
It was with profound relief that he set foot in the city where, he knew in his bones, the gold he sought was to be found. The very first place he visited was a church. One dominated the center of the jumbled mass of narrow streets and alleyways. There he gave thanks to God for his deliverance.
___________
Chapter 5
Tamura
Oh youth! Go with reckless faith
and trust the flattering voice,
Which whispers, “Take thy fill till death.
Indulge thyself and then rejoice.”
—Minstrel
“You appear to be very tense, my Lady,” Siranos remarked to his mistress. They were in the Lady Tamura’s chambers within the palace, which was situated in the city of Famagusta. He massaged her back while she lay naked on the long table. “You could say that, Siri,” she responded. “Work your magic on me, and perhaps I will be able to relax a little.” Siranos went to work with practiced hands and cunning fingers all over her oil-covered body.
Soon Tamura gasped, and then began to writhe with pleasure, “Oh, yes!” she groaned. “My God, what would I do without you, my Siri! Ah, down a bit… yes, yes, there!” she exclaimed, and sped off on the crest of a huge wave which left her gasping for breath.
Siranos allowed her time to recover, then came back to the bed bringing fresh hot towels and a robe. She would want to bathe now. He guided her to the bath and helped her to step into the warm water. Although it was very relaxing, she was in a pensive mood. She had surrendered herself to the pleasure of his hands, but now she was back in the reality of the present, and it worried her.
“What am I to do with that awful man?” she complained to her slave, as he gently bathed her with a sponge. She was referring to the self-proclaimed Emperor of Cyprus, Isaac Komnenos, who owned both of them. Tamura was a concubine, while Siranos was a eunuch and slave. Ordinarily, concubines were little more than slaves themselves, but with her instincts for survival and with much cunning and skill in the bed of the Emperor, Tamura had risen in status to become almost a queen. And yet not quite, and that, among other things, was worrying her. Isaac’s ever-changing moods contributed to a sense of insecurity that pervaded the corridors of the palace.
Despite all her skill, which was by now considerable, latel
y her best efforts had failed to arouse enough interest for Isaac to perform adequately, neither with herself nor with other girls who had been provided. She was in charge of this department and took it very seriously. Because her Emperor was willful, unpredictable, erratic—and more and more impotent—her own frustration was mounting. She had never derived much pleasure from his not infrequent attentions, but this sudden lack was making life difficult. She turned to Siranos to fulfill her sexual needs.
“He comes in wanting to do something, but by the time we get to the bed he has lost it! It’s like a wilted sea cucumber,” she complained to the attentive slave. “I am at my wits’ end trying to get him going again. I don’t know what else to do!” she almost wailed.
Siranos moved the warm sponge over her neck and shoulders to ease the tension. Tamura was a very beautiful woman. Still a girl really, only seventeen, but wise beyond her years, well used to dealing with the petty jealousies of the palace harem. Other women and their slaves trod warily around her, and woe betide anyone who crossed her or felt inclined to disobey her. She was in a privileged position with regard to the favors of the Emperor, but with that came the dangers of high position. The distance to fall was ever greater, and this was what bothered his lady.
“I am at a loss to suggest anything at present. You have tried several of the standard aphrodisiacs, lettuce and so on.”
“If I have to share another bowl of lettuce with him I shall start bleating like a goat,” she snapped. “It seems to do very little for him in that area. I am amazed that he managed to father a daughter!”
Siranos gave a depreciative snort. “She is but a slip of a girl from what I hear, and is well out of the way in Kyrenia.”
“That would be the final straw if she were to come back here,” Tamura muttered. If she is even a little like her father she would be unbearable, and so would life be.”
Siranos decided to do some research into the status of the daughter, and to find out if the people in castle on the hill might be able to help with the other problem; but for the time being it behooved him to change the subject. “Did you hear about the embassy that has just arrived, my Lady?”
Tamura looked up from her glum contemplation of the soapy bath waters and pushed aside a stray strand of dark blonde hair from her damp forehead. “No, I have not. When did these people arrive, and why wasn’t I told before?” She sounded aggrieved and ready to snap at him.
“You were, er, closeted with His Majesty, my Lady,” he responded tactfully. “This is the first chance I have had to tell you. The embassy only arrived in the port a few hours ago. They sent a messenger to the palace; the Chief Minister is making arrangements for an audience with the Emperor at his convenience.”
Tamura wondered when that might be. The Emperor had left her room in a bad temper, which boded ill for anyone who crossed his path, even an embassy if he felt spiteful enough.
*****
A day later at a prearranged time, Siranos made his cautious way out of the palace to meet the Greek man who was his contact with the mysterious castle on the mountain north of Famagusta. These days, no one seemed interested in his comings and goings, but from force of habit he approached the side door of a disreputable wine shop surreptitiously and, after a glance behind him, slipped into the gloomy room. He searched for a bulky man and saw him seated in a dark corner, nursing a mug of wine.
The young eunuch slid onto the empty bench opposite the Greek, who barely acknowledged him, and looked around. Dimitri never showed up without an escort but, try as he might, Siranos could never spot the minders, which amused Dimitri.
Dimitri scrutinized his guest. Siranos seemed nervous, but that was normal. He’d had one nasty encounter in the past, and truly, every time he came to meet with Dimitri he took his life in his hands. Dimitri had advised the boy to be cautious on every occasion. “You only have to be discovered once, and then it is all over,” he had told him.
“Is all well at the palace?” Dimitri asked in a low tone.
Siranos nodded his head. “You know we have a visitor?” he asked.
“We saw a new ship in the port. It looks very smart, so we think it is from Constantinople. That’s rare enough these days,” Dimitri remarked, his tone dry.
“I have been told that it is an emissary from the Emperor himself, but I don’t know what he is here for.”
“We will find out eventually,” Dimitri responded. “How is your beautiful mistress?” he inquired politely, and waved to the serving girl to bring him some wine. She came over and sloshed some into his cup.
“Um, she is well, but….” Siranos hesitated.
“Spit it out, man,” Dimitri said, raising his drink to his lips.
Siranos leaned across the table and spoke in a very low voice. Dimitri had to lean forward to hear.
“She is frustrated because the Emperor can’t get it up!” Siranos crooked his left forefinger up and down to illustrate the problem.
Dimitri had just taken a gulp. He choked, his eyes bulged, his broad face turned puce. He could barely contain his laughter. Siranos looked as though he worried the older man might be having a heart attack.
“What did you just say?” Dimitri spat the sour wine back into his cup.
“I said,” Siranos repeated, casting a furtive look around the half-full inn, “that her master is having trouble getting it up.”
Dimitri leaned back in his chair, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and stared. “What in hell’s name has this got to do with me? Why tell me?”
“Because she is desperate! She wonders if your people could help?” Siranos pleaded.
“I’m here to collect information, not report nonsense!” Dimitri protested.
“It isn’t nonsense! It’s very serious! When he can’t get it up he becomes violent, and more unstable. His moods are erratic, always have been, but it’s getting worse as the problem persists. I… she is afraid, and very worried.”
“Doesn’t she know how to deal with him? For the good Lord’s sake, I don’t have answers for this kind of shit!” Dimitri snapped, raising his voice, but then became guarded once more. He shook his head with an incredulous expression on his face.
“You don’t understand,” Siranos whispered, his tone urgent. “This could jeopardize her survival. The man is unhinged and could turn on her like a rabid dog unless she can keep him… well… satisfied. And before you ask, yes, she has brought in younger and younger girls. There has to be a limit to that,” he finished in a disgusted tone.
Dimitri nodded his head slowly. “You are right about that.” The perversions and depredations of Isaac were widely talked about. “So what do you want me to do?” he asked, with heavy reluctance.
“Those people up at that castle. Do you think they might be able to suggest something?”
Dimitri could think of many things the people on the mountain could do to rectify a situation, but helping the Emperor get his member up and keep it up was not one of the solutions that came to mind.
He shook his head. “I doubt it very much, but I suppose I can at least ask,” he said, sounding doubtful. They discussed a few other items of court gossip, then Siranos slipped away. He didn’t notice Dimitri signal one of his men to follow to see to it that he got safety back to the palace.
That night Dimitri held his head in his hands and tried to compose a note. Three drinks of Arak later, he began to write. The messages had to be very short, but informative. With the dawn, grumpy and tired, he rolled the tiny piece of paper up and slipped it into a copper tube, which he attached to the leg of a pigeon. “I shall never live this one down!” he muttered. Holding the bird high, he released it into the air. With a rapid flutter of wings it took off, circled once, then took off in a straight line for the mountains to the north. Dimitri shook his head. This was going to be embarrassing.
*****
Later that same morning, at the castle of Kantara, Jannat went up for her usual inspection of the pigeons and to check for any new ar
rivals. One pigeon was perched on the sill of the stone window as though waiting for her. The iridescent green and grey colors of its breast gleamed in the sunlight. The bird calmly allowed her to take it in her cupped hands and to gently remove the missive, after which she brought it in among the others to feed and rest.
Unrolling the tiny slip of paper she began to read. Her eyes widened with surprise, then she bent almost double and her squeal brought others running up to the tower.
Rav’an was the first to arrive. “Jannat, what is it, dear?” she demanded, when she found Jannat still doubled over. “Are you hurt?” Her voice betrayed her concern. Jannat handed the note off to Rav’an and wiped tears from her eyes.
“Sister, please tell me that I am mistaken,” she begged.
Rav’an read the note aloud. “King floppy, Queen needs help. Medication needed urgently. Advise. D.”
“No!” she said with a disbelieving look. She re-read the note and checked the initial. It was from Dimitri, sure enough. “It’s not a practical joke, is it?” she queried, but then shook her head. Dimitri would not do that; it could backfire dangerously.
“We need to take this to Theo, and not pass it along to anyone else, at least not until we fully understand the meaning.”
“I think the meaning is clear enough, don’t you, Sister?” Jannat smirked. She sobered. “With Reza and Talon gone, we are on our own in this matter. I doubt if they could help anyway. What about Max?”
“Max would not have a clue as to what to do about this,” Rav’an retorted. “This would be too embarrassing for him. He is Max, after all. We have to get together with Theo and figure it out. Come on.”
They bustled into Theo’s chambers to find her engaged in grinding herbs in a stone pestle and mortar. She looked up with a smile of welcome. “What are you two smirking about?” she asked.
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