by J A Deriu
“Why, though? Why?” Pierre said.
“That is unknown.” Tarja smiled. “There is something about you, Lord Pierre. You find your way into mischief.”
Ernest cackled. “That is the truth.”
The motor vehicle turned onto a road where there was no other traffic. It was lined with overhanging trees. They stopped at the imposing walls of a castle with sharply pointed turrets that stabbed the sky. Huge iron gates slowly opened. On each side serious-faced men watched the motor vehicle. “We are here,” Tarja said. “This is the Topkapi Palace.” They passed under the great bulwark. A brick-paved road stretched in front of them. Pierre and Ernest both sat upright to best see out of the windows. On the sides were massive trees. They had hollowed trunks. Inside of them stood guards in brightly colored uniforms. Their heads turned with the passing vehicle. They passed prettily manicured gardens, elaborate fountains, and low, thick-stoned buildings. Peacocks and gazelles wandered in the gardens.
The motor vehicle stopped under a portico. Servants wearing white uniforms hurried to open the doors. The men got out first and then signaled for the others to come out. Ernest stood next to Pierre and straightened his jacket. “This is the most famous place in the world. We should make sure that we embrace this.”
“Are you serious?” Pierre responded with a hushed voice. The rays of the setting sun angled under the portico, and he lifted his hand so that he could see the little man. “We are not here as tourists.”
“Be quiet,” Tarja forcefully whispered behind them. “The observance of silence is enforced in the palace.”
“That is why I will say to you now, before we enter, Lord Pierre and small man,” Taymoor interrupted, “to be respectful and dignified as if your life depended on it – which it does. You are entering the palace built by Mehmed the Conqueror.” Unnaturally big men came out of the doors. “The Kurd bodyguards,” Taymoor advised. The men wore leather jerkins that exposed their musclebound arms and on their heads caps that had sharp points.
The bodyguards organized them into a group. Pierre and Ernest stood at the front and Taymoor and Tarja behind. They looked over them with dissecting eyes and signaled for the group to walk. As soon as they entered the palace, they stopped at a fountain that was built into the wall to wash their hands and faces and then filed along a colonnaded passage with pale-blue walls decorated with golden stars. The floor tiles were vibrant patterns that dizzied Pierre’s head. They walked for minutes before stopping at a guarded and closed entrance. A tall, dark-skinned man was waiting for them. He was wearing a thick caftan over his heavy body and an onion-shaped turban. He spoke quickly to Taymoor and pointed at Pierre and Ernest.
Both Taymoor and Tarja looked shocked. Taymoor leaned forward. “This is the Black Eunuch of the sultan.” He spoke as though in pain. “The meeting is with the sultan.” Pierre’s head shook. “Not us, only you,” Taymoor continued. “We have been dismissed. Go with him. Remember what I said.” The doors opened. The eunuch waved for Pierre to move. He stepped slowly and looked back to see Taymoor and Tarja with their heads slightly bowed. Tarja’s lifted for a moment and forced a smile. The eunuch growled, and Pierre walked through the doors.
The doors closed. The eunuch pointed at two high-backed wooden chairs that were along a wall. Pierre and Ernest sat. The eunuch hurried away through a side door without any further attention. The guards had not come into the large room. They were alone.
It was a domed room. One wall was decorated with curved gold patterns and mosaics. Behind them were heavily grilled windows. In front of them, it was open, and behind the pillars they could see the blue of the sea. On a raised section was a throne covered in gold cloth. A bare block table was near the throne.
They sat with their hands on their laps. Neither said anything, and they kept their faces looking in front. Birds squawked outside, and the sun was dropping. It soon became gloomy.
“Well, this is unexpected,” Ernest, unable to be quiet any longer, said through a crack in his mouth.
Pierre did not say anything for a long time before answering in whispers. “Hmm, it is strange. Don’t lose hope. We find our way out of these messes.”
“I haven’t lost hope. We are meeting the sultan. That cannot be a bad thing.”
“Those other two didn’t look joyful at the news.”
“Yes, maybe. What do they know? I am not so glum.”
It became dark outside. The first of the stars could be seen. Pierre tensed his eyes to look at them. The stars reminded him of Ida.
“Have they forgotten about us?” Ernest said.
“I hope so.”
There was noise from the side door. A couple of page boys scurried across the room. They were wearing dark red-and-gold liveries and carried a lantern. They kept their eyes from Pierre and Ernest and set up something that they had carried on the table. They hurried out and left the lantern on the table. They had also left a sword holder stand. Pierre blinked into focus the great sword that sat on it. It had a thick, crescent-moon blade and a handle that looked as if it was made from gold with embedded jewels glinting from the lamplight.
“Oh, damn, look at that,” Ernest squealed.
“Why would they want that?” Pierre touched his neck.
“It is not for us.” Ernest swallowed hard. “Is it?”
“What have we done to these people? We are bankers that fund floundering businesses. Quiet, there is someone coming.”
Servants entered wearing high-crowned caps and blank faces. They kept their eyes away from them, lit wall lamps, and hurried away. The room was well lit. The sword sparkled in the light and attracted all of the attention.
“We are not tied. Let’s run,” Pierre half-heartedly said.
“No offense, but that could be the dumbest thing you have ever said out of many dumb things. Do you know where we are?”
“All right. The fat guy told us to sit. Let’s sit.”
“That guy was a eunuch. Do you know what one of them is?”
“Yes, I do actually.” He smirked. “Aren’t you one?”
“Ha, funny to the end.”
“It is not the end.” Pierre looked at Ernest. “But if it is, I want you to know that you have been a good manservant.” He dropped his head. “And a great friend.”
Ernest put out his hand and Pierre grasped it. “And you have been an awful master and my only friend.” They held their hands clasped together.
“Men should touch men only in sport, battle, and greeting.” The eunuch had entered. He spoke English, and his voice resonated across the room. Their hands fell away. He stood in front of them with his hands rested on his belly. His bulging eyes considered them. Others were filing into the room behind him. Pierre leaned to the side to see who they were. There were a few of them. All men dressed in white Ottoman formal clothes. Suddenly, there was a whirl of movement. One of them carried a film camera, and he began setting up the tripod to face the throne and the sword. Two huge Kurd guards strode into the room and moved toward Pierre and Ernest.
They did not stop. They moved behind them and forced them to stand. Pierre felt his arms being pulled back by the powerful hands. He glanced at Ernest to see that the Kurd had pinioned his arms too. Pierre grimaced. The eunuch shook his head. He said something to the Kurds, and they let go. He looked at Pierre. “There is no need for that. I am sure that you will be well behaved.” He looked around the room. The men who had entered stood soberly against the side of the room where the main entrance was. He looked back at Pierre. “The Shadow of God on Earth will be here shortly. You should be on your knees. Keep your heads down. Do not look at the sultan. You may lift your head to follow proceedings but be discreet. I will stand here and explain to you what is happening.” He looked at the main doors. They had opened slightly. “You are wondering why you are here, aren’t you?”
Pierre and Ernest lowered to their kn
ees, and both nodded feebly.
“You are here to witness something very important on behalf of your people and your state.” The room was silent. The cameraman had set up his equipment and stood next to the film camera with his arms stiffly at his sides. The eunuch lowered his voice. “You are here to witness on behalf of the people of New Europa the death of a traitor. Yes.” He nodded his large, round head dramatically. “The betrayal of the sultan was of the greatest magnitude. You witnessed the battle of the Qing, and thus it is only fitting that you witness its culmination. If you recall that day the sultan was betrayed. This grand betrayal was by the general of the army, his name Emir Tobias Deen. The sultan had treated this man like a son. A general of the Janissaries. The once most prideful part of the empire. More victories than any army of history. This man surrendered to the Templars. His disgrace was almost as grand as his betrayal.” He lowered his voice even more as the doors gradually opened. Pierre leaned toward the big man. “For the reasons of shame, or perhaps for the unsolvable reasons of a corrupt mind, this man tried to sneak back into the great capital. He was found, and you will see him tonight. Watch with greedy eyes everything you see. This is what happens when someone defies the Shadow of God on Earth.” He stepped to the side. The Kurd guards stood on either side of them with their thick arms crossed.
The room was completely silent. No one moved. Minutes passed. Pierre’s knees began to hurt. He kept his head down. His neck ached. He heard the doors being fully opened. A rush of wind came into the room from the open section. There was a swishing sound. He lifted his eyes fractionally. He saw the yellow pantaloons cross the floor.
He could not stop his head lifting another notch. The sultan had sat on the throne. He had the severe face that Pierre had imagined from Tarja’s description. The body was not as trim as he had expected. His chest looked flabby and was accentuated by the loose silk shirt that he wore. His eyebrows tightened as he surveyed the room. Pierre looked down before his sharp eyes swept over the two Metropolitans. In a moment Pierre looked back up, and the sultan was looking elsewhere while brushing a hand over his bald scalp.
One of the Kurd guards marched across the room and out of the main doors. The silence in the room held firm. The sultan sat impatiently. He adjusted how he was seated, and then his movements stopped as he looked at the sword, as though noticing it for the first time.
The Kurd guard came back into the room. He had a man in front of him whom he guided with his strong arm on the man’s shoulder. The man had his hands bound behind his back. He was wearing a plain light-blue tunic and pants. His hazel-colored hair was messed. His face was pale and his physique that of a soldier. The guard maneuvered the prisoner so that he was facing the sultan and also visible from the front to those standing on the side, including the film camera. His back and tied hands were in front of Pierre and Ernest. The guard firmed his hold, and the prisoner, as though he knew what to do, lowered to his knees. The guard moved back to his position.
The prisoner, who Pierre assumed was Tobias Deen, the traitor general of the Janissaries, breathed easily, without fear. His body was belligerently erect. The sultan settled his eyes on Deen. He took a long breath and lifted himself off the throne. He took long, dramatic steps toward the prisoner, stopped, and crooked his neck to stare at him intently.
The sultan spoke calmly. Pierre did not understand the words. He spoke intimately to Deen as if no one else were in the room. The general said nothing. The sultan turned to the audience and addressed them. They moved their heads and held a gasp.
The eunuch edged closer to Pierre. “The sultan will do the deed himself,” he whispered.
The sultan was within touching distance of the traitor general. He felt Deen’s jaw like a father would and said more words. His volume increased as he tightened his grip on the jaw. He stopped at moments, as though for the prisoner to speak. The prisoner said nothing. The sultan continued until he was shouting and delivering a withering barrage of words at the prisoner, who was unflinching. He dramatically ended, tossed the jaw, and turned his back on the general. He stalked away to the table.
The sultan paused in front of the sword and considered it for a long moment. Pierre could hear Ernest’s breathing. The sultan snatched up the sword as if on a spur. He handled it well, twirling it and slashing it through the heavy air. He gripped the handle in both hands and moved toward the prisoner.
He spread his thick legs and braced himself in front of Deen. He stared for a long time at the prisoner. No one had moved. The film camera was pointed at the scene. The sultan lifted his arms so that his sleeves fell, and the tightness of his muscles could be seen. He held the heavy sword above his head and lined it up with the neck of Deen.
Pierre for a moment was distracted. Deen’s hands were not tied. The binding had fallen away. In a flashing movement, Deen stood, raised a hand toward the sword, and with the other hand pushed the sultan off balance. Before anyone could move, Deen held the sword and thrust it through the body of the sultan. The sultan’s face was shocked. The point could be seen coming out of the sultan’s back. Red stains spilled on the front of the golden tunic.
The Kurds had their swords in their hands and rushed at Deen. He ripped the great sword from the body of the sultan and slashed it at one of the guards, cutting his neck before he could defend. The second Kurd hesitated for a moment. Deen did not and, in a burst of movement, cut the Kurd twice, kicked him to the ground, and drove the sword through his chest.
The body of the sultan lay on the floor. Deen turned to face the audience and lifted the blood-dripping sword. They stepped back. One of them wailed. The eunuch ran past them and out of the door. The others followed. The film camera was lurched on its tripod.
Deen turned to Pierre and Ernest. They were still on their knees. “Come with me to live,” he said. “They will kill you after this.” He pointed the sword at the red-splattered body of the sultan. He turned and ran to the opening. Shouts and banging could be heard coming through the open doors. Deen stood on the parapet. He looked at them. The night sky was behind him. Pierre looked at Ernest.
Ernest’s eyes were resigned. They both stood together and ran after Deen. The three of them leaped off the parapet onto the uneven, downward-sloping ground. Pierre dodged trees and bushes as they ran down the slope. A branch brushed his face. His legs were unsteady. Ernest grabbed him to pull him out of a near fall.
They stumbled onto a flat, paved area. The smell of the water came across the landing. Deen steadied both of them by grabbing their shirts. He turned them so that they could see, under the moonlight, a jetty pointing into the dark water and a small boat moored to its end. They ran alongside him. It was menacingly quiet. Only the lapping of the water could be heard. There were two people on the boat. A man stood at the rear with his hands on the motor and tiller, and a hooded figure sat at the front. Ernest got on first, and Pierre followed. He sat on a seat and breathed heavily. Deen leaped on. The man already had the boat moving. Deen stood and looked back to the palace.
They moved quickly into deep waters. Pierre put his head in his hands and leaned forward as if he were about to be sick. He looked up to see who was at the front of the boat. The person had lowered their hood and was looking at Deen, who was still standing. It was a young woman as best as Pierre could see. Deen looked at her and they grimaced smiles at each other. She had an innocent face. The man driving the boat had a veteran’s face, dour and consumed by his task. Deen looked at him, and they grimly nodded at each other. The general then turned to Pierre. “I have many friends still in the court. My hands were not bound.”
“What did you do?” Ernest said to Deen.
“Ha!” Deen produced a low-level laughter without changing his serious expression. “It is called revenge.”
The boat moved into the darkness. The water roughed, and Pierre held the side of the boat to steady himself.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
; Clavdia checked that the binoculars were clean. Then she adjusted the focus wheel. She lowered them and checked with the naked eye. The horizon was empty of what she had expected to see. She turned to the two captain knights standing next to her. They both wore the same perplexed look on their tense faces.
Richord held his binoculars to his face. “No elephants,” he said with mirth in his voice.
“The Ottomans don’t use them,” Fulke the Bear answered. “Too smart for those contraptions. You saw how useless they were in Abyssinia. Only helpful in fighting tribesmen.”
“There is nothing at all,” Clavdia said. She felt her shoulder-length hair. It had been over a week since she had washed it. She had been moving all of that time. There had been no meditation, no kneeling for prayers, and exhausted rest while the body was being transported on a motor vehicle or boat. It was only in the last couple of hours that she had stopped moving.
“Our scouts will report soon,” Fulke said. “We will hear what they say.”
“This is Acre,” Richord said. “I find it impossible to believe that the enemy would leave it as a free city. Where are they?”
The three of them stood on a hilltop that looked over fields and orchards, and then the city and ocean behind. Acre was a tight cluster of low-to-the-ground buildings with a few exceptions of slender minarets and office towers near the port. At its center was the main fort, a block with round towers and tiled roofs. Acre surrounded a harbor formed by a breakwater and aquamarine reefs.
She felt the same uneasiness as the others. “The enemy should be here in numbers. They are not. The scouts will confirm if this is right. Let’s fulfill our duty and take it.” She turned and walked down the steep dirt trail to another tier of soldiers.
“Yes, Lord Commander. Who shall we send? The Bay City Legion? They are fully equipped,” Fulke asked.
She stopped. “No, Captain. Let’s all go.”