Assassination in Al Qahira

by James Boschert

  The leader of the group exclaimed, “You speak our language, Kharagi scum? You will have to wait for the water. Our noble lord wants to see you and it is now.”

  At least when they passed a trough, he had one of the men dash water into their faces. The cool water on Talon’s face was a real relief and he licked all he could that came to his lips.

  Talon knew better than to push his luck by asking for more and kept quiet as they were hurried across the interior maidan of the fortress to another entrance, and then to a hallway where the rough stone of the fort walls was replaced with finely painted tiles and the floor was laid with wide flag stones. The party stopped and the guards made obeisance to a group of richly dressed men standing near to a fountain.

  He felt dizzy from lack of sustenance and the sound of the water rushing made him feel faint. One of the well-dressed men noticed the soldiers, waved them over and then walked towards Max and Talon, stopping about ten feet away. The others of his group followed at a respectful distance. Forced to their knees by an iron fist and held by their necks, Talon and Max waited while the man spoke to the leader of the soldiers.

  “Are these the people I have heard about?”

  “They are indeed the fugitives we caught in the fight on the harbor, lord. They were trying to buy their way out of the country, but a man told us of them. They killed many of our men before Allah intervened on our behalf and we could subdue them. They fought like lions, my Gracious Lord. This one,” he kicked Talon in the ribs, “claims he is a merchant, but our officer says that if that were so, why did he fight?”

  “I see. They look like wild Bedouin and they stink,” said the man, upon approaching the prisoners.

  Just as he said this while twitching his nose, a young boy came up and stood behind him. Peering past the finely dressed man, he asked, “What are these men doing here, father?”

  “They are brought to answer for their crime before men, and in the name of Allah the Almighty. You may stay, but do not say anything. Watch and learn.”

  “You,” he then said loudly, addressing Talon.

  Talon looked up from his forced contemplation of the tiles.

  “Me, Osstez? Oh Lord of many Provinces.” He looked into the man’s eyes. They were intelligent eyes that shrewdly assessed him. The man was older than Talon. He also held the power of life and death over them, so Talon was careful not to cause offense. The man stared in silence down at him for a few long moments. Finally he said, “Yes, you! Where are you from? You do not look like any Egyptian.”

  Still looking the man directly in his eyes, Talon responded, “My lord, as Allah is my witness, I am originally from Armenia within the lands of the Byzantium Empire. I am a simple merchant and have been trading in this land as well as the lands to the east and west of this fair city.”

  “My men tell me that you fought like warriors. Are merchant men warriors too, these days?” His tone expressed the disdain that a noble would have for a mere trader.

  “My lord, I was trained in the art of defense by my uncle in Isfahan who is …was, a trader and doctor. He also taught me medicine and the healing crafts at the hospital. He believed that a man who travelled the dangerous roads of today needs to know how to defend himself.”

  Talon wanted the man to know that he was no mere trader but had other capabilities as well, which might sway him in their favor.

  The elegantly dressed man seemed to think about this for a moment. His fine, dark-featured face, aquiline nose and well trimmed beard and moustache denoted a man of nobility, and judging from his clothing and the rings on his fingers, he was wealthy. However, Talon could see strong wrists and scars on the man’s forearms and a lean body, all of which told him that this man was a warrior, and not to be trifled with.

  “Are you then a physician, as well as a trader…and warrior?” The man asked, sounding skeptical and amused.

  “Insha’Allah, I shall one day be qualified to sit in the shadow of Abū 'l-Walīd Muḥammad and heal the sick using the skills Allah might see fit to provide me, My lord.”

  “You do not seem old enough to know these things you speak of. You use the name of our God, as though you were a believer. Are you, then, one of the faithful?” The man looked at Talon keenly, as though defying him to lie.

  “I was raised in Persia, My lord. I am of the Shia’ faith,” he stated simply, and without adornment.

  “I was told that you were Christian spies, seeking to escape. Instead I find a heretic at my feet…you are no better than the rest of the Shia’ scum. Our Lord and master the Sultan has sworn to the Caliph in Baghdad that he will eradicate the Shia’ and Ismaili from this country!”

  “My lord, as I kneel before you and Allah himself, the man who betrayed us to the soldiers was a thief and a liar. May his soul rot in Jehannum. He was one of the people I dealt with over some merchandise and we had a disagreement about payment. I gave him and his master passage money, but he sought to make more from Kharagi in a foreign land.”

  Talon tried to sound convincing. He knew his lie was flimsy, but one of the men who might dispute it was dead, while the other was presumably at sea.

  “He killed the man he is talking about, Oh Gracious Lord,” volunteered the leader of the soldiers. “He made a very good throw with a spear!”

  “How convenient! It would seem that you have helped keep the crime in this fair city of ours down. Not only that, you have gained the admiration of my men!” said the man in front of Talon dryly, but with a glare at the soldier for his impertinence. The man cringed in response.

  He looked at Talon and at the kneeling Max, speculatively.

  “I am still not sure I believe all you have said. But the fact remains that you killed some of my men and that merits death as punishment. A mere merchant would have tried to explain himself before he attacked an armed detachment of soldiers who were just doing their duty. Not only that, you are heretics as well. The Sultan, may Allah protect him and provide him with great wisdom, has pronounced the Shia’ as deviants along with the Ismaili.”

  “My lord, I cannot contradict you on my faith. But all men of the faith are the same under God, are they not? It does not mean that we could not also be the faithful servants of the Sultan, may Allah protect him.

  “On the other issue I swear on the name of the Prophet that we were taken by surprise. My men are also warriors and they sincerely believed that we were under attack, without provocation. The one that is dead reacted foolishly, and without my permission, but by that time we were beset on all sides, and did not know what to do, other than to defend ourselves.”

  Talon knew he was being unkind to Montague and gave a small prayer to his erstwhile companion to forgive him. Max did not understand the foreign words, so he could not react.

  “What is your name?” The man in front of him asked, sharply.

  “My given name is Suleiman ibn Mahmud Omar, which name my uncle gave to me when I came to him in Isfahan Persia as a very small boy, my lord,” said Talon with deference. “May I enquire, most respectfully, who it is that condescends to question me?” he asked.

  Before one of the soldiers could kick him for his impertinence, the man raised his hand to stop him and said, “My name is Emir Abbas Abdur Rahman ibn Athir Faysal. I am descended from the faithful followers of the Prophet who left Medina four hundred years before this time. You should count yourself very lucky that merciful Allah is smiling upon you this day, as I have decided not to have you executed in the maidan. I shall think on what to do with you shortly. In the meantime, you are prisoners, and shall remain so at my pleasure. Take them away.”

  He turned and left them, taking his boy with him, talking quietly to him as they went. Talon stared after him. He did not have much time to reflect on their fate, for the soldiers seized him and Max and hustled them back to the prison cell.

  On the way, Talon again begged the leader of the soldiers for water and food.

  “You must have found our Lord in a fine mood today, Kharagi.
He gave you back your worthless lives; that in itself is very unusual. I shall get water and food to you, although I should slip a sword into you for killing my companions,” he added bitterly.

  “May Allah be kind to their souls, Your Honor, but I was defending myself; and what would you have a warrior merchant do? Grovel like a worm, or fight like a man?”

  The soldier, a tough looking infantryman, who by his scars had clearly seen his share of fights, nodded reluctantly and grudgingly acknowledged Talon’s comment.

  “You are right, it is better. I shall see to it,” he said briefly.

  Talon discouraged any comment from the hitherto silent Max until they were back in the cell. The soldier released them from their bonds, which were beginning to hurt, and gave them both a cursory check over to see if there were any weapons concealed on their persons. He did find a few of the silver coins Talon had kept on his person for just such an eventuality. These were confiscated with the laconic comment, “You won’t need coins in this place.”

  “I hope that it buys you much. Consider it a present from me, Oustez,” murmured Talon, politely.

  They were left alone in the gloomy cell. Max rubbed his wrists to get the circulation back and then stood saying, “I did not understand a word of what went on there, Talon. For the love of God, now tell me, are we to die? What is to become of us?”

  Talon was in the same discomfort as Max, as he leaned against the filth-encrusted wall of their cell and thought about what had transpired.

  “We live…for the time being, Max. The man we were talking to is a noble man with a long name who is in charge of this prison. That puts him high in rank, but at what level I do not know. Perhaps this man is a relative of the Sultan; it is a fair bet that he might be. In any case he decided, thank God, not to have us executed on the spot, saying he wants to think on what to do with us.”

  “Does that mean that we might be able to escape, Talon?”

  “I think that, God willing, we should try. He might change his mind, and I would hate to think that we sat on our arses doing nothing when we might have tried,” Talon said. “Let’s see what develops, as now we have seen the outside surroundings and have a little time to plan more carefully.”

  The hours passed until they heard the clamor of men moving along the corridor again, and guessed that they might be seeing food and water. Sure enough, the door slammed open and a pitcher of water was placed inside, along with some stale flat bread and a bowl of stewed vegetables and lentils. The soldiers told them to eat and drink and that this was their lot for the day and night.

  “You are lucky to have anything at all,” they were told, “as Ramadan has started and we are yet to go to our own food. Prisoners should be made to fast for the whole month; it would cost us less!”

  Both men grabbed for the water and had to restrain themselves from drinking it all in one go. Max insisted that they ration it carefully, because, as they both knew, they would not see any until well into the next day. Having slaked their thirst, they then deliberately ate the food provided. Having lived for months on the barest of scraps from the seashore this was not such a hardship for them, although it was so foul that ordinarily they would have gagged on it.

  They laid back against the wall, oblivious to its filth, and talked. Not for the first time Talon, to divert his somber thoughts, quizzed Max on his background. Max was willing enough to tell him.

  “I have already told you that I grew up in the mountains of the land north of the great mountains, the Alps,” he said, as he scratched his arms again.

  “Yes, Max, they sound like real mountains, they must be like the ones I lived among in Persia. Those were very high, and in winter all was covered in snow and ice. I never liked it, but I got used to it.”

  “I grew up in a tiny town that was deep in a forested valley of the mountains. Life was very hard. Each winter we had to kill much of our livestock because there was not enough food to keep them alive for the entire winter. It is fortunate that we were not so far from the salt mines, as that is what preserved our meat for a long time. But we also kept our remaining cows and sheep on the ground enclosure beneath the houses and this kept us warm. I shall never forget the sweet smell of cows!” He leaned back and sighed. “I do not like the stink of camels or that of goats, although I know they are useful creatures; there is something I just don’t like about them.” He slapped at a whining mosquito. “We did not have these pests in the mountains either,” he remarked.

  Talon agreed that he found the whining insects most annoying. They swarmed in the night, despite the seeming lack of openings in the cell walls, and made sleep difficult.

  “In the winter, I could hunt deer high in the mountains with my father and brothers. We would cross the snow on boards tied to our feet which made it possible to cross great distances without being buried. We did not always bring home game, sometimes only a couple of rabbits. Ah me, but I remember the rabbits in wine and herbs. And I remember your mother’s cooking, Talon. How I miss that home of yours.”

  They fell to reminiscing about their time in the household of Sir Hughes, which brought the Welsh archers to mind, and they too came up in the discussion.

  “Good fighters one and all. I mourn Anwl; he never made it home, but the others did…at least, I pray to God that they did,” Talon said crossing himself. Max did the same automatically.

  “Do you remember that Devonalt, the big one? The girls never seemed to have enough of him,” chuckled Max.

  “I know. Gareth and I caught him at it once, and I had to tell Gareth that unless it stopped, then Devonalt would be staying in Albi!” They laughed and it helped to calm their fears. They talked long into the night about their friends and the good times in Albi, nestled in the foothills of the Languedoc.

  They watched the goings on and the routine of the prison, then waited through the ensuing week, trying to work out who did what work in the prison. They were never let out, not even to wash or defecate outside of their cell. As time went by, their condition became worse and the stink of their cell more noisome. At least they were not chained, and they received food and water twice a day, although neither was very palatable. They watched the gaolors for opportunities and the pattern of their work day, as far as they were able to verify it.

  Their meals came late in the morning and often very late in the evening, if at all; but they had no idea as to how close to sunset the day had come, and they could not even hear the call to prayers in the city, the walls were so thick. It would have helped to know the time of day. Talon was growing desperate to make a move, as he feared that they might still go to an execution. He feared that he might have made a serious mistake by confessing the fact that he was Shia’. The reaction had been chilling. But he recalled his education at the hands of his mentor, Dr. Far’jan, who had told him that Egypt was the center of the Shia’ faith. The disputes the doctor had talked of were the differences between the Ismaili and the Sunni, not the Sunni and the Shia, which seemed to be the case here today. What could have changed, he wondered?

  He had found out from their gaolers that the name of the sultan of the country was Salah Ed Din, a Kurd, not even a true descendent of the Prophet’s followers, but the nephew of Nur Ed Din, the Sultan who ruled Damascus. Beyond that they knew little.

  As they estimated the evening of the seventh day approaching, they heard once again the tramp of men marching towards their door. Talon hastily retrieved the knife and hid it in the folds of his tunic. The door banged open, and a soldier stood at the entrance. He beckoned to Talon. ”You are to come with us,” he ordered. “Our Lord wishes to see you. Your fate has been decided.”

  “What fate would that be?” Talon demanded, his heart pumping.

  “The Master has left for the south where our overlord Salah Ed Din’s brother is fighting the invaders. I have been commanded to bring you before his administrator, who will sentence you today.”

  “What will become of us, Oustez?” Talon asked, faking a whining, se
rvile tone.

  “He will probably sentence you to slavery. He likes to make life a torment, before his slaves die.”

  Talon did not like what he heard. He tensed. “We can always wait for your Lord to return,” he said, ingratiatingly.

  “You are to go to work on the Great Light building, because you are a heretic and he is an unbeliever,” the soldier pointed at Max. “You will become slaves,” he sneered, “as good a fate as any for the deaths you caused our friends.”

  Talon saw only three men in the corridor and none of them had his weapon at the ready. It was dark in the corridor behind the men, their one torch held high by the second man, so he guessed that it was past sunset.

  He said in a low voice to Max, “It is now or never. They intend to make us slaves. Be quick about it, when I make my move.”

  Although tired and undernourished, Talon still had speed on his side. He slipped in very close to the soldier who had spoken. His knife came out and he plunged it into the first man’s throat, dragging the sharp blade around and down hard, opening the man’s throat almost from ear to ear before either of the other two could react. Blood spurted in all directions, splashing his face and clothing. The man jerked back convulsively with a choked gargle, clutching his open throat in a feeble attempt to stop his life blood from flowing away.

  The knife came out of the man’s neck and sped into the midriff of the next guard, with an audible thump. The man gasped and would have screamed but for Talon’s hand over his mouth. Max lunged forward and seized the third man by the arm and hauled him into the cell. The man gave a yelp of surprise and fear, but Max rammed him head first into the stone wall. There was a sickening crack, and the man fell backwards into Max’s waiting arms. Max seized the guard around his throat and began to strangle what life was left out of him.

  Talon, meanwhile, had finished off the second man. He turned and buried his knife in the back of the third. It was all over within seconds. The torch was now on the floor and beginning to go out. Talon retrieved it and held its sputtering flame high, the better to see their handiwork. He took a swift look out of the open doorway, but the corridor was dark, and apart from the occasional groan behind one or two of the cell doors, all was quiet.