Assassination in Al Qahira

by James Boschert

  Talon reached into his boot and pulled out a long thin knife which he held low in front of him. Silently he faced the men; then to his relief he heard hooves behind him, and Bilal called out, “Stay there, Suleiman, watch them. I will be with our Lord Abbas.”

  He heard Bilal’s sharp intake of breath as he knelt by Abbas.

  “Dear Allah, I beg your mercy for my master… please…!” he muttered.

  The two men in front of Talon hesitated, as though trying to decide what to do, but it seemed to occur to them that to try anything now in front of the huge crowd and the sultan himself would be insane, so they shrugged, shook their heads and remounted their horses. They rode off towards Bahir, who had stopped his horse about forty yards away and was watching the situation through narrowed eyes. The men rode up to him and there was a muttered conference, then at a gesture from Bahir, the men rode off the field as though they did not want to be seen any more.

  Talon watched the men leave through red-rimmed eyes, and he resolved to remember their faces. He turned back to Bilal. “Is he alive, Bilal? Have you checked to see if he is breathing? Do not move him. You must not move him…do you hear me?” he said urgently.

  Bilal grunted acknowledgement, then he gasped and said, “I think he lives, Suleiman, but I fear the worst. Something is badly wrong.”

  Talon turned and knelt by Abbas. Bilal was right, something was dreadfully wrong with the way Abbas lay on the ground and Talon felt a cold sweat form on his brow. Abbas’s body was twisted unnaturally, sprawled in such a way that Talon was sure his back was broken. The last time he had seen this kind of thing had been in Isfahan, a long time ago. In all probability it was a fatal injury. He remembered to check for a pulse, put his ear to Abbas’s chest and listened with relief to the faint rasping of breath, but the man was still unconscious. There was blood trickling from his nose and that worried Talon. He knew it might mean a ruptured lung.

  He was not aware that the sultan himself had run onto the field and was standing nearby, silently watching. Those gathered around were on their knees. Talon, still kneeling, spoke in a loud voice, “He lives, but we will kill him if he is not placed very carefully on a wood board the length of his body. Someone go, get one, we cannot move him before that.”

  He glanced up to see a figure leaning over him. As the sun was behind him, Talon could not tell who it was.

  “You there, get me a plank, it is the only thing that will save my lord’s life,” he said.

  The man nodded and said. “It will be as you command.”

  He began to issue orders to people all around. Too late Talon realized that he had been talking to the sultan. “My…My lord! I did not know it was you…the sun,” he stammered.

  Sal Ed Din placed his hand on his shoulder and said. “You are a loyal and it would seem a competent servant of your lord, who is very important to me. I shall ensure that your wishes are carried out. My very own physicians will take him into their care at once. Insha’Allah he will live?”

  Talon nodded. “He might live, my lord, but I think his back is broken, and perhaps more than that. We have to have the best physicians, and much help from Allah.”

  The sultan gave a sharp intake of breath at the news, but then men came running with a large wide panel and laid it on the ground. Talon, hoping he was doing the right thing, directed them as to how they should lift Abbas and place him on the panel, and then he instructed them to tie him down, so that his body was immobilized. He then bowed very low to the sultan and followed the men off the maidan towards a palanquin that would carry Abbas to the palace of the sultan.

  Talon did not hear the announcement that declared Abbas the victor, but the shouts of applause from the crowd told him this was so. He left the organization of the horses and the remainder of the team to Bilal. At his side now was Panhsj, who wore a ferocious scowl of worry and anxiety at what he had witnessed from the sidelines.

  He held Talon’s horse for him, and they mounted together to follow the palanquin. As they rode, Talon told him what he had seen, and what he thought of the situation.

  “I am still unsure as to why they would try to kill him on the field, Panhsj. Why there, in public, when all they had to do was to kill him somewhere quiet with no one watching?”

  “You did not know this, Suleiman, but Bahir and his dog-eating scum tried to kill our master and myself while we were on our way back from the southern campaign. They did not succeed, so I suppose they wanted to do it here and cover it as an accident.”

  “There are far easier ways to kill a man than on the Polo field, Panhsj,” Talon said quietly, “and look, they might have crippled him, but he still lives.”

  There was something else that eluded him, but he was exhausted and just wanted to make sure that Abbas was safe with a physician who knew what he was about before he went back for a bath and rest.

  “I shall stay with him when we get to the palace of the sultan.” Panhsj leaned over and placed his dark hand on Talon’s shoulder and gripped it. “I saw you hold those two men at bay after the accident, if that is what it was. I believe you saved his life by doing that.” Panhsj was looking hard at Talon, his black eyes fierce, but for the first time with a warmth that had hitherto been missing.

  “Perhaps, but if his back is broken, my lord Abbas might not live much longer in any case. It is in God’s hands now,” Talon said in a resigned tone.

  “You could have let them kill him, Suleiman. You might have gained your freedom by letting him die, but you did not. I have been untrusting of you, because I think there is more to you than meets the eye. However, after what I have witnessed, I believe that you are an honorable man.” He held out his hand to be clasped by a bemused Talon. They gripped hard and Talon smiled.

  “I would prefer to have you as my friend, Panhsj. I am glad it is now so. It is my feeling that our master has more than one enemy and that the attack on him today was meant to be seen as an accident,” he mused. “But Panhsj, I do not know for what reason. One thing is for sure, we must make sure that he is never left unattended, as they may try to come back and finish him off.”

  Panhsj nodded grimly. “I shall guard him day and night, you can be sure of that, Suleiman.” His face was furrowed with worry.

  “We will go and see that he is with the physicians, and then you can stay with him if you want to. I am sure the sultan will make sure he is well guarded. I shall have to tell our lady of the accident and try to reassure her as to his condition.”

  “That will not be easy,” Panhsj commented. “Watch out for that pig, the eunuch. He will seize the opportunity to be even more of a bully once he hears.”

  Later, after they had seen Abbas into the care of two physicians, Talon rode Rakhsh slowly back to the palace where he discovered that news had preceded him and the whole place was in an uproar. He left Rakhsh at the stables to be looked after by a syce and the eager Haytham, who took him away to be fed and watered. Talon placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder before he led the horse away.

  “You played a good game, Haytham. You helped us to win.”

  The boy nodded in silence. He was devastated by the event, but proud also.

  Talon stroked Rakhsh on the nose before parting and murmured praise. He had been impressed with the bravery of the horse. As though he understood, Rakhsh pushed at his chest with his nose.

  After seeing to the other mounts, Bilal came over to clasp Talon on the shoulder.

  “Thank you, Suleiman. How did you leave him?”

  “In the sultan’s palace along with the sultan’s own physicians and a very dangerous looking Panhsj guarding him. It is in Allah’s hands and those of the physicians, but if it is as I fear, I do not know what they can do for him.” He looked up at Bilal from under his lowered brow.

  “We were right; they were trying to harm, even to kill him, Bilal. I do not as yet know why, but I shall find out, Insha’Allah. When I do…” he left the rest unsaid.

  “You should be the one to go and tell
our lady, Suleiman. I do not know how to do this thing.” Bilal had tears in his eyes. “Can you do this?”

  Talon nodded reluctantly. “We have to tell her…yes, I shall tell her.”

  He made his way slowly towards the palace across the garden in the dusk, oblivious of the many crickets and the few cicadas in the trees overhead. He was exhausted, and his head ached from the blow he had received. He wiped at the line of dried blood he felt on his forehead with the tail of his turban. His mouth felt dry; he was not looking forward to this. He could hear the clamor of weeping and crying from within the building, even as he crossed the garden.

  Inside the palace there was pandemonium. The servants were running about wringing their hands and wailing, while Chisisi was shouting and laying about him with his cane trying to restore some kind of order. His henchmen were following his example, but they merely added to the general chaos.

  When Talon made his entrance, Chisisi rounded on him and, forgetting himself, shouted in his eagerness to hear some news.

  “Suleiman, at last there you are! Where have you been? You must give me news of our master immediately, as I have to take it to my Lady upstairs.”

  “I am here to speak to my Lady, directly, upon the orders of my master,” Talon lied.

  “But I am to take the news to the ladies. You cannot possibly go near them. It would not be right!” the eunuch shouted. He glared pompously at Talon.

  Talon noticed a movement above them on the mezzanine. It was Lady Khalidah, heavily veiled, who stood at the head of the stairs looking down. Behind her were at least a dozen other women crowding the rail, staring curiously down at him.

  Accompanied by two female servants, Khalidah began to walk down the stairs, placing her hand on the wall for support as she did so. As she came closer, Talon noticed that she seemed weak and shaken. He made a move to come forward to support her, but the eunuch stepped in and barred his way. When she reached the bottom step, Khalidah stopped, and from a distance of four paces she whispered,

  “Suleiman, you have come from my husband?”

  “I have, my Lady, and …he lives.”

  Khalidah swayed and would have fallen had not two female servants rushed to her assistance and led her to a carpeted area near the far wall where there were cushions. She settled down on one and motioned Talon to approach.

  Chisisi made to protest, but a sharp gesture from Khalidah silenced him. The room was so quiet that Talon imagined a feather would have been heard falling.

  She looked up at Talon.

  “You say he is alive…we heard that he had died on the Polo field.”

  He looked at her with her two servants kneeling nearby, the rich hangings on the walls and the lights of the oil lamps illuminating her pale forehead. Over the veil he could see her eyes huge and dark in the lamplight.

  He went forward and down on one knee before her. “My lady, I have seen him, and he is alive…but very badly wounded from the accident with his horse.”

  She gave a stifled sob and her shoulders slumped as though a great weight had fallen upon her. “Tell me what happened, and do not spare me the truth, Suleiman,” she commanded. Her eyes stared straight into his.

  Gall when it helps is good,

  Even if it’s bitter;

  But sweetness when it starts

  To harm will soon devour

  — Yosef Ibn Zabara

  Chapter 14

  A Visit

  Two days later, in Bahir’s palace, the men who had plotted the downfall of Abbas met once again. It was late evening. The meeting was tense and not at all cordial.

  Al Muntaqim was coldly furious, and broke all etiquette by ignoring the usual greetings and customary expressions of good will. He made sure Bahir knew it.

  “Is it that you and your men are utterly incompetent? Or do you have a death wish of your own?” he snarled at Bahir, who was already unsettled. Now his face paled.

  “I…I don’t know what you mean. My men would have had him if that cursed bodyguard of his had not come in between…with his knife ready,” he stammered and then, offended he said, “No one is allowed to bring weapons onto the field, and yet there he was with a long knife, threatening my men. They could not get near Abbas, and then his team was in the way, stopping my men from finishing him off.” His confidence returned and he almost shouted.

  “By the Prophet, I do not know what else we could have done, other than to cut him down in front of the sultan and the whole army combined, in plain sight. It was your stupid idea anyway. We should have sent an assassin after him while he was hunting, or some such thing.”

  Bahir stopped, fearing he might have gone too far. He glanced at the poet who was seated nearby and noticed that he had paled at his temerity. No one spoke to Al Muntaqim in that manner.

  Trying to calm things the poet stuttered, addressing Bahir. “That man’s name… the one who stopped your men. He only goes by Suleiman…this is on everyone’s lips.”

  “Men have died playing chogan. It is not that unusual,” Umarah bleated. “Why did Abbas have to survive?”

  Al Muntaqim glared at them. “Neither of you seems to understand that to kill him in public, or even assassinate him some dark night, would set in motion an enquiry we might not survive!” he shouted, the veins on his neck standing out in rage.

  “Calm yourself, my friend,” Bahir said, raising both hands. “We have had a setback, that is all. However, we must finish the work soon or we might find it harder to complete, once Abbas regains his health. If he does.”

  Al Muntaqim thought for a few long moments, took a deep breath and visibly regained his composure. There was a long silence. Then he said, “You are right, Bahir. Besides, he did not really survive it. I have heard that his back is broken, and he will be a cripple for life. He may even die from that alone.” He continued with low intensity in his voice. “But he must be finished off. Alive he can still command respect and obedience from his men, who are still here in Cairo; and very soon we will need the ones who do not go to Yemen subdued and under our control. Time is not on our side so we must find a way to ensure that he seems to die from his injuries. There is no time to waste; we have to set the events in motion very soon.”

  “I shall send someone to do it,” Bahir stated, trying to regain some control of the discussion.

  “No! By Allah you shall not,” Al Muntaqim barked. “This time I shall take care of this. You have tried and failed to kill him twice. I shall deal with it in my way.” He glared at Bahir, his former anger resurfacing.

  Bahir sat back as though struck. His face reddened. He dared not contradict this dangerous man. He glanced at the poet for support, but that man studiously ignored him.

  “We cannot get near to Abbas at present. He is well guarded in the sultan’s palace and under constant watch. I tried to pay him a visit…to ascertain his state, you understand, but that Nubian of his stands there like a great black pillar of wrath,” Umarah said plaintively. “He does not even move, but his expression and his eyes are terrible to see. As Allah is my witness, I could not move past him. His glare seems to penetrate a man’s soul and I would not want to be in his hands should he decide I was trying to hurt his master.” Umarah was actually wringing his hands.

  Al Muntaqim shot him a disdainful look.

  “Of course we will not do anything while he is with the sultan, but when he is moved back into his own palace…we will deal with him then. I will deal with him.”

  “After this, his palace will be like a fortress,” Bahir said, deferentially this time. “We will never get anyone in there.”

  “There are many ways to enter a man’s stronghold without beating down his doors, but I do not intend to send a stranger into the palace, not at first anyway. I intend to find someone within who can be motivated by gold. Everyone has their price.

  “Does our Lord Abbas not have a very beautiful wife?” Al Muntaqim asked no one in particular.

  “You could say that,” Bahir agreed reluctantly.
He did not want to look at Al Muntaqim.

  “It is doubtful that our friend can perform his marital duties any more, wouldn’t you say?” Al Muntaqim inquired softly. “Does not the thought of this beautiful woman going to waste upset you?”

  Bahir stared at him. “By my ancestors,” he breathed. “Do you mean…?” He left the rest of the sentence unsaid.

  Al Muntaqim nodded. “The takings will be ours when the time comes. But first we must deal with Abbas. After that, you can send as many people into the house as you like, because the sultan will be away and unable to stop you.” Then his lips parted in a lascivious leer and hissed, “It is that little boy of his who must not live to inherit…but first I want to stroke his smooth young body.”

  “I would prefer to have a handsome young man than a small boy,” Umarah commented with a nervous laugh, raising his eyebrows at Bahir.

  Neither of the other two thought it strange that Al Muntaqim wanted a boy. It was not uncommon for boys to be part of the amorous life of a nobleman, and Abbas’s son would make fine sport until he was no longer wanted.

  Bahir announced it was time for refreshments. He clapped his hands and the door opened. Servants brought in wine in silver cups and an array of food.

  “I shall drink to your success, my friend,” Bahir said, without sincerity.

  * * * * *

  Talon walked up to the beggar boy Kontar. After dropping a small coin in the boy’s bowl as though he were just a passerby, he murmured, “I need to see Mukhwana, Kontar. There is a problem and I need help.”

  “Come back this evening, Suleiman. That was a fine game of chogan you played. I was betting on you,” Kontar whispered with a grin, and then louder he called after Talon’s retreating back, “May Allah bless you, my lord, for your generosity.”

  The boy pushed himself up the wall, and then with the aid of his crutch he began to hobble off into the gloom of the souk.