He wanted only two things and was pleased that one of them came free.
“I will support you in your endeavor regarding the sultan, as we agree with one another as to the objective. However, I will pay for another piece of work that will not tax your skills overmuch, and you can tell your master I shall pay well.”
The leader had nodded his head and indicated with a short lift of the chin that Al Muntaqim should continue.
“You are aware, are you not, of the death of the Lord Bahir?”
There was a pause. “We are.”
“Does it not strike you as strange that it should come so soon after the death of the Lord Abbas?”
No one spoke.
“I thought it might be because he had crossed your master,” Al Muntaqim probed.
There was hesitation but then the leader spoke. “We had no business with Lord Bahir…or with the Lord Abbas.”
Al Muntaqim sat back placing his hands on his knees to think about this.
“Do you know who might have done this monstrous thing to Lord Bahir?”
“It was not the work of an ordinary man…if what we hear is true. We thought it might be one of our people, but now we are sure it was not. It could have been the Persians; we cannot rule that out.”
“I do not understand why it should be them,” Al Muntaqim reflected. “Bahir was not one to get involved with the Persians; I think I would have known if he had been.”
The leader of the group of men seated in front of him shifted impatiently.
“What is it you need from us that is so urgent?” he demanded.
“I want you to go to a place called the Fayoum and take care of the family of Emir Abbas for me,” was the reply.
There was a long silence as the three men looked at him.
“All of the family?”
“In particular the boy; the women can be spared. Take care of any of the bodyguards you encounter. I shall be sailing there within a few days to arrive right behind you. You may take whatever you want and you may kill whomsoever else you wish, but do it at night and do not attract attention to yourselves. Get out as soon as you can, as I wish to look like a savior, and it would not be good to be seen with you.”
“This will be expensive.”
“How much is expensive?”
“Twenty thousand dinars.”
“That is too much by half!”
At a sign from the leader the group began to rise.
“All right, in Allah’s good name, sit down. I will give you fifteen and I shall provide you with one of my galleys to get you there speedily.”
The leader of the group slowly sat down again and nodded coldly. He muttered something to one of the men with him, who got up and left. Al Muntaqim tensed, watching for any treachery, but the man came back a minute later with some tiny cups and some tea. They sealed the agreement with a sip of bitter tea from the not so clean cups and talked about the location of the estate buildings and the layout of the compound.
The leader of the group had demanded at least half of the gold before the work and had agreed, after much haggling, to get the remainder after proof had been provided that they had completed the mission. Al Muntaqim wanted to see the boy’s head and his hands. They discussed the manner of the delivery once the work had been carried out.
* * * * *
At this moment, sooner than he had intended, Al Muntaqim found himself heading for the Fayoum. He expected to find the place in complete disarray after the assassins had paid their visit, which should have occurred by now. He would come in and take charge under the pretext that the Lady Khalidah needed a good strong friend to run things. Then he would make his move and assume complete control. The thought of the riches of Fayoum falling into his hands made him smile.
The first disturbing thing he noted when the village of Beneade came in sight was the absence of the galley he had sent the night before. He wondered if they had passed in the night, and if it was now anchored in the water ways of the river by the city of Cairo waiting for his orders. He had no doubt that the assassins would have completed their mission. It would have been unthinkable for them not to have succeeded
His ship docked just as the sun rose above the eastern horizon, amid a lot of noise and excitement on shore. He walked onto the pier and waited for his horses to be unloaded from the waist of the ship. He was puzzled by the crowd of people gathered around the primitive fort on the main bank near the cluster of huts and small houses that comprised the village. Finally his men and their horses were off-loaded, whereupon they rode towards the fort and then turned in the direction of the estate at Fayoum. Passing the people gathered around the fort, Al Muntaqim paused and had one of his men ask what was going on.
He was informed that there had been a tremendous commotion during the night and just afterwards the ship that had docked at the port had left. There was shouting and sounds of fighting, according to one of the men, but no sign of violence other than the body of one of the young syce from the estate of Lord Abbas lying with his throat cut in the middle of the road.
Al Muntaqim dug spurs into his horse and galloped off. He swore bitterly and galloped furiously down the road, followed by his puzzled men. His mind was racing with questions as they arrived upon their sweating horses to find that the compound of the estate was deserted. The gates were hanging half open and there was no sign of any guards. They entered warily, but it soon became clear that there was no one to greet them.
Al Muntaqim was livid with rage. He drove his horse into the empty compound and contemplated the blackened and damaged main house, the litter of baggage lying haphazardly around with other debris. The stables were empty of horses. Other than a dog lurking in a corner, chewing on a bone, there was no one to greet them; it was clear there had been a hurried departure.
He was interrupted from his raging thoughts by one of his men who hesitantly rode up and asked to speak.
Al Muntaqim would have preferred to beat the man senseless for not getting off his horse and prostrating himself before him, but it was one of his better soldiers so he grunted sour acknowledgement. The man pointed back towards the gate and said. “My lord, they left overland; they have not been able to conceal their movements. It is a large party with baggage, we can follow them! They are heading into the desert to hide. Insha’Allah we can catch them before evening.”
Al Muntaqim did not wait; he turned his horse, gave swift commands and galloped out of the compound. “Find out if there are others still in this area!” he shouted, as he left with the bulk of his men.
It was night and the sky was clear
And the moon was pure at its center
And it let me along discernment’s sphere
Teaching me by its light and direction
— Shelomo Ibn Gabriol
Chapter 24
Galley Slaves
Malek did not stop his horse to look back along the trail, but as he traveled he stood in the stirrups to better turn around and stare behind him. He did this for the hundredth time, wondering when he would see any signs of pursuit. He had set a hard pace, but still one that conserved the horses. They had many more miles to ride. The sun was now well past its zenith, and everyone was suffering. The mid-summer heat burned them up and sapped the strength of both the horses and men.
This many miles to the west of the green banks of the Nile the desert was an empty wasteland of stones and rugged low escarpments that could hinder the way for those who did not know its paths. Fortunately his men, having lived in this region all their lives, knew it well.
They had negotiated the southern hills leading out of the wadi Moerh situated at the south of the Moeris basin during the night. They had ridden along the ancient canals at the far western end of the lake, and then made a two hundred foot climb to skirt the Kasa Kerdoun Mountain, with only the stars and a thin waxing moon in the eastern sky to illuminate their way. As they were cresting the top of the low but steep hills, Malek looked back at the shining waters of Lake
Birket el Qarun. He hoped he would return one day, but there was no time to dwell upon these thoughts now. He called out to his men in a low voice, pointing to the west.
They plunged into the desert heading due west. They would eventually change direction then head south and again return towards the east to the deserted village along the river-way where they hoped to meet the ship. Malek muttered a prayer for the family and his companions’ safety. He would not know until the very last yard whether they had accomplished their goal or not. If they had failed, then without doubt they were either dead or captured and he had gone on a fruitless journey. He didn’t want to contemplate the possibility that Kazim would be executed and the Lady Khalidah forced into a life of virtual slavery along with her daughter Jasmine.
He thought about Suleiman and Max. What strange men Allah had thrown across his path. He was glad that they were still with them, and that the Lord Abbas had not killed them when his anger had been fierce. Suleiman was strange, without a doubt. Very strange, but he had proven to be a strong ally when they needed him, as had Max.
His attention was directed back to the route they were taking as the men said it was time to turn south. He knew they had ridden a good twenty miles into the stony wastelands. He turned one last time to look back into the haze to check the back trail and blinked.
Far in the distance was a small plume of dust. He called over to one of the soldiers.
“Hassan, look! What is that?” he asked, hoping for the answer he got, but he felt a trickle of fear at the same time.
“They have found our trail, Oustez.”
* * * * *
The galley that carried the family of Abbas and his followers anchored near the west bank of the great river. Jutting out of the bank was a squat pier of crude pilings and planks of wood that had once provided a stage for moving large stones onto a boat in mooring. Malek had mentioned that long ago this had been a place where local quarried stones were transported down river to the city of Cairo and even Alexandria; but in recent years the pier had fallen into disrepair for lack of upkeep, as the quarries were no longer needed. The village clinging to the embankment was in ruins and deserted.
Talon looked doubtfully at the rickety pier and wondered how the horses would fare on these loose boards when it came time to load them. His attention was drawn away by a sudden splash. He looked round to see two of the crew about to dump the body of one of the rowers overboard. The man had died of exhaustion and starvation. Talon was not surprised; they were skeletons down there performing an insane kind of dance to the rhythm of the drum. They sat where they were chained, and died there when used up. In this humid heat they died faster.
He decided to go and have a look for himself and see who these people were. He stepped down the hatchway and almost gagged at the heat and the stink that hit him like a physical blow. He found that he was facing four rows of men who were chained in pairs to one bench on either side of the center deck. He could not see the ones at the back who were hidden in the gloom of the closed deck. The only air that came into the space was from a small grating near each mast. He noted that if only the hatches at either end were opened it would create a welcoming draft.
He found himself staring at the human wrecks that faced him. Blue eyes and black eyes stared at him from under huge beards or tattooed faces of Nubians and men from even further south into Africa. Black men and white; they served the same drum. Their faces could not be read in this light and most lowered their eyes, unwilling to be caught showing any sign of defiance. Talon stood rooted to the deck in shock. He noticed one rower, who had once been a large man and was now a shadow of himself, who was staring at him with a fixed look that showed no fear.
He looked back for a moment into light blue eyes that were not afraid of him. For some reason, Talon nodded and then turned and climbed the stairs. He joined Max on the back deck which was situated over the cabin where Khalidah had taken refuge with the children and her servants from the blazing heat. Khaldun had joined them. This was midsummer and Malek had said it was the time of year for the Nile to rise above its banks. Indeed, he could see that the current seemed to have increased its speed and the waters had a different color.
Max looked at him with concern. “You look as though you have seen a ghost.”
“I have, Max. The men down below, they are like ghosts, and many are of our kind,” Talon replied.
He turned to Max with a desperate expression, “Max, we have to do something about those men. There are Christians among them. And the others…they too deserve better than what they are getting from this crew.”
Max stared at him hard. “Are you saying we should release them? What would we do with them once they are released? How would we manage this boat without them? What if they run away?”
“Let me think.” Talon turned away and contemplated the faded vegetation on the banks of the river. Soon the inundation would turn it back to bright green, if Khaldun was to be believed. He turned his mind to the problem of the rowers.
“Max, we could offer the slaves a way out. Yes, that is it. Max, I have it!” he exclaimed, grasping his friend by the arm; Max winced. “Ah, forgive me, I had forgotten,” Talon was instantly contrite.
“No matter, T…Suleiman. What is on your mind?”
“My Lady gave me my freedom. I may leave now at any time, but I have told her I will not leave, at least not until I know she and the children are safe. This boat is our way to freedom, don’t you see? The men rowing this boat are mostly Christians who have probably been captured in battle, or at sea. Remember the fight we went through?”
Max nodded. “But will Malek and her Ladyship agree?” He asked, his tone skeptical.
“They will agree that I can go…but you? Well…you are still a slave, Max; I might have to leave you behind,” Talon grinned mischievously at his friend, who pretended to look deeply hurt.
“What if we promise these men their freedom, on condition that they fight and row for us before we grant them freedom?”
“You will have much convincing to do, not only Malek but Panhsj, and the other men, I suspect,” Max said with his usual common sense coming to the fore.
Indeed it was not easy. Talon first went below with one of the crew and pointed out the man who had stared at him. The crew unshackled the man and dragged him into the harsh light of day to where Talon stood waiting. Panhsj and Max sauntered over and watched.
Talon spoke French to the man who was kneeling in front of him. “You may stand,” he said, and motioned the crew away. They left the man to get up, and he held himself proudly, staring directly at them. The crewmen muttered among themselves, but did as they were told. Talon motioned some of the men from the estate to keep an eye on the surly crewmen, which they did willingly enough. There was no love lost between them.
The creature in front of him was starved and filthy, his beard was long and matted; doubtless it was full of lice. There were sores over his body, which stank. He wore only a loin cloth that was as filthy as everything else about him. His face was lined with weariness and exhaustion, but he was defiant all the same. He waited in silence, his eyes staring straight at Talon.
“Do you understand me?” Talon asked.
The man cleared his throat, as though unused to speaking and said, in accented French, “I understand you.”
“Where are you from and how did you come to be here on this boat?”
“I am from the land known as England. I am a Norman,” the man said, pride in his voice. “Our ship was overwhelmed by these pirates in the central sea. They came as a pack like sea wolves, and killed most of us, but I and some of my companions were taken prisoner.”
“What is your name?”
“Henry of Wellford.”
“My name is Suleiman; it is good we have met, Henry. Here is what I ask,” Talon said. “I need your help to take this ship to the Kingdom of Jerusalem, but before we do that, we have to help some people regain what is theirs. Do you understand?”
Henry gaped at him.
It took some time, with the help of food and drink, to assist Henry to understand that he might be free again. Realization slowly began to dawn as he concentrated on what Talon and Max were telling him.
“I understand that we need to continue to row this ship for a while longer, but when we get to our destination we will be freed, and that you want to take us with you to the Kingdom of Jerusalem,” he said, a bemused expression on his face. “Dear God, if this is true then it is a miracle!” he exclaimed.
“We need to know which ones of the men below will stay with us if we release their chains today and who will simply dive overboard at the first opportunity,” Max said.
“I know most of them. There are other Normans; we were all sailors, but ill chance threw us into this hell. I have been on board for two months and I can tell you that if you promise to feed us and you release us, I will be able to persuade the larger part to stay. I cannot speak for the Saracens or the strange black men who we have with us. There are about ten of those heathens.”
“Some may be criminals. But the black men might be from the same region as Panhsj. Let us ask him what he thinks,” Talon said to Max.
“Who are you? Who in the name of the Holy Mother are you people?” Henry asked, staring at them.
“At this time, the less you know the better, Henry. Put your trust in God and us, for we intend to see you free,” Max told him.
“The crew of this ship will become a problem sooner or later,” Talon observed.
“If you will give me a sword, I will take care of that problem for you, Sir,” Henry volunteered.
Max grinned. “A long stay at the oars has not dampened your ardor for a fight, I see,” he commented dryly.
Talon left Max and Henry talking by the mast and returned to the back of the ship to find Panhsj. Panhsj looked past his shoulder.
“So you speak to a slave and give him food; why am I no longer surprised at whatever you do, Suleiman?” he asked.
Assassination in Al Qahira Page 35
