Assassins of Kantara

by James Boschert

  “Perhaps, but if he is really the person Malakis thinks he might be, then what a man to have working for me! I am glad that Andronikos is gone, no regrets there, and if William succeeds in taking Constantinople I might even have a chance at the throne!” Isaac chortled. “He as good as promised he would give it to me.”

  Tamura had her doubts about this but said nothing. King William wanted an empire and would most certainly not give it away the moment he acquired it.

  “Our visitor will be having an audience with me next week. No harm in keeping him kicking his heels for a while. It’ll show him who is in charge,” Isaac chuckled again. “Think of it! I could be Emperor of a real empire instead of this piss pot of an island, and this Exazenos probably knows everything there is to know about the City. He could be invaluable!” he gave Tamura an excited kiss, which rekindled his enthusiasm for their interrupted activities.

  “Beware, my Lord. This kind of man is as dangerous to his master as he is to anyone else, if all is true about him,” Tamura warned. She knew of the barbaric behavior of Andronikos towards his subjects—who didn’t?—and also of the manner of his death. Isaac was just as brutal and just as hated. With this man abetting him the menace to everyone on the island would increase several fold. She sighed; her lord and master was not listening.

  Later she confided in Siranus while lying on the massage table enjoying his gentle hands on her shoulders and neck, which were tense with concern. “This Exazenos, what do you know of him?”

  Siranus paused, “Not much, my Lady. He arrived on a ship full of dangerous looking men who behave like pirates. They swagger about the town and get into trouble with the guards.” Siranus shuddered delicately. “They are barbarians! To think they come from the City! People give them a wide berth. The man himself has taken up residence in a villa on the other side of town and is rarely seen. He is badly burned on the face. None of us can decide whether he is entire or not.”

  “Entire?” she lifted her head. “Entire, you say? Why wouldn’t he be?”

  Siranus paused at what he was doing and looked down on her flawless back and pert rump. “There are things that one just knows instinctively, my Lady. All the other eunuchs have been talking about it. They are placing bets.”

  “They are such a bunch of gossips! Hasn’t anyone ever been able to find out?” she asked with amused skepticism.

  “No, my Lady. He is never seen bathing in public, preferring to keep to his expensive villa. The word on the street is that he has much treasure with him; he guards that villa with many hard-looking men,” he gave another delicious shudder. “They are barbarians!” he repeated. “I think they must all come from Crete, which is where all the hairiest and nastiest ones come from.”

  “You need to try and find out, but also pass along the word to our friend,” she told him in a whisper. The palace walls had ears, and neither she nor Siranus had any illusions that they had real privacy. Her enemies would like nothing better than to denounce her and her servant. Jealousy and intrigue were sustenance for some. While he worked on her in the ensuing silence her mind was busy.

  Her hatred for the emperor was still as strong as ever. Perhaps this was an opportunity? She let her thoughts dwell on the idea that an alliance with Exazenos might be to her benefit. She would wait until the audience was over and then she would see. A lot depended upon whether the emperor would accept this stranger with a hideous past into his inner circle.

  Siranus left his lady to rest and recuperate while he departed the palace and casually walked along the main street of the city, named appropriately enough, Emperor Street. The markets were still open but business was slowing down; it was almost noon and the pious would be attending the service in the cathedral, while the not so pious would be attending the wine shops.

  He had walked out of the palace with a small bundle under his arm and watched his back to see if he was being followed. Now he slipped behind a wall and re-emerged looking like a laborer with a sack covering his curls. Any one who had trailed him from the palace would have lost him then and there. Walking with more of a shuffle, Siranus cut to his right down a narrow alley that stank of urine and muck. With one last glance back to ensure he was not being shadowed, he stepped into a hole-in-the wall that called itself a taverna.

  He took a few moments to accustom his eyes to the gloom and assess the few people seated on crude benches, then crossed the small room to sit without ceremony at a table where two men slouched. One of the men watched the entrance while the other, a more bulky man, leaned over the wet surface of the able and asked, “Well, what news today?” It was Dimitri.

  “Interesting news. Next week the emperor is going to have an audience with a man called Exazenos who came all the way from Constantinople.”

  Dimitri looked skeptical. “What is so interesting about him?”

  Siranus proceeded to provide details of where the newcomer lived and what the rumors were saying about him.

  As he listened, Dimitri reflected on how he had met Siranus. Following his instincts Dimitri had kept watch on anyone coming and going from the palace, which was located on the East side, within the confines of the walled city. One of his men had described a handsome youth who occasionally left the back entrance of the palace and walked the streets. Dimitri had been intrigued. He had put all his men onto the task of discovering all they could about the youth. One day, however, his men had noticed that the youth was being followed; one hurriedly notified Dimitri, and he and Maymun, sensing trouble, had in turn followed the young man as he wandered about the town. He visited an apothecary, then bought some oils from a market stall before he began to head back towards the jumble of buildings that composed the palace.

  It was then that Dimitri and Maymun noticed the followers closing in. Maymun muttered something. Dimitri turned to him, “What was that?”

  “They are going to do something, they mean to hurt the boy!” Maymun said, his tone had become urgent.

  “What should we do?”

  “What Reza would do. Stop them.”

  “Kill them, you mean?” Dimitri was shocked.

  “Yes, and be very quick about it because they are going to kill him. Look!” The two rough looking attackers were focused on the youth, whose back was to them. They had knives out and were intent on using them.

  Dimitri had swallowed hard and remembered what Talon had told him: “If you commit, then it is all the way. No half measures, no hesitation.”

  “Very well,” he said, his voice hoarse. “You take the one with the red scarf and I’ll take the other.”

  The market was crowded, so it was not hard to get close to the two men. Just as the one with the red cotton scarf took a step forward to plunge his knife into the youth’s back, Maymun stabbed him in the kidney area. The man gasped with agony and arched his back. He was about to scream when a hand covered his mouth and all that came out was a muffled squawk.

  Dimitri had been in brawls before, but this was much more deliberate and cold-blooded, and he hesitated. The other man, his intended victim, half-turned towards his companion and his eyes widened as he realized what was happening. It was now or never. Dimitri hammered his knife into the assassin’s ribs from the side, he felt the blade grate on a rib, then sink in right up to the hilt. He hauled hard on the knife; already the handle was sticky with blood, it resisted, then came out with a sucking sound. The wounded man fell sideways to the ground.

  The youth whirled about, having heard the unusual sounds coming from behind. Dimitri threw all his weight forward to shove him, staggering, through the crowd, moving him away from the dense group which was already forming about the two would-be assassins, who lay groaning and bleeding to death on the ground. Maymun arrived, seized the young man’s arm, and between them they hustled the youth away from the consternation that was developing in the middle of the market place.

  Dimitri glanced back; they needed to put some distance between them and the incident. The soldiers would be swarming soon, and it w
ould be that much more difficult to get away.

  He shook the youth, who looked about to yell for help. “Shut up! Those men were going to kill you! We saved your life. Hurry, or we will all be dead!”

  Maymun led them unerringly through the alleyways until they were far enough away to stop and catch their breath.

  “Who are you?” the youth had stammered.

  “We are your friends, and you need to tell us why you were being followed by those two men. Does someone from the palace want to have you killed?”

  And so Siranus, grateful to be still alive, had become Dimitri’s contact and source of information.

  Talon was seated at the wide table in his working and reading chamber. The sides of the walls were already filling up with rolls of paper, and there were two shelves of books he had managed to obtain with Boethius’ help. This was his den, and even Rav’an respected his privacy, although she was caustic about how untidy it had become when she made the occasional visit. In pride of place was the trophy that Reza had recovered from the island in Malaya. Talon was still astounded at what happened every time he touched it. He would hear a polo match taking place. As soon as he took his hand away, it stopped. If anything was magic in this castle, it was this enigmatic and ancient trophy.

  This room allowed him a place to think, free from the constant demands of the castle administration. Here he could compose letters to his two spy masters, as he had dubbed them, Dimitri and Boethius, who appeared to be settling into their roles well. During the ensuing months he had also been able, with the help of Reza and Henry, to link up the Jewish bankers who not only held his treasure secure but also provided information about the goings on in the Kingdom of Jerusalem, supplemented by news from travelers and pigeons.

  He gazed out of the window towards the sea, deep in thought, paying no attention to the stunning view on this particular autumn day. He had received a very interesting message from Dimitri in Famagusta.

  Talon reflected with some satisfaction on the last visit he had paid Dimitri. It had taken a while for Dimitri to get over his initial fears and a few mistakes had been made, but none serious enough to jeopardize the venture. Talon had worked with him to provide a plausible reason for Dimitri to be in Famagusta. The ship that Guy captained was part of that cover, because Dimitri was now posing as a merchant who traded in olive oil, olives, cheese and a very modest amount of the copper ore which was now being extracted from the mine.

  The commodities arrived by ship and were welcomed in the markets of the town. No one knew that the cargoes came from the castle on the mountain overlooking this very city. Commodities were becoming scarce, because of the growing piracy in the seas to the North and the depredations of the emperor himself.

  From the safety of his modest villa on the south end of the walled city, Dimitri would compose a missive in tiny letters and in code to Talon. On the roof of his discretely located villa was a small pigeon coop, where he kept some five of the birds. These would be released to fly to the mountain eyrie, where they would be caught by Jannat and Rostam, the message then delivered to Talon by Rostam’s own hand.

  The boy had recovered from his experience on the roof and most of his hair had grown back to its former tousled mop. The penance exacted by his father had been intensive training in the use of fire crackers, not the large dangerous kind, much to the boy’s disappointment, and the use of the replacement rockets. Much to the boy’s delight, Uncle Reza was teaching him all the tricks of his trade; but the hardest penance was the study of Greek and the other languages. Talon pointed out that these were his tools and he would be proficient at them or else. The boy liked Irene very much, so he applied himself, and as he worshipped Theodora, who had assumed the role of teacher, studies did not prove to be too arduous a task.

  From the top floor of his house in Famagusta, Dimitri could look out over the harbor and observe the comings and goings of the merchant vessels and occasional naval ships without even stepping out of his house. Talon and he had spent some time searching for just the right place, not too isolated but not too close to other houses, and surrounded by a high wall. This villa had once belonged to a rich merchant who had either fled the brutal visitations of the emperor or had succumbed and died a pauper on the streets.

  The acquisition had been easily carried out with a well-placed bribe to the eunuch who dealt with such properties that had suddenly become vacant. The emperor needed the money; after all, his revenues were slowly drying up. The small sack of gold had vanished and the papers had been drawn up in Dimitri’s false name. Talon’s name was nowhere to be found on any papers. Dimitri had moved in with several of the former Greek slaves and Maymun, who spent much of his time teaching the others how to defend themselves, how to be invisible on the streets, and the art of archery, at which he was very good. He had been an avid student of Reza and shared his skills with enthusiasm.

  Today the message was routine except for one piece of interesting news, which had been furnished by Dimitri’s best informer. Talon sat back and thought about the incredible luck that had landed this person in Dimitri’s lap.

  He had spent some time discussing the venture with Dimitri as they walked the crowded streets of Famagusta during his stay there. “I am sure a man like Isaac will have spies, so tread carefully and do not leave footprints if you can help it.”

  Dimitri appeared to have taken this to heart. He had used his men and the beggars to good effect, so before long he had people in the harbor customs, and even someone in the church’s population who could tell him what the bishop was doing—better still, thinking. Dimitri told Talon that the bishop was a sycophant to Isaac and not of much importance. The man who procured boys for the bishop kept was now Dimitri’s informant, and well paid for it, too.

  The eunuchs and the soldiers of the palace were often to be seen on the streets of Famagusta, either on business or taking time out from their duties. It was boring work to have them followed to see what they did with their time. The soldiers, especially the mercenaries, went to the taverns and brothels, recycling their wages with careless abandon. The eunuchs were not so easy to pin down. Very little came of these exercises, but Talon had encouraged Dimitri to continue.

  Dimitri had once asked Talon where he had learned his skill as a spy. Talon’s response had surprised him.

  “I worked with a very interesting man in the Templar community, Sir Guy—you might even remember him. He was a gatherer of information. If that is spying then he was very effective. His downfall came because no one would listen to him. We should do better than that.”

  “So you are saying that every small detail is important?” Dimitri had asked.

  “Yes, it is, but just as importantly you must learn to put the pieces together with great care and in their proper order to gain a true image. If they do not fit the right way then you will create an illusion or a false picture, and that could spell disaster.”

  Talon had spent much time with Dimitri discussing what they should look for in the royal city and had finally had set their sights on the lower echelons, the cooks or the servants. Discontent provided fertile ground for Dimitri and he had had some modest successes. One of the cooks in the palace had lost a son in the debacle on the mountain. He didn’t blame the new occupant of the castle, instead he blamed the emperor for his incompetence. He wanted the man dead.

  Talon stared out of the window, deep in thought. This man Exazenos sounded like an enigma. Talon wondered if he was the same man whom he and Theodora had both known as Pantoleon. It was worth verifying. Old memories arose, of Pantoleon as the famous player of Chogan, the darling of Constantinople and the center of attention wherever he went. He stood up and made his way down the steps of the tower to where Theodora had settled in. She had assumed the role of physician, as well as teacher, and she had willingly undertaken to assist Rav’an and Jannat.

  Rav’an and Jannat moved about less these days, as Theodora had told them to rest more and not strain themselves climbing up and dow
n the steps all day. The sound of laughter came to him as he made his way along the passage towards their large room. Theodora called it a Solarium. It was a large comfortable room with bright light coming in through the wide windows when the shutters were thrown open.

  Theodora was reading while Rav’an and Jannat were sewing when he knocked and entered. Rav’an smiled up at him. “Ah, there you are, Talon. It has been so quiet I thought you might have gone hunting.”

  “No such luck, my Love. I have work to do of the writing and reading kind, and that is why I am here.” He glanced at Theodora as he spoke. She closed her book and began to stand up. “I should leave you to your privacy,” she said with a smile.

  “Please don’t go, Theo. “ Talon said quickly. “This concerns you.”

  Theodora reseated herself. All the women were now watching him with keen interest. Talon lifted the tiny piece of paper and read it out loud.

  “‘There is a man who has arrived from the City of Constantinople who is about to have an audience with the emperor. The palace is abuzz with rumors that the emperor might want to employ him for certain skills which he possesses. His name is Exazenos. He—’”

  Talon had been giving his full attention to the message, but the sound of Theodora’s book falling with a thud to the floor made him glance up quickly.

  Theodora’s face was ashen. She put a trembling hand to her mouth and her eyes were wide with shock and fear. Rav’an reached out to grip her hand with a look of concern. “Theo! What is it?” she asked gently. “You look like you have seen a ghost or are going to be sick.”

  Theodora fumbled in her gown and pulled out a wisp of a handkerchief, which she proceeded to crush and twist. She did indeed look as though she were going to be sick. Talon took two strides and gripped her shoulder. “Are you all right?” he asked.