“It’s all right. Stop fretting, you silly boy. I don’t think you did anything wrong,” she said soothingly, but her gaze never left Rostam. “He is very young to be doing this kind of thing,” she purred. Tamura was beginning to sound as though she might have something on her mind other than brawling soldiers and roaming assassins.
Rostam felt a different kind of tension build in the room and felt even more awkward. The beautiful lady patted the side of the bed and motioned him to come closer. “I need to see what kind of person you are,” she said. “Now tell me all about what has been going on in my palace. Siranos, Martina, go and make some tea; no, bring some wine. I think I would prefer to have wine tonight.”
The two servants gave each other a look and retreated to the back quarters to carry out her command, while Rostam, who was not usually hesitant, placed his bow on a low table, sheathed his sword and took the few strides to the side of the bed, where he sat in the place she indicated. It gave under his weight, and he was very close to her. It felt like one of the softest beds he had ever encountered. At home he slept, as did the other trainees, on hard pallets. He gave Tamura a tentative smile, wondering what would happen next.
Tamura’s eyes devoured him. “You are so young! And so very handsome,” she murmured. “Now….” she didn’t finish. The quiet of the room was disrupted by a loud banging on the door and a shout from outside.
“Open up!”
Her eyes flew wide open. Siranos rushed into the room and snatched up Rostam’s bow and threw it to Martina, then frantically waved to Tamura, who without hesitation lifted the bed clothes and commanded, “Get in! and do not move a muscle.” Rostam was just as alarmed and dived into the space she had made; he was immediately covered. His world went black and a light hand patted the bed clothes around him. A cushion landed on his back. “Not a word, and do not move,” she hissed. He froze.
Siranos had meanwhile gone to the door. Upon a signal from Tamura he opened it to reveal Zenos standing at the entrance. Behind him were half a dozen well armed men. Siranos whimpered. Zenos, with a dismissive glance at him, called out, “My lady, with your permission, I am going to place guards outside your door. It is for your protection.” His tone was differential and polite.
“Pray tell me, what is the alarm all about, Chief of Information?” she called. “You will understand if I do not get up. I am already in bed and not suitably dressed for company.”
“I, I quite understand, my Lady. I simply came to provide protection for you. I shall now go about my other duties. There are assassins in the palace and my men are hunting them down. Do not fear; these guards are here to prevent anyone from entering to your chambers.” He could not resist stepping forward and glancing in her direction. He was rewarded with a vision of Tamura on the bed. In the light of several candles her pale, oval face was framed by a halo of gleaming golden hair. The silk bed covers, which reflected the light of the candles, were drawn up to her chin, and she was surrounded by mounds of pillows and rumpled bed clothes.
She gave a squeak of indignation at the sight of him. “Zenos! What are you doing?” He hurriedly withdrew. “Sincere apologies, my Lady,” he smirked, then said, “I shall report later, my Lady. I wish you a peaceful and safe night.”
Siranos shut the door, bolted it, and whirled about. “Oh my God! What do we do now?” he all but wailed, pointing to the recumbent and motionless mound next to her. But Tamura was reacting to the fact that, lying as he was, Rostam’s hand had inadvertently come to rest on her lower thigh. He might have been utterly motionless, but the hand was warm and her blood was beginning to heat up. She wriggled down lower and the hand move higher up her naked thigh. Then the fingers twitched on her inflamed skin and began to move of their own accord.
“You may go now, Siranos and Martina. Bring… bring the wine later, when I call,” she commanded, barely loud enough for them to hear. Siranos looked shocked and disapproving; Martina, who had been appraising the young and well muscled boy herself, arched an eyebrow but said nothing. As soon as they had disappeared, Tamura reached down and moved Rostam’s hand even further up. He needed little persuasion after that.
“Get out of your clothes!” she husked, throwing the bed clothes aside. Rostam obliged, rolling out of the bed and doing as he was told. He tore off his jacket and shirt, then unbuckled his sword belt and threw it onto a cushion, after which he tore off his trews. Tamura watched him with a predatory gleam in her eyes as he stripped naked in front of her.
“Oh my,” she whispered to herself. Then, without a word spoken by either of them, he went into her open arms.
___________
Chapter 29
The Emperor Returns
The Name, is Renowned;
The Title, Royal:
So Renowned, is the Name;
So Royal, is the Title:
It makes, even
Rhetorick, to be Silent:
Impudence, to be Asham'd:
and Treason, to be Amaz'd.
—Anthony Sadler
That same night, after a brief conference with his men, Dimitri had decided that he wanted to accompany Junayd and his men on a mission to the villa where the Ambassador was housed. “It might be useful for me to know the inside of the place sometime,” he told Junayd, who nodded, albeit somewhat reluctantly. This reconnaissance called for silence, and Dimitri was not so skilled in that quarter. However, Junayd would not deny his friend, who, after all, was serving Lord Talon very well.
They had watched as Rostam and his men scaled the palace walls, then left them to their own devices and hastened across town to the villa, where they hid in the darkest shadows, waiting and watching. At this time of night it was very quiet.
After several hour of fruitless waiting, when Junayd was beginning to wonder what might be happening in the palace, he heard approaching steps. He gripped Dimitri by the arm and leaned over to whisper, “Some one coming.”
Dimitri, who had been yawning, eased himself deeper into the shadows and froze as, did the other three watchers dotted about the street.
Making no attempt to be quiet, two men came hurrying along the street from the direction of the palace. Junayd whispered to Dimitri, “Who are they?”
Dimitri peered out from his concealment to study the men. ‘My God! One of them is Zenos, the new Gatherer of Information for the Emperor. Wonder what he is doing here at this hour?” Both men appeared to be anxious, frequently looking over their shoulders, and both had their swords drawn. They ran up the step of the Ambassador’s villa and banged on the door; when it opened they disappeared inside. The door slammed shut and silence fell.
“Who is the other one?”
“A mercenary, by his armor and bearing. Can’t tell otherwise,” Dimitri responded.
“I would like to know what brings that man here at this time of night,” Junayd whispered back. He resisted the temptation to get into the villa and find out what he could, but the urge to investigate grow stronger as time passed and nothing happened. The night sounds came back into focus; dogs barked in the distance, a cat yowled and an owl hooted. An owl?
Junayd started. Another owl hooted, closer this time. Could it possibly be something else or… someone! Reza and Talon had on occasion used owl hoots, but it was impossible for them to be here. The hair on the back of his neck rose.
He gripped Dimitri’s arm again. Dimitri touched his hand, acknowledging that he, too, had heard. Junayd hoped that their men had the good sense to stay well out of the way.
Then they saw a shadow leave the darkness of a street entrance about a hundred paces to their left. Junayd was profoundly glad that none of his men had been anywhere near where the shadows had come from. There was no doubt in his mind that these people would have sensed a presence nearby and would have investigated. The first shadow was joined by another dark figure, which turned and pointed to the walls of the villa.
As Junayd and Dimitri and his spies watched, two lithe figures climbed the wall of the vill
a, using the recesses in the masonry. In a remarkably short space of time they were at the top and had vanished as though they had never been there.
“Assassins!” Dimitri breathed. He sounded both awed and scared. Junayd thought furiously. The assassins had gained entry; how would this affect his own mission? It was clearly too late for him to try and enter the villa unobserved; he quietly cursed his hesitation, but also considered what might have transpired had he been inside when the assassins arrived. It could have been much worse.
“We must wait and see what happens, and take them when they come out. We don’t play games,” Junayd warned. “We take them down. They cannot be allowed to go to the palace; it would complicate things,” he whispered in Dimitri’s ear. Dimitri nodded and watched as Junayd took his bow off his shoulder and held it ready with an arrow knocked in the string.
*****
Without ceremony, Zenos brushed past the servant who opened the door of the villa. Once inside, he breathed easier. “I want to see the Ambassador!” he demanded of the surprised servant who had let him in. Uninvited, he snatched up a bottle and poured himself a large cup of wine. He was gulping it down when Aeneas came into the living area, looking rumpled and grumpy.
“Zenos, what on earth are you doing here at this late hour?” he demanded without preamble.
“All hell is going on at the palace, and there have been numerous attempts on my life!” Zenos replied in a tone which he tried to keep normal, but his voice shook, and Aeneas was not slow to pick up on this.
“You sound very disturbed. Have some more wine to settle you down and tell me what is going on.” He waved to the hovering servants. “Bring sweetmeats and light refreshments,” he ordered. “Here, sit down, Zenos, and calm yourself,” he said to the distraught man. “What is the problem?”
Zenos sat and breathed deeply. “They came tonight. Dozens of them!” he rasped, exaggerating the numbers, and took another large gulp from the cup in his shaking hand.
“Who are you talking about?” Aeneas demanded, looking puzzled.
“The Assassins, of course!” Zenos snapped. The reaction from Aquila and Macrobius, standing by the door, was instantaneous. They paled and looked at one another with genuine fear in their eyes. “Assassins, you say?” Aeneas repeated stupidly.
“Yes! Yes! How many times must I repeat myself!” Zenos almost shouted. He finished the wine and held it up for more. Aeneas obliged, filling it from a jug he took off the table. His hand also shook now.
“You never mentioned these people before,” Aeneas accused. “What are they here for?”
“They came to kill me, you fool!” Zenos said, and his tone was resigned. “I think we killed them all—I used the palace guards—but I came here just to make sure none of them survived to do me in while I was in bed.” He looked at Aeneas. “We failed at the castle! We failed, do you hear me?” he almost shouted. The silence that greeted this remark was profound.
“You...you failed?” Aeneas stammered stupidly.
“Yes," Zenos replied slowly. “They had been warned; they were waiting for us.” He shook his head at the memory. “They destroyed us, and we gained nothing.”
It was Aeneas’s turn to shake his head as he stared disaster in the face. “When? When did all this happen? You did not tell me any of this!” he said accusingly. “The castle, you went there without telling me anything? Nothing?” He sounded incredulous and his face had gone pale. “You worthless… useless people!” He shouted in his frustration and anger, then, “What am I to do now?” he asked the world at large in a plaintive tone.
Zenos took a swig of wine, which dribbled down his chin. As though he had not heard Aeneas he said, “They came for revenge, but we got them. Curse them, but we got them before they could get to me.” He gave a shaky laugh and stared up at the pallid features of Aeneas. “I kept the details of the attack to myself because I could not trust you!” he snarled. “What difference does it make now, anyway? All the same, I want to stay here for the night, just in case. I shall go back to the palace in the morning.”
Aeneas was still dealing with the shock of disappointment, but he nodded reluctantly. “Very well. Aquila and Macrobius are two of the best. They will be on guard for the rest of the night outside your door and mine.” He glanced a the two men, who nodded their heads reluctantly as they contemplated the sleepless night ahead.
“I think we all need a good night’s rest. The villa is well guarded, so have no fear, my friend. Macrobius will show you to your bedchamber. I bid you goodnight,” Aeneas said, and turned away to hide his expression. His anger and frustration threatening to over whelm his common sense. He still needed Zenos.
His guest tossed back the last of the wine in his goblet, then heaved himself up.
“God save us from provincial idiots!” Aeneas muttered as he watched Zenos’s departing back.
*****
Junayd, Dimitri and their men were rewarded for their patience two hours later. A nudge from Junayd and Dimitri, who was very sleepy by this time, jerked awake.
“Make ready, they are coming,” Junayd whispered and began to move; he had his bow ready. Dimitri and his men slipped out of their hiding places and followed him as he moved from dark shadow to dark recess, bringing them ever closer to the wall.
The two figures who had appeared at the top of the wall were now making their way silently back down. The twang of Junayd’s bowstring made both assassins jerk, the one with surprise, the other with the shock of the arrow penetrating his back. Junayd had aimed true; his victim gave a croak of agony and fell the remaining distance to land in a crumpled heap on the ground.
The other assassin recovered very quickly, almost too fast for Dimitri and his men. He dropped to the ground and, ignoring his dying companion, would have sped away had not Dimitri and his two men surrounded him, slashing at the assassin as he rose from the crouch.
Thus it was that the second assassin went down with a choking scream from four men hacking and stabbing at him. Once he was down, Junayd went over to check the other man. Blood was trickling out of his open mouth; he, too, was very dead.
“Find a place to hide the bodies for at least a day,” Junayd suggested to Dimitri. “I will meet you back at the palace. You need to hurry, as Rostam might need help. I still have work to do up there.” He pointed at the top of the wall.
“Are you going in there now?” Dimitri asked. “Shouldn’t I come?”
“No. Stay and deal with these two, Dimitri. I am going to find out what mischief they were up to in the villa. They didn’t just go there for a conversation,” Junayd responded.
He slung his bow over his shoulder and went up the wall in much the same manner as the two dead assassins had. Dimitri watched in awe as he gained footholds and fingertip holds that did not appear to exist. Dimitri shook his head. The assassins scared him, but Reza’s men were no less frightening. He was very glad Junayd was on his side.
Only when his dangerous friend had vanished over the wall did he and his men pick up the two corpses and carry them off to a midden, where they buried them under heaps of dung. Later they would collect the bodies and take them out to sea. Dimitri had gained influence in many places in this town by now, and that included fishermen who could take a catch out to sea just as easily as to bring one in.
*****
Junayd gained access to the villa with little difficulty. The guards walking the perimeter moved slowly, and they were sleepy. He slipped into the servants’ quarters and then along the corridor that connected this part of the house to the main building. At the main house he heard a scraping sound and froze. It came from the other side of the living room area, where he supposed the sleeping chambers might be located.
He glided silently as a ghost until he was closer to the odd sound. Then he smelled it, the metallic and sickly sweet smell of blood. He peered cautiously into the gloom and saw something bulky on the tiles ahead of him. Approaching and stooping over it, he could make it out to be the body of
a man whose throat had been cut. The floor was puddled with his blood. Very carefully Junayd stepped over the corpse; ten paces away yet another body was lying on the floor. But this one moved, or rather, jerked about in feeble motions, which caused the scraping sound he had heard earlier.
He knelt next to the dying man and examined him. The man’s throat had been cut, but not completely, which was a little surprising; assassins were usually very efficient at killing. This man was slowly bleeding to death. He opened his eyes. “Help… me,” he croaked, and flapped a hand vaguely at Junayd. But moments later his eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he jerked in his death throes.
Junayd wasted no time in useless efforts to save a dead man. Instead, he looked into the room beyond and saw a bundle on the bed. The bed covers were thrown back; the room was stuffy and smelled of old clothes. Junayd sent a sharp glance around the room to ensure he was alone and noticed nothing menacing, but there was something very interesting next to the head of the sleeping man. It was a knife buried in the pillow within two hand-spans of the man’s face. Junayd crossed over to read the one word on the paper that had been impaled by the knife.
“Leave.”
Junayd made his way out of the room without disturbing the sleeper, sent a cautious glance down the corridor, then checked the other room. The dark mound of the occupant was very still on the bed, and protruding from his chest was another knife. There was no message. The knife and killing sent the message plainly enough.
He left the villa then, watchful, returning the way he had gained entry, and made his way through the silent streets of the still sleeping town towards the palace. There was much to ponder, but it was clear that the post of the Gatherer of Information was once again vacant.
Storms of Retribution Page 46
