“That remains to be seen,” I said, “but I have a plan.”
We made quick work of returning to camp, apprising Kazimain of the difficulties, and proceeding once more to the city. We approached to within a hundred paces of the palace, where I paused and turned to Kazimain. “Are you ready?” I asked. “Once we have entered, we are committed. If you have any doubts, speak now. It is not too late to abandon the scheme.”
“You need have no fear for me,” she said. “I am well able to do my part.”
“Good,” I said, drawing a deep breath. “We begin.”
Raising the hood of her mantle, Kazimain covered her head in the manner of Christian women, and offered me her arm; taking it, I pulled her close, and together we walked to the governor’s house.
As before, I was met by a man at a table—a different man, this time, but as listless and bored as the first. I told him that Proconsul Casius had arranged for me to speak with the governor. The man looked at me, and then at Kazimain, and said, interest quickening his heavy features, “Yes, I believe he mentioned it. But he failed to tell me precisely why you wanted to see the exarch.”
“It is a matter of some delicacy, as I have already explained,” I replied. The fellow stared at me with insolent indifference, so I added, “But I suppose it would do no harm to tell you that it involves the property of my betrothed.” I indicated Kazimain beside me. “Her brother refuses to relinquish her share.”
“Why,” asked the man, apathy seeping back into his face, “should this concern the exarch?”
“In light of my family’s long friendship, and the particular injustice involved, it has been suggested that Honorius might be persuaded to at least give us the benefit of his counsel.”
“You know Exarch Honorius?”
“Oh, yes,” I replied, with conviction, “very well. He is an old friend of my father’s. I have been many times in his house in Trebizond.” That last was true at least.
Again, this produced the desired result. The fellow pushed himself up from his chair and said, “I will see what can be done.”
As Casius before him, he stepped to the door and disappeared into the room beyond. The guards, after eyeing Kazimain from head to heel, turned their flagging attention once more to the study of the painted wall opposite, and we to a lengthy wait.
After a while, the inner door opened and I stood, thinking that we would be summoned. But a short, plump old woman emerged, carrying a bundle of clothing. The bundle was unwieldy and, as she reached the door to the street, she lost her grip and the load slipped from her hands. “My laundry!” she cried, scrabbling after it.
“Allow me, mother,” I said, stooping quickly to gather it for her. Taking the clothes, the washerwoman sniffed at me, and proceeded on her way.
I sat down to wait once more, and had begun thinking that the man was not coming back, when the door opened and the proconsul addressed us. “The exarch will see you now.”
We stepped to the door, and the man put his hand to my arm, stopping me. Fearing I had somehow been discovered, my heart lurched inside my chest. But the man merely said, “Exarch Honorius has not been feeling well of late. He requires rest. You must be brief and to the point.”
“I understand.”
“Also,” the man tightened his grip on my arm, “I would say nothing regarding the rumours in Trebizond if I were you. It is a highly sensitive issue just now and I feel it would complicate your position unnecessarily.”
“Very well,” I allowed reluctantly, “if that is what you advise.”
“It is.”
“Then I will say nothing,” I agreed, and the official opened the door and allowed us into the room.
Governor Honorius was a big man with a full head of white hair. His shoulders and hands were broad, and his features generous. But he sat slumped in his chair as if he lacked the will ever to rise again, and his eyes were dark-circled and sunken; his flesh had the unhealthy pallor I had learned to associate with captivity. He was sitting in a large chair, behind which stood two more guards with spears and short swords. Casius was present, standing at his right hand; the other official stepped behind us to close the door and remained there.
“Thank you for seeing us, governor,” I said quickly, anxious to speak first. “I bring greetings from my father, Nicephorus.”
At this name Honorius’s eyes quickened with interest, much as I had hoped. He searched my face, but without recognition. “I fear you have the better of me.”
“Forgive me, governor,” I said. “I was but a small boy when last we met. It has been many years. I should not have presumed upon your memory.”
He looked at me hopefully. “Of course, I do remember you now.”
Before I could reply, the first official, Casius, spoke up. “I believe that you said it was a matter involving property,” he announced. “I have already explained that it is not a matter for the exarch’s involvement. Is that not so?”
“That is so,” replied Honorius, his voice going strangely dead.
“So you see—” offered the second official hurriedly, “I fear you have—”
“A moment more, please,” I said firmly. “The property in question is the inheritance rightfully due my bride, to be passed to her upon her betrothal and to be used as her dowry.”
“Yes, yes,” said the governor in a distracted way. “These matters can be very—”
“Her brother,” I said—turning to Kazimain, I put my hand on her shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze—“refuses to relinquish her share, and our wedding is needlessly—”
All at once Kazimain began to weep. She buried her face in her hands and wailed. The official closest to the door advanced threateningly. “Why is she crying?” he demanded.
“She is very distraught,” I explained, “as anyone might imagine. Our wedding has been—”
“Tell her to be quiet,” he growled, “or she will have to leave.”
“Please, my love,” I said, squeezing her shoulder again, “you must try to control yourself.”
Kazimain responded with a wail, and sobbed more loudly. “Take her out of here,” ordered Casius.
The second man stepped closer and made to lay hold of her. Kazimain stepped aside, ran to the governor’s chair, and threw herself before him. She wrapped her arms around his legs and wailed, tears streaming down her cheeks. The governor peered down in startled amazement. The two officials leapt forward and tried to pry her loose, shouting, “Stop that! Get up!”
I rushed to help them. “Here now,” I said. “Here now. You must desist at once, my darling.” I pawed ineffectually at Kazimain, stepping first this way and then that, entangling myself in their efforts.
“Get out of the way!” shouted the second official. Shoving me roughly aside, the two raised Kazimain to her feet and began dragging her away. “Guards! The door!” The two guards hastened to open the door.
Stepping quickly to the governor’s side, I whispered, “We are here to help you, Honorius.”
“Help me?” He seemed bewildered by the suggestion. “I am a prisoner here.”
“We can free you. We will come for you tonight.”
The old man clutched at my sleeve. “It is too late for me,” he said. “No one can help me. The emperor—” His fingers raked at my arm. “Listen to me! You must warn him—”
“I have men with me,” I told him. “We will come for you tonight. Be ready.”
Proconsul Casius and one of the guards returned before either of us could say more. I stepped back abruptly, and said aloud, “Pray accept my apology, governor. My bride is overwrought. If the dowry is not forthcoming—”
“Enough!” the official said, almost stumbling in his haste to pry me from Honorius’s side. “Get out! Had I known what a disturbance you would create, I never would have allowed you to waste the exarch’s time in such a disgraceful way.”
“I beg your pardon,” I said, stepping smoothly away. At the door, I paused and turned once more to the gove
rnor. “I will deliver your greetings to my father. He will be greatly cheered to know that you are feeling better now.”
Honorius gaped at me, his mouth working to speak words I could not catch. I was pushed through the vestibule and out the door so fast that I collided with Kazimain who was already in the street, a frowning guard at her side. “You need trouble yourselves no further,” Casius called angrily from the door. “Should you return, the exarch has given orders not to admit you. There is nothing further he can do.”
The guard watched us until we were out of sight. But once we had turned the corner, I grabbed Kazimain and hugged her tightly. “Excellent!” I cried.
She put her arms around my neck, smiling, and then remembered herself and abruptly pulled away. “Was it what you wanted?”
“You were magnificent!”
“Do you think they believed us?”
“It does not matter,” I replied. “We have seen Honorius, and he is alive—that is all we need to know.”
Kazimain gazed at me, her eyes shining. “Was I magnificent? Truly?”
“That you were, my love.” Turning away, my mind was already leaping to the task before us. “Hurry,” I called over my shoulder, “we have much to do before nightfall.”
65
It would be best,” Theodore was saying, “if no one remained inside the tent while the cheirourgia is performed.”
Glancing at Kazimain, pale and drawn but determined, I said, “We will stay.”
“Then you must remain silent,” Theodore replied. “I warn you now, there will be an issue of blood. Do not be frightened at this; it is a feature of the procedure.”
I relayed the physician’s words to Kazimain and she nodded, never taking her eyes from the amir’s prostrate form. Sadiq’s hair was clipped short and the back of his head shaved smooth; he had been given a strong, soporific drug called opium made from the juice of certain flowers common in the east. Turned face down on a bed of cushions, Sadiq now slept soundly, with Ddewi at his head on one side and Theodore on the other. The amir’s arms were bound to his body with cords, and his legs were also tied together.
Selecting a small, razor-like knife from among the various tools spread upon a cloth-covered brass platter beside him, Theodore nodded to Ddewi, who took the amir’s head between his hands. “We begin,” he said.
With deft, unhesitating strokes Theodore pierced the skin at the base of the amir’s skull and opened a circular flap of skin, which he lifted and pinned up out of the way with a needle, much as a tailor might do with a scrap of cloth. Kazimain folded her hands and pressed them to her lips.
Blood ran freely from the wound as Theodore replaced the knife and regarded his handiwork for a moment. Apparently satisfied, he then took up a small powdery stone and applied it to several places along the edge of the cut he had made, and the bleeding diminished considerably. A look of wonder appeared on Ddewi’s face.
Selecting another, longer-bladed knife, Theodore leaned forward and began gently scraping at the wound, and I soon saw the glimmer of white bone. “Since you are here,” the physician said, speaking with slow concentration, “you might as well be of use to me. Come and hold the lamp a little higher.”
With a look and a nod, Theodore positioned me and directed the light where he wanted it to fall. I held the brass lamp as he bent to the study of his work, probing now and then with the tip of the long blade held lightly in his fingers.
After a few moments, he breathed a whispered, “Ah, yes!” To Ddewi, he said, “You were right, my friend. It is a small fragment of bone which has become dislodged and has caused the bleeding inside the skull.”
Replacing the knife upon the tray, Theodore took up a strange tool; shaped like a pair of miniature tongs, but with elongated pincers at the end, it had loops for his thumb and finger with which he operated it. Using this, he bent to his work and in a moment I heard a wet, sucking sound and he raised the instrument into the light. A nasty, jagged piece of pink-white bone the size of a man’s thumbnail glistened between the pincers’ jaws.
“Here,” he announced, “is the source of the amir’s infirmity.” Dropping the bit of bone onto the brass tray with a pattering chink, he said, “Now his healing can begin.”
Replacing the tongs, he took up another cloth, doubled it and spread it carefully over the cushion beside the amir’s head. “We will turn him now,” said Theodore, and together Ddewi and the physician rolled the amir onto his side. Black blood oozed from the wound onto the cloth. The healer watched the flow with satisfaction, remarking to Ddewi on its colour and turgid consistency.
“You may replace the lamp,” Theodore told me. “There is nothing more to be done until the wound has drained. That will take some time, I think. Refresh yourselves, my friends. I will summon you when the procedure commences anew.”
“Very well,” I said, and moved to where Kazimain was standing, her hands still clenched to her chin. “Come, we will walk a little before I go.”
“I am staying,” she said, shaking her head.
Leaving her to her vigil, I stepped through the tent flap to find Faysal hovering just outside. “All is well,” I told him. “They are nearly finished.”
“Praise be to Allah,” he sighed with audible relief.
Glancing at the dusky sky, I said, “We must leave or the gates will be closed. Is everything ready?”
“Seven have been sent into the city already,” he replied. “The rest ride with us. I have saddled one of the pack horses for Exarch Honorius. We await your command.”
The setting sun shone red as it disappeared below the horizon; away to the east, a new-risen slice of moon gleamed dully and two stars had begun to glow. It would be a warm, clear night, with enough light to make our way without torches.
“It is a good night for an escape,” I said, touching the handle of the knife tucked into my belt. “Come, the governor is waiting.”
A few moments later, Faysal and I and the three remaining rafiq were riding towards Sebastea, leaving the Sea Wolves behind to guard the camp. Jarl Harald had all but begged to be allowed to undertake the raid, but I considered the Danes were not yet fit enough to fight. Also, their appearance would have roused undue suspicion in the city. “It is but a small errand,” I told him, “and we need someone to guard the camp, after all. Nurse your strength for the battle to come.”
Thus, we proceeded to the city gates, leading a pack horse burdened with bundles of straw wrapped in sacking. Appearing as merchants arriving late to the city, we passed easily through the gate without so much as a glance from the guards squatting around their little cooking fire in the shadow of the gateman’s hut.
“Getting into the city is easy,” I had told Faysal on my return from the city. “But getting out again—that will be difficult.”
“Leave it to me,” he replied. Faysal had made most of the preparations for our night raid—and with such efficiency, I wondered at his skill. And then I remembered how he had rescued me, and reflected that where such furtive activities were concerned, Faysal did not lack practice.
Once past the gates, we made our way quickly to an inn near the marketplace that Kazimain and I had identified on our visit that morning. There we joined the warriors who had entered Sebastea earlier; four of them were sitting outside the inn, and the other three were standing in the street a little distance away. At our approach one of the rafiq raised his eyes and gave an imperceptible nod. Faysal dismounted and summoned the man, and the two spoke together quietly for a moment.
“Sayid has found a small gate on the northern wall,” Faysal said when he returned. “He believes it will serve our purpose.”
“Good,” I said, looking towards the inn. “We might as well have something to eat—it will help the time go more quickly.”
We lingered over our meal, sitting unobtrusively in a corner of the main room, until the innkeeper closed his shutters for the night. Then, leaving a silver coin on the table, Faysal and I quit the inn and proceeded qu
ickly and quietly to the forum. Several prostitutes hailed us as we passed, offering their services from the shadows of the pillars. I had not anticipated this, and worried that their loud solicitations brought attention to us. Even so, Sebastea’s citizens were used to the noise they made, for the few people still about in the streets paid us no heed.
Creeping along the dark and narrow streets, we came to the governor’s house. I did not see the warriors, but Faysal assured me they were hidden nearby, watching for the signal. “We can stand over there,” I said, pointing to a niche in the wall formed by a disused doorway. We had planned merely to watch the house for a while, to make certain everyone was asleep inside. The house, as I have said, fronted directly onto the street and, as we passed by, I saw that the door was open.
“This is better than I could have hoped,” I told Faysal, already revising the plan in my head. “I will go alone.”
“Wait!” he warned. “This is not right.” He turned around and made a gesture with his arms. In a moment, we were joined by three warriors, blades in hand. “Now we will go in,” Faysal said. “The others will keep watch outside.”
We slipped silently into the shadowed doorway. I put my hand to the door and pushed—it swung open easily and I stepped into the vestibule. Someone had thoughtfully left a lamp burning on a stand beside the door, but there was no one in the room. We stood for a moment, listening, but heard not a sound. I glanced at Faysal, who shrugged, unable to think why the door should be unsecured.
Taking up the lamp, I led the search of the house, which, in the Byzantine manner, comprised two floors, one atop the other joined by stairs. I did not know which of the many rooms might be the governor’s, but decided to look for Honorius on the upper floor first, reasoning that if I were holding a man a captive in his own residence, I would keep him as far away from the front door as possible.
From my previous visit, I knew the stairs were not to be found beyond the large door that opened onto the vestibule, so I turned and went through a smaller archway which led onto a short corridor. Once in the corridor, I saw two more arches: the left opened onto a small courtyard, and the right gave onto stairs.