Read Online The Towers of Samarcand by James Heneage - Free Book Online
Authors: James Heneage
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Allaedin that he was from Venice.
Venice
.
The dance was reaching its climax and the viol and tambour had quickened their tempo. Another lightning strike lit up the room and Allaedin forced himself to pay attention. He was, after all, guardian of this holiest of shrines. At last it was finished and the Emir leant across to his vizier and whispered. The vizier looked towards the Venetian and rose.
*
Some little time later, the Venetian found himself in private audience with the ruler of the Karamanids. The room they occupied was small, pillared and richly decorated with stonearabesques. A low table of cedar inlaid with mother-of-pearl stood at its centre and on either side of it were cushioned divans. The Venetian was invited to sit.
Allaedin studied him. He was very young, barely more than a boy. He hadn’t removed his hat, which was pulled low over his head. The Emir said: ‘A Venetian in Konya. Are you a follower of the saint?’
The young man inclined his head. ‘The saint Rumi is revered by all men of discernment.’ His voice was high.
Allaedin sat back against the cushions, putting his head to one side. He took in the black doublet, expensively made and loose at the front. He took in the curve of thigh above the riding boots. ‘Why do you not remove your hat in my presence?’
The Venetian brought his hands together in the sign of prayer. He dipped his forehead to his fingers. ‘Forgive me, majesty. It is cold.’
‘Remove it.’
The Venetian didn’t move for a while. Then he slowly raised his hands and lifted the hat from his head. A cascade of black hair fell past his shoulders. Allaedin ali-Bey smiled. ‘It is as I thought. You are a girl.’
Zoe tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and raised her head to look the Emir straight in the eye.
‘You present yourself for my harem?’ he asked.
Zoe thought for a moment before replying. Allaedin was middle-aged, fat and many-chinned, but she would do whatever was required. She wondered whether his tastes inclined in her direction. ‘Your harem is filled with better creatures than I, lord,’ she said. ‘I come to you from one who would befriend you. I am a messenger.’
Allaedin ali-Bey raised his eyebrows. ‘Who is this that would befriend me? The Doge?’
Zoe put her hands to her knees, in part to hide her thighs towards which the Emir’s eyes kept darting. His tastes were clear. ‘Not the Doge, lord. One more powerful.’
The Emir leant forward, frowning. He clicked his fingers twice and a servant appeared instantly bearing cups.
‘Sherbet,’ he said. ‘As befits the guardian of the saint’s home.’ He paused. ‘It is a pity this friend could not come himself. Tell me, were he here in place of you, would he perhaps prefer wine?’
Zoe smiled. ‘He would. But not in the quantities enjoyed by his father.’
Allaedin smiled, his eyes narrowing with the movement of his face. He lifted the cup and drank its contents in one gulp, wiping his lips with his sleeve. Allaedin ali-Bey was a man of forty-five years, most of them spent in embellishing a talent for cunning. His beylik was the only independent kingdom left in Anatolia, the only one not to have been annexed by the Ottoman Turks. He was married to the sister of Bayezid and his watchword was caution.
‘So, messenger, what does the Prince Suleyman want of me?’
Zoe brought her hands back to her lap. ‘My master seeks a man. A Greek from the Despotate of Mistra. He is somewhere in the lands of the Germiyans. Your neighbours.’
Allaedin raised an eyebrow. ‘He wants my help to find a
Greek
?’
Zoe remained silent. The Emir stroked his beard and gazed at the beautiful swirling script that flowed across the surface of the table. ‘Why is this Greek so important to the Prince?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know, highness. But I know that he would be grateful for his capture. Alive.’
Allaedin thought. He thought about the first, faltering steps of an alliance he’d
Venice
.
The dance was reaching its climax and the viol and tambour had quickened their tempo. Another lightning strike lit up the room and Allaedin forced himself to pay attention. He was, after all, guardian of this holiest of shrines. At last it was finished and the Emir leant across to his vizier and whispered. The vizier looked towards the Venetian and rose.
*
Some little time later, the Venetian found himself in private audience with the ruler of the Karamanids. The room they occupied was small, pillared and richly decorated with stonearabesques. A low table of cedar inlaid with mother-of-pearl stood at its centre and on either side of it were cushioned divans. The Venetian was invited to sit.
Allaedin studied him. He was very young, barely more than a boy. He hadn’t removed his hat, which was pulled low over his head. The Emir said: ‘A Venetian in Konya. Are you a follower of the saint?’
The young man inclined his head. ‘The saint Rumi is revered by all men of discernment.’ His voice was high.
Allaedin sat back against the cushions, putting his head to one side. He took in the black doublet, expensively made and loose at the front. He took in the curve of thigh above the riding boots. ‘Why do you not remove your hat in my presence?’
The Venetian brought his hands together in the sign of prayer. He dipped his forehead to his fingers. ‘Forgive me, majesty. It is cold.’
‘Remove it.’
The Venetian didn’t move for a while. Then he slowly raised his hands and lifted the hat from his head. A cascade of black hair fell past his shoulders. Allaedin ali-Bey smiled. ‘It is as I thought. You are a girl.’
Zoe tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and raised her head to look the Emir straight in the eye.
‘You present yourself for my harem?’ he asked.
Zoe thought for a moment before replying. Allaedin was middle-aged, fat and many-chinned, but she would do whatever was required. She wondered whether his tastes inclined in her direction. ‘Your harem is filled with better creatures than I, lord,’ she said. ‘I come to you from one who would befriend you. I am a messenger.’
Allaedin ali-Bey raised his eyebrows. ‘Who is this that would befriend me? The Doge?’
Zoe put her hands to her knees, in part to hide her thighs towards which the Emir’s eyes kept darting. His tastes were clear. ‘Not the Doge, lord. One more powerful.’
The Emir leant forward, frowning. He clicked his fingers twice and a servant appeared instantly bearing cups.
‘Sherbet,’ he said. ‘As befits the guardian of the saint’s home.’ He paused. ‘It is a pity this friend could not come himself. Tell me, were he here in place of you, would he perhaps prefer wine?’
Zoe smiled. ‘He would. But not in the quantities enjoyed by his father.’
Allaedin smiled, his eyes narrowing with the movement of his face. He lifted the cup and drank its contents in one gulp, wiping his lips with his sleeve. Allaedin ali-Bey was a man of forty-five years, most of them spent in embellishing a talent for cunning. His beylik was the only independent kingdom left in Anatolia, the only one not to have been annexed by the Ottoman Turks. He was married to the sister of Bayezid and his watchword was caution.
‘So, messenger, what does the Prince Suleyman want of me?’
Zoe brought her hands back to her lap. ‘My master seeks a man. A Greek from the Despotate of Mistra. He is somewhere in the lands of the Germiyans. Your neighbours.’
Allaedin raised an eyebrow. ‘He wants my help to find a
Greek
?’
Zoe remained silent. The Emir stroked his beard and gazed at the beautiful swirling script that flowed across the surface of the table. ‘Why is this Greek so important to the Prince?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know, highness. But I know that he would be grateful for his capture. Alive.’
Allaedin thought. He thought about the first, faltering steps of an alliance he’d
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