The Lake of Sorrows (35 page)

Bounding down the staircase, Tahir close on his heels, Alhi saw that another duel had been fought at the same time as his own. A duel between stealth and desperation on the one side, and his guardsmen on the other.

Four guardsmen had lost already, two run through and two without their heads. The fifth fell just as Alhi and Tahir reached the bottom of the staircase.

The guardsman was facing Muhtar, the young Bey wearing only the loincloth he had worn in his sickbed. His wide torso was gleaming with perspiration in the torchlight, as muscles rippled and coiled oddly all over his back and shoulders, and blood streamed down his side from a cruel gash on his left arm. In his hand was a bloody
yatagan
, and on his face an expression that made the guard cower, even though he was yet unhurt. Alhi could not help noting that all the guardsmen’s pistols had been in their belts, undrawn — none had dared shoot outright the son of the beast Pasha, preferring to face him sword in hand.

The guardsman confronting Muhtar raised his gaze but a moment when his Pasha and his captain appeared, but that was one moment too long. Lunging with a shattering war-cry, Muhtar slashed viciously from left to right, sending the soldier’s head tumbling to the floor.

The head came to rest at the feet of a crouched, quaking figure cowering by the wall. Tahir’s eyes widened as he recognized Chryssie, white-faced and half in shock at the bodies, yet biting into her knuckles until the blood flowed, to keep from screaming.

The last guard standing was stepping backwards, eyes wide in mortal fear, until his back was flat against the inner door to the dungeon.

Snarling deep in his throat, Muhtar slid towards him like a giant cat. “Froshenie!” His desperate shout boomed off the walls.

“Muhtar!” Alhi’s roar matched his son’s. The young man slowly turned to face his father, making him gasp.

Muhtar was squinting at the dim light, his pupils so large they almost covered the deep brown iris around them. His lips, already drawn back from gritted teeth, twisted into a gargoyle’s smile.

Alhi felt himself trembling. “Muhtar! Are you mad? Will you come to your senses, boy!”

The answer was raving, deep-throated laugh. “Mad, am I? Oh, yes, my father, I am so very, very mad at you. Come to my senses, shall I? How can I, when our heroic little Chryssie has given me all the stimulants that doctor Karayannis had in his wonder-bag? To the last little vial. Although the greatest stimulant of all was the one you yourself gave me.”

“What … what are you talking about? What stimulant?”

“Knowing you would harm Froshenie. Did you really think that anything could have kept me away from her, when Chryssie told me what you were up to, dear father? I was almost more surprised at my surprise than at your vileness. I should have known, should I not, knowing you?”

“You will leave here immediately and return to your quarters!”

“I will leave Yannina shortly, and I will take Froshenie with me. And brave little Chryssie. And the doctor, Allah bless him for his courage. Helping a man he despises save a woman he loves — fate itself must be shaking its head, that deaf old jester, no?”

“Karayannis is dead. I killed him myself. Knife in hand. While you butchered my guards.”

The death-head’s grin on Muhtar’s face faded away, but the savagery intensified. “You are not a lion, father, you have become a jackal!”

“I am your Pasha!”

“And my father. Were you only my Pasha, I would have killed you before I came here! Or killed you now.”

“I will not raise my own hand against my own flesh and blood. But if you do not obey me, I will have my soldiers — “

Muhtar laughed heartily. “
If?
” He took a halting step towards Alhi, blade held low. “My dear father, you know I will never obey you again. Ever!”

Alhi froze, glaring at Muhtar. Without turning, he let out a screeching roar. “Tahir! Draw your sword. You and your guardsman there will kill … my enemy. Now!”

The guard captain, who had instinctively begun to draw his sword when Muhtar advanced, stopped.

An odd mixture of gratitude and mockery on Muhtar’s horrible face made Alhi turn to face his captain.

“I gave you an order, Tahir. You will obey me!”

Slowly, ever so slowly, Tahir pushed his sword back in its scabbard. “No, my Pasha. I will not. This man is still your son. And I have sworn to protect your house. If I cannot do that any more, I cannot be your guard captain any more. And thus I can take no more orders from you.”

“I will have you on a stake before daybreak, Tahir. And your head on a spike
after
daybreak! Beside
his!
”

Almost gently, Tahir thrust him aside, stepping past him. The act was so inconceivable to Alhi, that he meekly let it happen, his rage collapsing in wide-eyed incomprehension.

Tahir looked at the last guardsman, still standing in front of the door. “Stand aside, soldier.”

“But, captain — he killed my comrades!”

“No. The Pasha did. Do not let him kill any more. Stand down.”

The soldier still hesitated.

“The woman in there, and the man out here? Have you ever seen them together?”

“I — no, captain.”

“I have. Step aside, and
you
will see them together. And you will understand that you made the right choice.”

The guardsman looked deeply into his captain’s eyes. Then, slowly lowering his sword, he stepped aside.

Tahir unbolted the door, then stepped aside himself.

“Froshenie.” Muhtar lunged through the door. Then, one step inside, he abruptly stopped, and all his strength seemed to seep out of him. He dropped to his knees. “Froshenie!”

An inhuman, keening wail filled the air, echoing through the dungeon, making its ancient stones shiver.

Tahir dove through the opening, then stopped as suddenly as Muhtar had.

Froshenie was half-lying, half-sitting on the floor, held up by the chains to her wrists. Her head was bowed as in sleep, but they both knew instantly she was not sleeping.

Muhtar was at her side in an instant, gently lifting her head and calling out her name again and again, weeping like a lost child. Tahir knelt slowly beside them, and put his arms around them both, speaking soft, meaningless words to his Bey.

As he did so, he noticed a faint, delicate perfume around Froshenie’s pale, sorrowful face. So odd, so alien in the reeking dungeon. Rose water, yes. And the finest vanilla.

M
uhtar carried Froshenie to the lake.

When his tears were all spent, he had looked up at his father, and spoken only once. “I will take her to the lake. Anyone else that touches her, I shall kill.”

Alhi had blinked, gaped, stared - and nodded. Tahir had blinked, too, then wiped away Chryssie’s tears, and bowed his head. For a moment, his Pasha thought he saw a tear in his captain’s harsh eyes, but then Tahir had given the surviving guardsman a look that froze the man in place, and Alhi had decided the tear had just been a trick of the torchlight.

And so they left the dungeon and went to the lake.

Up the staircase, across the courtyard, through the endless corridors to the disused gate that led to the ruins of the old castle, and to the stone path to the lake shore.

Though Muhtar held Froshenie gently in his arms, her head resting against his shoulder, he walked like a soldier on the march, ramrod straight, head held high, eyes gazing beyond the horizon.

Tahir marched behind him, as ramrod-straight as his Bey, although he had a kind arm around Chryssie’s shaking shoulders, silently guiding her along with them.

Behind them, at a distance meant to appear dignified, walked the Lion of Hyperus, his face a stony mask whose blazing eyes silenced any and all questions before they were asked.

Noone dared to follow them.

The night was ink-black, but Muhtar walked unerringly along the path, whereas his companions stumbled more than once on the rough stones. Only when they approached the lake’s shore did the moon soften the night with a faint azure tinge, as it reflected in the black mirror of the lake’s surface.

Muhtar jumped lightly off the path and led them down a narrow, gently sloping path of grass beside it, until they all stood at the edge of the lake.

Once more, Alhi thought he saw the glint of tears in his guard captain’s eyes. For some reason he could not explain to himself, it filled him with a sense of foreboding that he tried to banish by breaking the intolerable silence. Stepping forward, he spoke with all the disdain he could muster.

“I am happy to see, my son, that at last we think alike. She was indeed for the lake. And you will appreciate that I granted you the right to … “

Alhi’s voice drifted away, as he realized that noone took any notice of him.

Muhtar had waited patiently while Chryssie, sobbing, had kissed her mistress farewell. Now he was facing Tahir.

“Must it be, my Bey?”

“Has not the Pasha of Hyperus willed it so?”

Slowly, Tahir stepped aside, gently guiding Chryssie to do the same.

Muhtar glanced at his father. “Yes, father, she was for the lake. She knew that long ago. She told me.”

He turned and walked forward, while behind him Alhi stared in utter confusion.

Water lapped around Muhtar’s ankles, then his knees, but he marched on steadily.

Understanding struck Alhi like a bolt of lightning. “
No!
”

He started forward, but Tahir’s iron hand fell on his shoulder, and he could not take another step.

“Let me go, Tahir! Let me go. Can you not see what he is doing?” For the first time that night, there was as much pain in the Beast’s voice as there was rage.

“He is taking her to the lake.”

Alhi hissed savagely at him. “You
knew?
Stop him, I command you! Stop him!”

Tahir did not move. And neither did Alhi, when he met the gaze of his former captain.

Slumping in utter defeat, Alhi once again looked at his son.

The water was embracing Froshenie now. Striding forward still, he lowered her, as if onto fine silks, his lips moving as they spoke words that the trio on the shore could not make out.

“No!” Alhi’s animal cry echoed across the lake. But fate was deaf.

The undercurrents of the lake took them, and Muhtar surrendered willingly. Slowly, inexorably, they drifted away into the darkness.

A
t dawn, Haynitsa found her brother sitting alone on the quay at the edge of the lake. Whimpering, frightened servants had begged her to go, for noone else dared.

He did not stir when she sat down beside him in the warm morning sun.

It was a long time before she spoke. “Did you really let them go, brother?”

Slowly, he turned to face her. There was a smile on his lips, the smile of a man at peace with himself. “Of course I let that old fool go. It is long overdue I found myself a new captain of my guard. There are wars coming, sister, great battles. I do not need to keep an old war-dog of mine just because he
is
an old war-dog of mine. The Lion of Hyperus
needs
noone.”

“And … the others?”

“The Greek Vaya went with him. Two worn servants who might want to grow old together. What do I care? After all, her lady had just gone to the lake for her treason.”

With a shrug, he turned back to look at the sun dancing on the lake’s ripples, smiling into the morning breeze.

Haynitsa’s voice was very tiny when she finally dared to speak again. “And Muhtar?”

He looked puzzled. “My son? He is in the palace with his mother — Yulebahar.”

She stared at him.

He smiled again; it made her think of Hamko’s ghost. “Sister, what are you thinking? I would not bring my son to witness an execution so soon. He has only just been born.”

“Yulebahar’s son? But … the boy has not even been named yet, my Pasha.”

“Did you not hear me? Yes, he has only just been born, but I have decided to name him Muhtar. I like that name. I shall raise him to be the most loyal and dutiful son a father ever had. One fit to fight by my side, and to inherit a Sultanate of all the Balkans.”

He stood, stretching like a lion, and beamed down at her. “Today, sister, will be a whole new beginning. You will see.”

I
t was indeed to be a beginning. But, though long in coming as doctor Karayannis had foretold, it was the beginning of Alhi Pasha’s end. He had been right that the year of Bonaparte’s Italian victories was a crucial one, a constellation of opportunities that would never happen again. The whirligig fortunes of war shifted once more. Bonaparte invaded Egypt, and Britain, desperate for allies, armed the Ottoman empire. It was a move meant to strengthen the empire against France, but it also strengthened the Sublime Porte against rebellious vassals. Unexpected by Alhi, perhaps because it was a move so cynical he would have thought only himself capable of it, the effect of this alliance was to keep him firmly on the Sultan’s leash. Without allies in the Orient, Bonaparte left Egypt and his army and went home to make himself the master of
his
masters, and henceforth would seek allies and glory in Europe. But, to Alhi, the damage had been done. Fate would henceforth always be deaf to him.

The next twenty years were an endless succession of bitter wars, paltry and grand, that seemed only to make his dreams recede ever further into the horizon. He fought for the Porte, and, increasingly, he fought for himself, as the Greek rebels grew in strength and skill. Rumor had it that those skills were in no small part due to the teachings of an old warrior that had joined them on the eve of his life, Tahir by name. The Pasha denied this, and forbade his scribes to ever mention that name in their writings, and, as the years passed, it faded away in the bright light of new heroes.

Froshenie’s story was told again and again, both growing and diminishing with each telling. The people of Yannina became kinder to the memory of her, as they became kinder to the memory of their own failings. Yes, she was indeed an adulteress. with someone outside her own faith, but also a young, very lonely woman who fell in love against her will. And she had defied the beast Pasha! As the tale was told over and over, her defiance of Alhi became Greek defiance of the Ottoman Empire. The woman herself faded and she became a symbol, then a legend, as the Beast’s lake, in time, became the Lake of Sorrows.