‘Princess, we are pleased to see you.’ The Emperor of the
Byzantines raised his hands in greeting. ‘Have you further news for us? Are we to leave this place alive?’
The Princess looked at her brother and raised her finger to her lips. Then she moved to the table, taking Prince Stefan’s arm as she did so. Everyone, except Anna, moved to surround the candlelit surface as if to bear witness to a sacrifice.
But before Olivera Despina could speak, there was a loud sniff and they turned to see a nose appear between the entrance folds of the tent. Then came a second. The Sultan’s dogs trotted over to the table and began to explore the clothes of those gathered at its edges.
Then the page from Trebizond stepped into the tent, smiling. His face glowed with an unnatural light and Anna wondered whether some concoction of oils was at work to create this miracle. He was perhaps twelve years old and Anna wanted very much to touch him. She turned to see him better and it was then that she saw the dagger in the sash at his waist. Its jewelled pommel had caught the light of a candle and was sending stars to the roof of the tent.
It was the Grand Vizier’s.
Assassin
.
Her movement had been seen by the boy, who turned to her, still smiling.
‘Girl,’ he said in musical Greek, ‘there is wine outside. Bring it.’
Anna hesitated. Should she understand Greek? Should she leave a tent that contained her father and an angel with a dagger?
The boy looked at her curiously. Then he repeated the command in Turkish and Anna found herself bowing. Outside, she was met by a servant holding a tray on which stood four silver
goblets. She took the tray and went back inside, putting it down on a table beside the entrance.
The boy had moved further into the tent and was still smiling.
‘My lords, I am the Prince Caspar, nephew to the Basileus in Trebizond and page to the Sultan Bayezid. My master has sent with me some hot wine to assist your discussions. He wishes these only to be held between his vassals and asks, therefore, if you, Protostrator, would wait in another tent?’
The boy looked with innocence at Simon Laskaris, who seemed uninterested in the proposal. Anna’s eyes, bright above the veil, bored into Theodore’s back.
Do not let my father leave with that boy
.
But the Emperor smiled at the young prince from Trebizond.
‘I know your uncle the Emperor well, Prince Caspar,’ he said. ‘Certainly the Protostrator can retire.’
The boy bowed and turned to Anna. ‘Please serve the wine. The Emperor first.’
Anna was thinking fast. How could she prevent her father leaving? The tray she was holding was warm which meant that the wine in the goblets must be very hot.
She walked towards the Emperor but there was a dog in the way. It was circling the carpet, its long head down, looking for a place to settle.
Anna tripped.
The dog reacted as Anna had hoped. The head spun round towards her, its teeth bared. Anna let out a cry and fell against her father. The goblets fell to the floor, one releasing its contents over Simon Laskaris’s hand.
The old man grunted in pain. His hand was scalded and he
held it to his chest. Then Olivera Despina was at his side examining the burn.
‘Quick,’ she said, ‘we must take it outside to the snow.’ She turned to Anna. ‘Help me.’
The women led Simon Laskaris out into the snow, Anna holding the hand as gently as she was able. Outside, she knelt next to her father and pressed snow on to it. Around them stood the six Varangians and, beyond them, the soldiers of the Sultan’s bodyguard. There was a moon.
Anna looked hard at her father. He seemed oblivious to the pain and there was still no recognition of Anna in his vacant eyes. She fought back her tears.
Olivera Despina glanced at her. She whispered. ‘We will leave him out here until I can take him away myself.’
When they re-entered the tent, the boy had changed. The gold had dulled, the halo had faded and there was no smile on the face that turned to look at them. He looked petulant and his hand was resting on the dagger at his waist. Behind him, the three princes were huddled together, talking in whispers. The dog was standing above the fallen goblets and licking the remains of the wine from the carpet.
‘Lord Laskaris’s hand needs attention,’ Olivera Despina told the boy. ‘I will take him to my tent where my women can see to him.’
The boy glanced down at the dog, which had brushed against his leg. His expression was a mix of irritation and something Anna thought might be fear.
‘The Sultan’s women will see to the wound,’ he said, looking up. ‘He must come with me.’
‘
I
am a woman of the Sultan,’ replied the Princess quietly.
‘Or is the pleasure you give to our lord such that he no longer knows who his wives are?’
The boy’s gold turned to crimson and he bit his lower lip. Anna wondered if he might cry. There was a long pause and the three men behind stopped their conversation to watch. The dog let out a long sigh.
Then there was a command and the sound of weapons raised in salute. A mailed arm swept open the tent flap. A cold blast of air nearly extinguished the candles and bumps arose on Anna’s bare arms. Prince Mehmed walked in, followed by his mother and the masked captain of the Sultan’s bodyguard. He was holding Simon Laskaris by the arm.
Mehmed drew the boy to one side and asked him something. Then Mehmed turned to Simon Laskaris and took his hand, inspecting the damaged flesh.
He addressed Theodore: ‘If my father’s page has orders to remove the Protostrator, then he will go with him. The burn is of no consequence.’
Anna opened her mouth to shout to the Despot that it was a trap, that her father was to be murdered.
‘Control yourself, girl,’ hissed Olivera Despina, spinning around.
By now, Simon Laskaris was being bustled out of the tent by the guard captain, Prince Mehmed and the boy following.
Anna, released from the Princess’s grip, fell to her knees. Her hands were covering her eyes and through her fingers she could see the dog on the carpet lying very still. Too still.
She looked up. Others were looking at the dog as well. The dog that had licked the wine from the carpet.
The dog that was now dead.
The Princess knelt down beside her. ‘You knew?’ she asked.
‘No!’ whispered Anna. She paused and looked across at her through a film of tears. ‘Why did you stop me from helping my father?’
‘Because you would have betrayed us,’ she replied, getting up. ‘Your father is safe.’ She looked down at the dog. ‘I didn’t think it would be poison.’
Anna unhooked her veil.
Theodore had been staring at the Serbian princess’s maid for some minutes, shaking his head slowly in amazement. Now he smiled.
‘
Anna
.’
Anna went over to him. ‘Majesty, I am glad to see you. But this is a place of death. You must take my father away.’
There was commotion outside. A heavy weight fell against the side of the tent.
The tent flap opened and the captain of the guard stepped in, his sword drawn. The plume on his helmet was stiff with cold and there was ice on the aventail covering his face. He looked around the room, then turned and wiped each side of his blade on the tent door before sheathing it in a single movement. Anna looked hard into his eyes. They were unblinking and fixed on her and a flash of memory came to her. Then he lifted a hand and unhooked the aventail, letting it fall to his shoulders.
Yakub
.
‘Your father is safe, for now,’ he said. He turned to the Emperor Manuel. ‘Majesty, the boy is returned to his tent. The Sultan sleeps and his bodyguard is tied up and gagged. My men are outside. But we don’t have much time and you must leave now. Lord Laskaris is waiting with the horses.’
The Emperor was composed. ‘And my guard, Prince Yakub?’ he asked. ‘What of them?’
‘One of the Varangians is dead, lord. They barred our entry. It was necessary.’
Manuel frowned but then nodded. He put on his cloak and walked over to Prince Stefan. ‘I fear that next time we meet will be on the field of battle and on opposite sides. God go with you.’
The Despot had put on a cloak and pulled the hood over his head. Yakub drew him to one side and spoke to him in a whisper.
Theodore walked over to Anna and placed his hands on her arms. ‘You cannot come with us, Anna,’ he said softly. ‘Yakub has told me why you’re here. We cannot provoke Suleyman into sending another army to Mistra.’
Anna nodded dumbly, willing herself not to run from the tent into the arms of her father.
‘We owe you our lives.’ He bent down to kiss Anna on the forehead.
Anna said nothing and felt the hand of Devlet Hatun on her shoulder. Then she remembered something.
‘Wait!’ she said. ‘The Turkish fleet at Constantinople. It has cannon, supplied by the Mamonas. Our fleet is sailing into a trap.’
Theodore’s face darkened. ‘You’re sure of this?’ he asked.
‘It is true,’ said Olivera Despina. ‘I heard it myself.’
The Despot nodded and then looked at Anna. ‘We shall take care of your father, I promise.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHIOS, SUMMER 1395
The consensus amongst the twelve Genoese families that ruled Chios was that the Longo estate at Sklavia was not only the finest on the island but also the closest to paradise it was possible to find on this earth.
It was further generally agreed, amongst the men in particular, that Marchese Longo was a lucky dog to have married Fiorenza Komnene, niece to the Emperor of Trebizond and certainly the most beautiful woman on Chios, if not in the world. And everyone agreed that it was the combination of these two felicities that rendered him a man of such amiable disposition.
When Luke had first set eyes on Fiorenza at the top of the steps to Longo’s villa, his breath had left him like a bellows. He’d stared at her in silence before remembering to bow and had been rewarded with two perfect dimples that bracketed a smile of pure warmth.
‘May I introduce my wife, Fiorenza?’ had come a voice from behind him.
Fiorenza descended the stone steps like a zephyr, placing each slippered toe in front of the other with grace, to stop two
above Luke where she had the advantage of equal height. She looked him straight in the eye, her head slightly tilted, and lifted her hand to be kissed, dimpled smile intact.
Fiorenza was thirty years of age and, like the day around her, at the late pinnacle of her loveliness. Her hair, yellow as buttercups, fell in tendrils over her cheeks and, rippling back from her forehead, was caught in a fall of intricate and tight-plaited loops, all threaded with ribbons. Her eyes were a pellucid blue beneath arched brows and her skin was fair and untouched by the sun.
Luke’s tongue had become lead.
‘Luke Magoris,’ he said in a whisper and straightened to see kind amusement in her face. Her hands dropped to the side of a simple dress of cream silk, its bodice lightly embroidered, from which her bosom rose and fell without hurry. She was studying him with some interest.
‘Luke is from Monemvasia,’ continued Longo, joining Luke on his step and kissing his wife’s hand. ‘He has made a fortunate escape from Venetian slave traders and will be our guest.’
‘Then you must be tired and in need of something cool to drink,’ she said, turning to Luke and taking his hand. She led him to the top of the steps and on to a broad veranda where two servants waited with trays.
That had been six months ago when Luke was still raw with grief and a blank tapestry on which Fiorenza might weave. Her interest at that first meeting on the steps had been that of a keen intellect confronted by something different. Fiorenza was clever, adored by her husband and bored to distraction by island gossip. And since God had yet to bless their marriage of ten years with children, she was in need of a hobby.
And here was a young man of eighteen in need of rest,
friendship and, above all, education. From the first day of their aquaintance, Luke showered her with questions; about the island, about its people, its trade, about her. And through it all, she discerned an unspoken sadness, a sadness that sought some diversion in learning.
Fiorenza quickly saw that there was something about their guest that was beyond the ordinary. He was certainly imbued with physical advantage, as evidenced by the giggling servant girls. But he also seemed to have a capacity to absorb and retain information that was truly remarkable.
Then there were the horses.
From the start, Luke had displayed his skill with horses. There was a stud at Sklavia where a Berber stallion from the Maghreb had recently been put to Persian mares, the experiment so far showing disappointing results. The blood-mix had proved volatile and the offspring was unworkable.
But Luke had stepped calmly into its paddock, Marchese and Fiorenza holding their breathe from the fence where they watched, and begun to talk to the animal. And little by little, day by day, they’d seen the horse change so that, within a week, Luke had a saddle on its back and, within two, was riding it across the fields of the estate.
A week after this, Luke had made a request.
‘I want to learn. Will you teach me, Fiorenza?’
She had been in the garden, picking flowers.
‘What do you want to learn, Luke?’ she’d asked.
‘Everything you know.’
So Fiorenza had begun the task of giving Luke the education of a Princess of Trebizond. She had concentrated on those bits of learning most expected in a cultured man: languages, mathematics, history, astronomy and literature, with some Latin to
provide mortar between the bricks. Led by Fiorenza, Luke’s mind had roamed across continents, lingering with the Venetian Marco Polo in the palaces of Kublai Khan before riding on the backs of Greek Gods through Ptolemy’s heavens to sit among the seven hills of Rome listening to the love calls of Catullus.
Fiorenza used the whole island as her laboratory – its landscapes and skies, its legends and memories – to bind the strands of human knowledge to her purpose. She told Luke the story of the birth of the island, of how the God Dionysus had first taught the islanders to cultivate wine, having rescued his wife Ariadne from the clutches of Theseus and the trauma of the Minotaur; of how her wedding diadem had been set in the heavens as the constellation of Corona; of how their son Oenipion had been its first king and his daughter Chiona had given the island its name.