In far-off Anqara, a enunch named Hyacinth—who just happened to be one of the three most powerful in the Holy Sultanate of Christian Osmanli Turks—bore a recently arrived missive to the desk of his large office, ordered that the door be closed and bolted, then broke the seals and spent a quarter hour rapidly decoding it before he took both the original and the translation in hand and prepared himself to bear them to Sultan Omar II.
A deceptively mild-looking and soft-spoken man, Omar could right often be found, as Hyacinth found him on this day, indulging his passions for history, current world affairs, and geography. The lithe, graceful, graying ruler lounged on a cushioned divan, its rich fabric almost hidden by books and scrolls penned or printed in Latin, Greek, Arabic, Turkic, Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese, all of which languages the highly intelligent monarch read well. Several rolled parchment maps sat ready to hand in brass holder, and a large globe was within his reach.
Admitted to the chamber. Hyacinth prostrated himself and crawled on his flat belly across the thick carpets to the side of the divan. After finishing reading his page, Omar signed the eunuch to arise.
“Correspondence?” He waved a hand at the sheaf of papers.
Hyacinth nodded. “Yes, O Light of Heaven, from the man who calls himself Fahrooq.”
Omar then moved with a speed he seldom displayed save in battle or the hunt. In a trice, his sweeping arm had cleared space for the eunuch to sit upon the edge of the divan and the court customs bedamned; after all, he and Hyacinth were old friends, had ridden and fought side by side in battle on more than one occasion, and besides, they and the ever-present, mute body guards were the only humans in the chamber.
The middle-aged ruler never changed expression during the reading of the decoded message, even when he heard of the death in battle of one of his favorite grandsons. But when Hyacinth was done, he began to speak, pausing now and again to think, clearly express himself, and allow the eunuch time to take good notes.
“If a return message can be gotten to him who calls himself Fahrooq. tell him that I bear no ill against him, none but God can tell who will live and who die in battle, and. if die a man must, that is perhaps the best way to do so. At least. I would prefer that kind of death, were I free to choose.
“Tell him. also, that I can understand what happened with the camels’-filth Romans and that I think most kindly of Walid Pasha, that he chose to risk his own life to retain command of my ship rather than surrender it to some Roman by-blow of loathsomely diseased swine and feces-eating bitch-dogs.
“Tell him that I hereby officially authorize him and Walid Pasha to continue to serve the laudable-sounding ends of their erstwhile captor, this Sebastian Bey; for all that the description rendered in the message marks him indisputably as a doughty warrior, it also leaves no doubt that he is a merciful, noble, and intelligent gentleman. Such is a rare combination, and I am certain that he who calls himself Fahrooq can profit through observation and emulation of such an uncommon mentor. Would that I had such a great captain here—I can but wonder if Arthur of England and Wales knows just how well served he is by such a living treasure.
“Anent which, please have him who calls himself Farhrooq to indicate obliquely—whenever and if ever the time is ripe, of course—that I could be most generous to a multitalented paladin who chose to serve me and this sultanate.
“Tell him who calls himself Fahrooq to draw maps of every place he can in England. Wales, and Ireland and any other places they touch. Tell him to tell Walid Pasha and Sebastian Bey that whenever he is ready to release the ship and its crew—for I do not seriously think for one second that as shrewd a man as Arthur is reputed to be will ever let this Sebastian Bey go to serve another permanently—it and they will be handsomely ransomed by me. Where practicable, Walid Pasha is to have soundings made and chart the coastal waters wherever they may sail, but then he knows that, already.
“Our ambassador to the court of King Arthur is to be notified at once that, henceforth, any messages and maps or charts brought or sent to him by him who calls himself Fahrooq are to be immediately dispatched to you. Tell him also that he who calls himself Fahrooq is to henceforth have unlimited resources, available on demand, to provide wages for Walid Pasha and the officers and crew, as well as for upkeep of my fine ship.
“Lastly, tell him who just now calls himself Fahrooq to exercise care and caution and try not to get himself killed. You and I will not live forever. Hyacinth, old comrade, and my chosen successor is going to need a wise adviser whom he can trust, whose counsel and judgment on all matters need not be either weighed or questioned, but may be at once accepted.”
As he strode back along the maze of crowded corridors which led eventually to his own section of the huge palace complex. Hyacinth wondered whether, despite Omar’s wishes, he who chose to call himself Fahrooq would elect to trade his testicles for a chance to gain almost unbridled power, as had he, long years ago. He often had remarked to himself, to Omar, and to others how difficult it was to guess just which men would do so and which would not.
“Oddly enough,” Bass thought, “there was a rime when i looked forward to getting a letter from Krys; now I dread seeing one of Hal’s or Pete’s messengers riding in. In the last year, I don’t think she’s written one cheerful, positive letter—they’re all just piss-moan, piss-moan, bitch, bitch, bitch, just like this one. She doesn’t seem to know what she wants anymore, but she’s more than willing to raise particular hell and draw blood and throw her weight of rank around to get it.”
“Jenny Bostwick,” went part of the letter, “is a feather-headed nincompoop who can talk of nothing except fancy sports cars (not one of which she ever owned or drove), belly dancing, and the rich foreigner she was planning to meet and marry to give him a green card and save her from ever having to do an honest day’s work again. She was little better than a whore back in the other world, and I told her so. upon which she slapped me, twice, very hard. Of course, your ducal honor could not permit of such insubordination, so I ordered her striped, then sent back to Hal’s palace in a coach, which was more than the little slut deserved; she should have gone back tied to the tail of a horse, so my ladies tell me.
“I have no way of knowing, of course, what sort of tale she told Hal. but now he is very cool toward me, though he still lionizes our son and that Armenian of his and even Buddy Webster. Whenever he has come down here since the incident I mentioned, he has had this Rupen Ademian and Webster Hanking him at table, placing me. the Duchess of Norfolk, beyond them, and this is in no way proper to do.
“Yet, when I sought him out and tried to remonstrate with him as his peer in rank, he coldly informed me that I was no peer of his, that I was only basking in your reflected glory and achievements and that the only reason he had not long since packed me and my household off to Norwich or Rutland Castle or Whyffler Hall was that he had told you that I might stay here until you returned for me. He added that I was become every bit as arrogant and cruel as William Collier ever had been and wondered aloud if I, like him, was beginning to lose my reason. Then he had one of his guards put me out of the room.”
“I’ve never believed in the practice of wife-beating,” thought Bass, “but you, my lady wife, just may change my mind in that regard. If any woman ever was asking for it . . .”He read on, each succeeding sentence and phrase making him angrier until, unable to take more of her carping, he crumpled the letter and hurled it into a corner in utter disgust. Then he went stalking off in search of one of his Irish officers.
“Sir Calum,” he ordered when he found the man, “please send word to Sir Conn, immediately. He is to return posthaste with his two squads of Ralloglaiches. for I will want you all with me when I go to serve Ard-Righ Brian, and I doubt that Her Grace my wife could be residing in a more heavily guarded place than on the estates of His Grace Archbishop Harold, unless she were to be at the York palace itself, or at Greenwich, with His Majesty.”