Beyond that I had not planned, except there was an urge within me to go further into the East, to seek my destiny in the far lands of Hind or Cathay.
Women? Ah, women were the stuff of dreams, made to be loved, and he who could say the reality was less than the promise was neither lover nor dreamer.
Aziza, Sharasa, Valaba, Safia, Suzanne … had I loved any one the less because I had loved the others? Had not each, in her way, contributed to my education? To my appreciation? Even today did I not love each of them still? A little, anyway.
Where lay my destiny? Where beyond the Valley of the Assassins?
To Hind, perhaps? To that far land beyond the deserts? There was much to learn there, and there were dark-eyed girls with soft lips; there were palm trees, white sand beaches, and a soft roll of surf. There were jungle nights with strange scents and sounds, paddles dipping and trade winds stirring the leaves.
He who would see a far land must carry the far land in his heart. The heat, dust, and struggle are a part of it; these were what made the beauties worth having. In the stillness of many a night I had taken out my maps, those maps I carried ever close to me, safe in their oilskin covering. I studied those maps, but I prepared another.
I prepared a map of the fortress of Alamut, gathering bits and pieces, a word here, a comment there, but nothing I heard boded well for what lay before me. The villagers for miles around were their friends or members of their sect, each one a spy. To get close without those in the castle being informed was impossible.
The Emperor Manuel allowed two weeks to go by with no acknowledgment of my gift. I had all but forgotten when Odric came to my door with others of the Varangian Guard, and with them were my lovely Arabs, the stallion and the two other mares given me by Safia.
Wrapped in a brocaded cloak of the style worn in Constantinople was a jeweled sword with an engraved blade and a magnificent scabbard. The sword was of Toledo steel, an even finer blade than the one I formerly possessed. Along with it were several purses of gold.
And that night there came an invitation to dinner from Andronicus.
Several times I had visited the shop near the Baths of Zeuxippus. Some said these baths were named for a famous Megarian chieftain, others from “the yoking of the steeds,” for according to tradition the Baths stood on the very spot Hercules yoked and tamed the fiery steeds of Diomed. The Baths were built by the Emperor Severus, and rebuilt by Constantine. Utterly destroyed during the revolt of Nika in 562, they were restored with added beauty by Justinian. The Baths were situated only a little east of the Hippodrome.
Talking with the Persian, I found he had changed his tone. He no longer tried to persuade me that what I wished to attempt was impossible, and this aroused my suspicions.
My strength had returned. The weeks of good food, exercise, and swordplay had returned my muscles to their former ability. On the evening of the dinner given by Andronicus, I wore a magnificent tunic of a large patterned brocade of black and gold with a smaller brocade pattern. On my head a high-crowned, turbanlike hat with an upstanding brim. The hat and brim were of silk, the brim set with gems.
Phillip, in a costume of equal brilliance, came with me.
Much had been said of the dinners of Andronicus where he served the rarest food, the finest wines, and had the most seductive dancing girls. Perhaps no period in history had so many writers enamored with historical writing, and many wrote exceedingly well.
We rode in a sedan chair, entering the marble halls between armed guards. Almost the first person I saw where the guests were gathered was Bardas. He crossed to greet me, and in the presence of a dozen people said, “Ah, Beggar, you have come far since I tossed you a coin in the bazaar!”
Eyes turned upon me, the cold eyes of strangers.
“Thank you, Bardas”—I bowed—”it is true I have come far, yet I find you where you were, licking crumbs from the fingers of your superiors.”
With that I walked on, leaving him with his face tight with shock, eyes like balls of glass. “Bravo!” Phillip whispered. “You have done what many have wished to do, put Bardas in his place!”
Running feet came from behind me, and Bardas grasped my shoulder. “By the Gods! If it is a duel of wits you wish, you shall have it!”
“I am sorry, Bardas. I could never fight an unarmed man!”
The room rang with laughter, and Bardas lifted a hand as if to strike me. I stood perfectly still, waiting, looking into his eyes. He dropped his hand and walked stiffly away.
Andronicus arose from where he was seated and gestured to a place at the head of the table. “Come!” he said, with a touch of sarcasm, “I am not a king, Kerbouchard, but I offer the seat at the head of the table! Let it never be said that Andronicus played less than the king to the Druid.”
When I seated myself he said, “You were hard upon Bardas.”
“He brought it upon himself. If one plans to measure blows with a stranger, one had best judge the length of his arm.”
“Yes, yes, you are right. Tell me, Kerbouchard, what do you think of our city?”
“Magnificent! But I do not believe that anyone truly believes in it. It has the appearance of a city expecting disaster.”
We talked of many things. He was a graceful, witty talker, gifted with occasional brilliant insights and a wealth of knowledge. His was a sharper, brighter mind than that of Manuel, but less disciplined. He held in contempt those less than himself, an attribute not possessed by Manuel, who seemed to respect all men.
It was now 1180, and Manuel had ruled successfully since 1143. These cousins, so different in every way, were fascinating to me. Manuel had all the stability and common sense that Andronicus lacked. Manuel might make mistakes, but they would never be petty. Andronicus was positive he was superior to the Emperor and was constantly outwitted for that very reason.
We ate, among other things, a dish of breast of chicken cooked and shredded, the white meat mixed with milk and sugar and cooked until thickened, served with powdered sugar and rose water.
There was also a dessert, kazan dibi, which was Turkish in origin. There were a dozen meat dishes, several of fowl, fish, and fruit; some were strange fruits I had not seen before, and some were the honey-sweet tips of ripe figs.
Andronicus ended a brief dissertation on the comparative writings of Procopius and Menander, and during the pause I chose to seek information.
“What of the present? I understand the Emperor has favored the Latins of late, and there is unrest.”
“It is a weakness of Manuel’s. The Byzantines have no affection for the Latins. If I were emperor, I would recapture the castles to the south, particularly Anamur, Camardesium, Til Hamdoun, and Saone. If one held those castles, the rest must fall of themselves.”
“I am unfamiliar with Saone.”
“It was formerly a Byzantine castle, taken and improved by the Franks. It guards the southern approaches to Antioch.”
“It is strongly held?”
“Its defenses, we learn, have lately improved. The Comtesse de Malcrais returned and recruited a strong band of mercenaries.” He paused. “They are led by a stranger to us, named Lucca.”
Lucca! But I had seen him fall on the battlefield! Still … I had fallen, too.
If Suzanne had recruited Lucca and survivors of the caravan, she would have a force quite capable of holding Saone against any ordinary attack. Lucca had been a pirate, a brigand, yet he had become a successful merchant with skill at negotiation. A better lieutenant would be hard to find. Some of the caravan’s men had escaped to the boats. At one time there must have been three dozen men in the water, and Lucca would be their natural leader.
“I know of Lucca,” I advised. “Do not underrate him. He is a skilled fighting man, a veteran of a hundred battles.”
A slave filled my glass. “Your health, Andronicus! May success be yours!”‘
His eyes were amused. “And if I should attack Saone?”
“My advice? Negotiate. It would be easier to make an arrangement than to capture.”
He permitted himself a smile. “Your advice is good, Kerbouchard, and when the time comes am I permitted to tell the Comtesse de Malcrais it was your advice?”
“The Comtesse,” I said carefully, “as well as Signor Lucca appreciates the benefits of negotiation without any word from me.