Lost Love Found (66 page)

“Thank you, Esther Kira,” Valentina and Lord Burke breathed in unison.

The old lady looked up at Padraic and said quietly, “Take good care of her, my lord. Like her mother, she is a brave and very loving woman. You are most fortunate.”

With a loud crack, the hinges on the main doors began pulling away from the lintel moldings. The entry chamber was suddenly deathly quiet. Padraic, Murrough, and Tom surrounded Valentina, protectively encircling her, their weapons at the ready.

The double doors were torn from their hinges, bursting open to admit the mob which poured, howling, into the entry.

Raising his pistol, Tom took careful aim and fired at the leader of the wolfpack. A hole blossomed scarlet in the man’s forehead and he fell forward, dead. The mob halted, stunned.

“By what right do you dare invade my household?” Esther Kira demanded. “You have frightened my family and servants, and my English guests will return to England saying that Istanbul is a savage, barbaric city!” Her voice was amazingly powerful now, carrying all the way to the stragglers, who were in the courtyard.

They looked at her, mouths agape. This was Esther Kira! The Esther Kira of legend! She who was born in the reign of the conqueror’s son and had lived for over a hundred years.
Esther Kira!

Suddenly, a man shouted, “You have stolen from the people, Esther Kira! You Jews could not be satisfied having all the freedom the empire gives you! You Jews could not be satisfied amassing great wealth! No, you Jews could not be happy unless you were
stealing
from the people! For that you must die!”

“And just what is it we have stolen from the people?” demanded the matriarch. “You do not frighten me with your talk of death, for I have lived so long now that death is merely another adventure. But if you would slaughter me in a dishonorable fashion, I wish to know why.”

The crowd shuffled its feet. The Jews in the ghetto below had hidden or tried to flee the mob. When caught, they had bargained for their lives, and when the mob had wrung from its frightened, babbling victims all the treasures it could, it had pitilessly, and with much laughter, murdered them and put their homes to the torch. The Kiras, however, stood facing them, and were demanding to know the charge against them.

“It is your fault that the currency has been debased!” the spokesman cried out.

“
Our
fault?” The old lady was incredulous. “Why is it our fault? Everyone knows that the sultan and his mother have been clipping the coinage in the treasury before releasing it back into circulation. The fact that no one dared speak the truth aloud does not make it any less a truth! We merchants, too, have suffered because of this. Our fault, indeed!” Esther Kira looked righteously indignant.

“Treason! Treason!” shouted the mob. “The old woman speaks treason!”

“I speak the truth!” Esther Kira declared vehemently.

“Jews do not speak the truth!” a voice in the crowd cried out. “Everyone knows that Jews are dirty and that they lie!”

“I speak the truth!” Esther Kira repeated. “My family’s good reputation has been built upon truth! I do not doubt that some of you here tonight have profited by doing business with my family. Were we dishonest, you would not have profited and neither would we.”

Suddenly stones were thrown. They were targeted at Esther Kira and all found their mark, one large, sharp-edged stone embedding itself in the center of the old woman’s forehead. The matriarch fell backward, blood streaming down her face. Valentina caught her, cradling her protectively, trying desperately to stanch the flow of blood.

“It is over,” Esther Kira whispered weakly. “Yahweh!” The light began to fade from her lively black eyes. Her lips moved again, and Valentina bent low and heard Esther Kira say softly, “
My lady Cyra! I knew you would come!
” Then her head fell to the side, her eyes glazed and sightless.

“She is dead,” Valentina said quietly. Tears began to run down her face. She looked up at the crowd. “You have killed a good woman,” she said loudly enough so that they could all hear. The Kira family began to wail softly.

“We have killed a thieving Jew,” shouted someone, “and this is only the beginning of our revenge on them!” The crowd began to move forward menacingly.

Suddenly from outside the courtyard came the sound of many horses, and the crowd shouted as it scattered to make way, “The janissaries! The janissaries!”

“It took them long enough,” muttered Murrough. “If they’d come a few moments sooner Esther might still be alive.”

The crowd within the great entrance hall opened a path to allow the sultan’s men to get through.

Valentina gasped, clutching wildly at Padraic.

“The rider in white! The leader! It is Cicalazade Pasha!” Valentina whispered desperately, watching as he dismounted and strode inside.

The vizier was too involved to notice her. Fixing his gaze on Eli Kira, he declared, “Your family has been accused of masterminding the plot to debase our currency. That is treason. The penalty is death!” He turned to the captain of the janissaries. “Carry out the sentence.”

Soldiers leaped forward to drag Eli Kira and his three sons to their knees. Their necks were forced down and before any could protest, they were quickly decapitated. Their heads, surprised expressions on all of their faces, rolled across the floor to stop at the feet of the three young Kira wives, who stared in mute horror. Blood gushed forth from the lifeless trunks, staining the marble floors crimson.

Sarai, Ruth, and Shohannah were not given a moment to mourn before they, too, were forced to their knees. In shock, half fainting, they swiftly joined their husbands in death.

David and Lev Kira, retreating from the gardens to their homes, entered to see their family’s heads held high for all to see. They ran forward, their swords brandished, and were cut down by the janissaries. When they lay dead and bloodied on the marble floors, their heads were severed from their bodies, to be displayed before the cheering crowds.

Ottoman justice was done. In only a few minutes, almost the entire adult Kira family in Istanbul had been ruthlessly murdered.

The vizier turned to the four Europeans and asked, “Your names and your business here?”

“Captain Murrough O’Flaherty of the
Archangel
, out of London,” said Murrough coolly. “The Earl of Kempe. My younger brother, Lord Burke, and his betrothed wife, Lady Barrows. I think you know the esteem in which the Sultan Valide holds Lady Barrows, my lord vizier. We would appreciate an escort from this house to our ship.” Murrough’s voice never wavered. Indeed, it was quite stern.

But Cicalazade Pasha ignored Murrough as his burning blue-gray gaze fastened on Valentina. “Naksh!”

Valentina said nothing, but she refused to lower her gaze from his. In her own clothing, with Padraic by her side, she felt strong.

“How did you get here?” he demanded. “
How?
”

“How is of no consequence, my lord vizier,” she said quietly. “I am here and I am leaving Istanbul tonight.”

“Is something amiss, my lord?” asked the janissary captain.

“Captain Hussein, I want—” the vizier began, but Valentina called out, “Captain Hussein! I am the English lady for whom the sultan and his mother have been searching these past months. I was kidnapped. Today I was rescued by the Kira family, through their final loyalty to the sultan. I came to Balata to make my farewells to my friends before sailing for England, and I was trapped here with my party when the mob attacked.”

Cicalazade Pasha’s eyes blazed furiously at Valentina, for her quick speech had destroyed forever any chance he might have had of taking possession of her again. Her voice had carried far enough that half the mob now knew who she was.

“Our lord, the sultan, will be relieved to learn of your safety, my lady,” said the captain of the janissaries. “It is unfortunate that you were exposed to this unpleasantness after your ordeal.”

“You have the tongue of a courtier, Captain Hussein,” Valentina said sweetly. “I see a great future for you in the sultan’s service.”

“The children! We found the Jews’ children!” shouted a group of women as they herded forward Sabra, who was carrying Sarai’s infant son, Ruben, and the other children.

“Dispose of them!” ordered Cicalazade Pasha.

“No!” Valentina’s voice rang out clear into the courtyard. The authority in it was so powerful that for a moment no one moved. Then she spoke so softly that only the vizier heard her. “I hold your life in my hands, my lord Cica. You owe me something for your abuse of me. Is your self-importance so enormous that you actually deceived yourself into thinking I enjoyed your rape of me? I detest you and all you did to me, but I will have this one thing of you or else I shall expose you to the sultan
and
his mother.”

“The sultan is my best friend.” The vizier mocked her. “He was to share your favors with me shortly, Naksh. He has known all along where you were, although I will tell you that the Valide did not share our secret.”

Valentina felt sick at this revelation, but she showed no emotion. “I would remind you, my lord vizier, that the sultan
and
his family were the Kiras’ friends. You see about you the result of
that
friendship. Would you risk all that you have, and endanger your wife and children, simply to continue your possession of me? I think not, my lord Cica.”

“What do you want?” he asked. Though he was defeated, his handsome visage showed nothing.

“This girl,” she said, nodding toward Sabra, “and the children.”

“The sultan has ordered that the Kira family be disposed of entirely,” he said implacably.

“I will dispose of them for you, my lord,” Valentina replied. “They will sail for England with me tonight. There are Kiras in England who will shelter them, and they are innocents in this affair. You are a father and a grandfather, my lord Cica. Is there no mercy in your heart?”

“So you believe I have a heart, Naksh?” He bandied words with her.

“Please, my lord,” she said. “The mob grows restless while we waste time.”

“I could order your English friends killed where they stand and take you back to my palace, Naksh,” he threatened her softly.

“The scandal would be too great even for you to survive, my lord vizier,” she replied quickly. “The sultan would be forced to punish you. He would do so by confiscating all you have, possibly including your life.

“The sultan is a greedy man. I don’t doubt he has been told that he can confiscate the wealth of the Kira family, but when this mob finishes looting the house, my lord Cica, there will be no wealth for the sultan to take. You see, my lord, the Kira family long ago disposed of their wealth, spreading it among their various family branches throughout
many
countries in the West. It cannot be confiscated.

“The sultan is going to be very disappointed, I am afraid, and he will look for some way to ease his disappointment. Do not put yourself in a position of vulnerability. If you are quick, you may find another scapegoat, my lord, upon whom you may heap the blame for this disaster,” Valentina finished.

There was genuine admiration in his appraising gaze. He sighed deeply. “You are only the second thing in my life that I have regretted losing, Naksh, but I think I am wise to concede defeat. You are too intelligent a woman for me to cope with.”

“You cannot lose what you never really possessed, my lord,” she answered quietly.

“Take the girl and the children and go,” he said. “Go before I allow the heart you will not admit I have to overrule the clever mind that has kept me alive
and
in favor all these years.”

He turned to Captain Hussein. “You and a party of your men are to escort the English and these children to the harbor. See them safely aboard their ship. Return to me after that. The sultan will want to discuss this evening’s work with the second vizier, Hassan Bey, and we must fetch him.”

Captain Hussein made a respectful obeisance to the vizier. Calling out two dozen of his men, he began to clear a path through the murmuring mob for the Kira children and their guardians.

“Farewell, my lord Cica,” Valentina said, and turned away from him.

“Farewell, Naksh,” he called. She did not acknowledge him. She had never accepted the name, and now, safe again in her own identity, she would not do so. She was Valentina St. Michael. She was the daughter of Aidan St. Michael, and her father,
her true and only father
, was Conn O’Malley!

Valentina put a comforting arm around the terrified Sabra. “Do not be afraid, Sabra,” she reassured her. “We are going home now. We are going home to England!”

Part V

A B
EGINNING
,

A
N
E
NDING