The Emperor Awakes (2 page)

It was a long way to the rendezvous point. He would not make it there. But nor did he want to make it there. He had disobeyed his master’s instructions to avoid bloodshed. And now he could not return to his master to complete his mission and deliver the precious cargo. He had to flee. He knew what his punishment would be if he had gone to his master with the blood of an innocent bystander on his hands.

He cursed under his breath and shook his head from side to side. He hated losing the rest of his payment. Yet it was better to be alive and with a bit of financial comfort than wealthy but dead. He decided his best chance was to hide in the forest of Valens, which was close enough to Constantinople to reach it under the cover of darkness and large and dense enough to disappear in it with his trail lost before dawn. Little did he know that things would not turn out to be that simple.

On that particular night, a quiet and usually deserted forest would become particularly lively and he would be caught in the middle, a silent witness who would unintentionally slip.

He was sweating profusely even though it was a cold night. Surely whatever predatory animals were out there would smell his fear. In the inhabitants of the woods he saw spies everywhere. In the shadows that jumped behind every tree, bush and rock he saw an army ready to pounce the moment he stumbled.

The full moon was his enemy, bathing everything in bright light. But then again he was a master of disguise. He knew how to become one of those shadows he was so afraid of. He was on heightened alert. His fear became his ally and he relished it. It was a game of life or death. He was thirsty and hungry. He had not eaten since that morning. That was since he had left Constantinople.

He had seen lights of inns in the distance, but he could not afford to stop. His disfigurements would betray him. His was not a face and body you could forget. People would only need to lay eyes on him once before he got imprinted on their memory and became the subject of drowning nightmares, ravishing one’s mind both as terrifying daydreaming and as terror-drenched sleep. He opened the flap of his bag and checked on the baby. He was fast asleep. He was a fearless little thing. He had slept the whole way.

He had to get him to a nursing mother soon. He could not afford to let this little treasure and ticket to his future die in his hands. His daydreaming shattered as abruptly as it visited him as he remembered his current predicament. He had burned that bridge now, hadn’t he? He tapped the leather wallet hanging from his belt and breathed a sigh of relief when he felt the solid mass of the icon and the ring with the royal insignia hanging on the golden chain.

The setting moon would briefly provide the best cover and opportunity for him to reach his refuge. He had a small window before dawn broke. The woods were already waking up and the first birdsong punctured the stillness and the different frequencies pulsated through the air, momentarily distracting his ears, and caressed the trees and animals that begun to stir.

He became even more alert. And it was then that he caught that small sound carried by the wind. It was the most imperceptible of sounds, but unmistakable. Those were hoofs. He put his ear to the ground and frowned. Four horses. They were coming from the East. Was it a party pursuing him or was it unrelated? He looked for an inconspicuous hiding place. Immediately he thought of the baby in his arms. He could not afford to be betrayed if it awoke. But he could not let it go.

In the time that it took him to debate his options, he heard a second set of horses coming from the opposite direction and approaching fast. He had no time to run. So he left the path and couched in a gap inside a large bush and waited. He was not a devout man, but he prayed.

The two groups almost collided as they came around the bend. They stopped just in time in a tangle of hoofs, legs and dust and stared at each other. It would have been a face off, followed by a violent battle, were it not for the shock of the chance encounter. The head riders dismounted with the hand ready at their side where their swords hung. Yet as they moved closer to each other the tension was already dissipating.

One group was Ottoman, the other Byzantine. They sized up each other and bowed respectfully. In the current environment this behaviour was mystifying. The hooded figure held his breath and watched through the openings in the branches. He was trying hard to make out what the two head riders were talking about.

‘Salam elekum,
Suleyman, God is one’, the Byzantine said.

‘Elekum salam,
Michael,
Allahu Akbar’,
the Ottoman replied, with not the slightest hint of surprise let alone shock at his supposedly mortal enemy’s respectful greeting.

The two men embraced warmly and kissed. Without a further word they walked together to a clearing just off the path. Riders from both groups laid down rugs and started to prepare coffee, which they would serve to their leaders once they had settled down to their chosen spot inside the clearing.

Suleyman breathed a secret sigh of relief at Michael’s self-control in keeping up the pretence and not blowing Suleyman’s disguise in his joy at this unexpected meeting. When they reached the clearing they sat down and conversed in whispers. Suleyman’s real name was Mark and he was more than just an acquaintance of Michael’s. Theirs was a relationship of blood.

The hooded figure gave up trying to hear their conversation, but kept his eyes on the other riders who dismounted and were rubbing down the horses and giving them hay and water. Strangely there was no interaction between the riders of the two groups, which made the apparent intimacy of their leaders all the more startling.

Once the coffee was served Michael and Mark dismissed their companions and, only when they were certain that they were out of earshot, did they start their conversation. The matters they had to discuss were not for prying ears. Michael spoke first.

‘My dear brother, your disguise has worked. My men were ready to launch an attack.’

‘So were mine. I stopped them just in time. And let me tell you it wasn’t easy. In these treacherous times they couldn’t understand why I was denying them their prey. I could see the hatred for me in their eyes. Sometimes I have my doubts about their loyalty. I get the sense I’m feeding mercenaries, with their vicious and ruthless nature bubbling under the surface and kept in check as long as I’m showering them with money and food. Of course in a fight I will need that vicious thirst for blood behind me, fighting my enemy as their enemy and looking out for me, as I hope will happen. If I let them catch even a single glimpse inside my soul I’m finished.

‘So I never let my guard down, but I do it in such a way as not to raise any suspicions. It’s a dangerous game we are playing my friend and let’s hope it will be over soon. But until that merciful time I have to watch my back before I slip in an unguarded moment and get carried away to oblivion with the tip of a sword protruding from my chest; nicely skewered and quartered for their dinner. But enough of that. What brings you here in these woods?’

‘I’m on my way to the city, but not directly. I plan to follow a wide arc around the city to check on the positions of the Ottoman troops before I make my final way inside with vital information I’ve gathered on my reconnaissance mission. I suspect your mission would take you on the same trajectory.’

‘Indeed, but not inside the city. I’ll try and see what kind of subterfuge I can achieve on the outside behind the enemy lines. I’ll try and wreak as much havoc as I can to delay the Sultan and give the city time. But tell me. Why would you risk your life trying to get back in? Why did you leave in the first place?

‘Well, to answer your second question, I hated being cooped up in the foul air of desperation. It was choking me. As to your first question I have decided to sneak in to persuade the Emperor to let me take his child and heir to safety. I don’t want to use force, if he does not see the wisdom of this decision, but I will not hesitate to do so, if he doesn’t. That child needs to be protected.’

‘How are you going to get in with your escort there? I hear the Emperor is in an unfriendly mood and has given clear instructions to hit and kill on the spot upon any unknown presence approaching the city.’

‘I’ll leave my carers behind and venture in alone and, hopefully, undetected. I hope to find one of the secret passages leading into the city. I hope someone would be waiting for me to show me the way. I’ve sent word ahead that I’ll be going. I don’t want to risk being killed before I’ve had a chance to have a chat with his Majesty himself. Still in these desperate times that paranoia reigns, I’ll need to be extra careful and suspicious, even if there is someone indeed waiting for me to lead me inside.’

‘I’d love to come with you, but I’ve got a slight suspicion that dressed like this I won’t make it within a hundred metres of the walls. And there is the small matter of shaking off my own group of governesses there.’

* * *

Michael and Mark. Brothers separated at birth in dangerous times. Chance brought them together. They always had a feeling that there was someone out there listening to each other whilst growing up. They each thought that they had an imaginary friend until one day they had to share a room in an inn far from home. And it was then that they realised that they were each other’s “supposedly imaginary friend”.

* * *

At the palace of Vlachernae in Constantinople the discovery of the empty crib and the lifeless body of the governess were enough to briefly overshadow the menace of the Ottoman armies at the gates of the city and distract the Emperor and his advisers from the defence of the city facing impending doom, clearly telegraphed by the movements and positioning of the enemy in a blockade of the city.

A huge search was initiated throughout the palace and the city, but as the minutes and the hours passed with no success, with not even a clue as to the whereabouts of the baby and his abductor, the feeling that it was too late hung in the air that was already heavy with fear.

CHAPTER 2

Limassol, Cyprus

Present day

Elli was in for another unsettled night’s sleep and an early wake-up call, a rude awakening. Around her there was peace; the city was too far away down the hill for any sounds to reach her. But inside her mind she was boiling in turmoil.

It was the same dream every time lately. She would be standing inside a tomb in front of an open sarcophagus. She would start to go close, but before she reached it, the sarcophagus would start to spew body parts, which would be sliding down the sides and then on the cool floor towards her. The frothy boiling mixture would bubble, drenching the chamber, and her, with splash upon splash of blood and entrails.

Every splash would burn her skin, every part would start to climb on her body and the nails would claw at her and scratch her again and again. Every splash was a collection of body parts from what looked like the mutilated body of a woman. The parts would rise and click together in their right place to form that woman. The woman would then rise, dripping blood, and extend her arms in pleading to her. A child would appear next to the woman and would try to hold her hand.

The woman, seemingly rooted to the spot and unable to move closer to the child, would extend one arm in an attempt to reach the child, her hand desperately pining for the child’s hand. But however hard they tried, it was all in vain. They would never reach each other; their hands would never touch. Then suddenly they would both disappear in a cloud of loud screams that resonated in Elli’s head long after they had gone.

* * *

Elli suddenly jumped out of her deep sleep. It was her recurring nightmare again. She thought it had left her for good. But it seemed that it was not to be. It was back with a vengeance, worse than before. She lay on the bed and listened. Nothing. The nightmare was still vivid in her mind and she felt disorientated and struggling for breath. She would not be able to go back to sleep now. She got up and put on her nightgown.

It was June, but at 5.30 in the morning it was chilly. She opened the French windows leading into the garden and went outside. She wanted to shake that feeling of foreboding that enveloped her like a funereal veil. Dawn was breaking on the far horizon and the birdsong gave her some respite from the remnants of the nightmare following her even as she stepped out onto the balcony and tried to hungrily breath in mouthfuls of fresh air hoping that it would clear her head and dispel her nightmare.

She began to relax as she surveyed her gardens below and the city beyond that looked as if it almost flowed into the sea lapping at its edge. A strange thought of the city spilling and dissolving into the sea in a mighty torrent, of a river-Amazon-like magnitude reaching its Atlantic delta, and disappearing in a flash, took hold of Elli’s mind and she smiled, amused at the absurdity and unlikelihood of it all.

She looked around at the parts of her home visible from her vintage point. She loved this house. It sat atop the highest hill lording it over the city below. The sun was already rising on its daily tour of the sky. The view was magnificent. She could see the sea spreading in front of her for miles like a blinding jewel scattering the light in all directions in its attempt to repel the sun’s attack. She would never exchange this view with any other in the world. It was in her heart. Just like this city and the house puncturing the sky behind her were in her heart. This was the house that had stood here at this very spot for over 80 years.