The Sultan's Eyes (3 page)

‘I doubt that very much. Real faith is about everlasting kindness, about grace, about mercy — and understanding. These things are the essence of all the great religions. If you had read Master de Aquila’s book, you would know that. But you haven’t read it, have you?’

‘Of course not.’

‘No, you want to possess books only if they’re beautiful or rare or precious,’ I said. ‘You don’t want to read them; you won’t open your mind to the words within them. And you want to stop everyone else from reading them, too. But it doesn’t matter how many books you read, you will never —’

‘Enough!’ he shouted. ‘I will make a public example of you and your insidious heresies.’

‘How can it be heresy to speak of wisdom or kindness?’

‘You are a simple girl,’ he said. ‘You have no concept of how the world works.’

‘On the contrary,’ I said, ‘I understand perfectly. But I don’t like it.’

‘Then heed these words,’ he said. ‘In the name of our Saviour, I will denounce you in every church in the city, in the Council, outside in the piazza if I have to.’

‘I thought sneaking about in the darkness was your speciality?’

‘You will pay for that, and for all your pride and blasphemies, Mistress Hawkins. I will see to it.’

‘You will fail, as you always fail,’ I said, raising my voice to match his. ‘And one day you will find yourself in that special circle of Hell reserved for tyrants and traitors.’

‘How dare you?’ he screamed. ‘Get out!’

We left the room in a dignified manner, but as soon as the door slammed behind us we raced down the back stairs, along the corridors and out into the light.

We didn’t slow down until we reached our boat, where we stopped, panting and blinking in the sunshine.

‘That man! I swear it, I will —’

‘Not here,
signora
,’ said Willem. ‘We’ll talk about it at home.’

She fought down her words, although she muttered threats and curses under her breath all the way back to her
palazzo
.

Luis was waiting for us on the boat stairs. He took one look at our faces and led us in silence up to the room where Al-Qasim still sat hunched by the window.

‘So?’ Luis asked, one eyebrow raised.

‘It went quite as well as I expected,’ said Willem. ‘I think he actually frothed at the mouth.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

‘Pacify him any more, Isabella, and he’ll explode.’

‘I couldn’t help it.’

‘You never can,’ said Willem.

‘Well, honestly, the man’s a monster.’

‘He is,’ said Signora Contarini. ‘I don’t blame you, Isabella. I see now that nothing anyone says will deter him from his pursuit of you. Of us.’

‘Then we must leave?’

She collapsed onto the seat next to Al-Qasim. ‘I fear so. For a while, at least.’ She sighed. ‘But where can we go? Surely nowhere on earth is safe?’

‘Isabella was right the other day,’ said Al-Qasim. ‘She said we won’t be safe anywhere in Christendom. So we must go beyond it, into the Ottoman Empire.’

‘A heathen country?’ Willem paled.

‘That, my friend, is all a matter of perspective. I was thinking of a city in Greece — Salonica, home of Cassander and Cicero.’

‘Never heard of it,’ said Willem. ‘And I don’t like going to places I’ve never heard of. Bad things happen.’

He sat down on the other side of Al-Qasim, who patted him on the shoulder.

There was silence, broken only by the sound of oars in the water outside and pigeons on the roof. I looked around the room: at these people who had become so close to me, at the sun dappling the floor tiles, at the vase of blue irises stark against the yellow walls. I had to be strong, I decided. If I never allowed myself to feel the fear that threatened to overwhelm me, perhaps nobody would ever suspect it was there. No matter how clouded the horizon, I would act as if I felt hopeful. I would get this little band of refugees somewhere so safe that Fra Clement could call out the hounds of Hell and still he wouldn’t find us.

My chest ached as I gathered into myself Willem’s anger, the
signora
’s suspicions and Al-Qasim’s sorrow. I raised my head to find Luis staring at me. We held each other’s gaze for a moment and at last he nodded, as if he could read the tangle of thoughts in my mind. I smiled.

‘Of course you’ve heard of Salonica,’ I told Willem. ‘It’s one of the great cities of antiquity.’

He slapped his forehead. ‘How could I forget that? Good thing I memorised the entire history of the known world, just in case anyone ever said to me, “My boy, we’d like you to go to Salonica.”’

‘Saint Paul wrote an entire Epistle —’

‘About what was wrong with the Thessalonians.’

‘See? You have heard of it,’ I said.

‘Please,’ said Signora Contarini. ‘That’s enough bickering. This is serious.’ She turned her attention to Al-Qasim. ‘What you suggest is rather dramatic.’

‘I know. But it may be the only option open to us now.’

‘We’d be living in a country ruled by the Turks.’

‘And full of Greeks,’ said Willem.

‘Would we even be welcome there?’ I asked.

‘I should think so,’ said Al-Qasim. ‘The Turks, as you call them, are quite accommodating. There are, for example, many Spanish Jews living in exile in Salonica. Besides, you’ll be with me.’

‘But what will we live on?’ asked Willem. ‘Where will we work?’

‘One problem at a time,’ said Luis. ‘First, we have to get you out of Venice. Alive.’

The days that followed were strange indeed. Everywhere I went, from the market to the booksellers’ stalls behind the piazza, I felt sure someone was following me. When I glanced around, the streets seemed the same as ever, filled with people shopping or gossiping or haggling over prices, flower-sellers standing on street corners, grocers unloading their boats. But any of them might report to Brother Andreas or to Fra Clement himself. Any of those booksellers or washerwomen or shopkeepers could be frightened enough, or paid enough, to spy on me. Behind half-open shutters, from high windows, hidden in the deep shade of a portico, someone could be watching. Signora Contarini always said that in Venice there were no secrets and many secrets. It had never felt so true. This place where once I had found refuge no longer felt safe.

I spent several days and sleepless nights lurching between fear and fury, between rebellion and defeat. I didn’t want to believe that Fra Clement had the power to harm us, but I remembered the fire in his eyes, the smoke and screams in the dark, the fury and faith of the Seville mob, and the sigh of Master de Aquila’s last breath.

Finally, I realised there was only one way to rid myself of the constant dread.

I found Al-Qasim at home, in the house on the Grand Canal that he shared with Luis. He was busy, bent over some tools on a long bench, but greeted me with a smile.

‘Welcome, Isabella.’

‘Forgive me. I’m interrupting you.’

‘Not at all. But you have found me hard at work.’

‘What is all this?’

He motioned me over. ‘Luis decided that I had too many idle hours so he made me a workroom.’

Unlike our print workshop, this one was cluttered with all sorts of odd tools and small pieces of metal. Al-Qasim rested one hand affectionately on a small vice.

‘I may not be able to make maps any more, but I am still a man of science. I carry out a few experiments. Record the movements of the stars and the planets. And here, you see, I have taken up lens-making, so I can keep us both supplied with eye-glasses. I cannot paint, but I can still use a lathe. I even built myself a telescope, like Professore Galileo.’

‘I knew you were concealing some great mysteries from us.’ I grinned, but he didn’t smile back.

‘Forgive me. It was not my wish to deceive you.’

‘I don’t feel deceived,’ I said. ‘Truly. But I would like to speak with you if I may.’

He nodded and led me to a long, sunlit room where the reflection of the water outside rippled on the ceiling.

‘Please,’ he said, motioning with one hand. ‘Sit wherever you feel comfortable.’

I hesitated. There were no chairs, just low window seats covered in rugs and piled with cushions.

‘You will need to get used to this style of furnishing,’ he said. ‘It is our way, and this is the fashion in all the houses in Salonica.’

I lowered myself onto the seat and leaned back into the cushions. ‘I quite like it. It feels like climbing into bed.’

He smiled. ‘That is the idea. Although it is also an illusion. Great deeds and complex political discussions are undertaken while we pretend to relax.’

He called out for the footman, Paco, a young Spaniard who’d joined Luis’s service in Spain and had come all the way back to Venice with us. Paco and I exchanged shy smiles. I was only too aware that the nasty scar across his forehead was the result of a sword slash earned in my defence in the mêlée at Seville.

Al-Qasim asked for tea to be brought and sat down, facing me, on the opposite bench.

‘In Salonica, you will also find that there are long hours of tea drinking and protocol and endless gossip before you get to the point of any meeting,’ he said. ‘But here, among friends, there’s no need for that.’

‘That’s good news,’ I said. ‘I’m not very good at diplomacy, as we all know.’

‘I’m sure you are, if you try.’

‘Perhaps.’ I smiled. ‘But it seems such a waste of time.’

He pondered that for a moment. His thoughtfulness was one of the things I most admired about him. Willem and I were likely to
blurt out exactly what was on our minds, and Signora Contarini certainly had no hesitation in voicing her thoughts. But Al-Qasim always spent a few moments weighing his words, measuring each concept and selecting the most appropriate course. It was a skill I hoped to learn from him.

‘Diplomacy has been known to save lives,’ he said at last. ‘The trick is knowing when talk is indeed a waste of time, and when it is more valuable than action.’

‘How can you ever know the difference?’

He shrugged. ‘Sometimes it is a game of chance. But that is not the situation we now face.’

‘No.’ All the lightness vanished from our voices. ‘It’s too late for that now.’

‘Agreed. And since we two friends have no need to pretend, what do you want to do?’

‘Me?’

‘This is your first visit to our home,’ he said. ‘I assume you have a specific purpose.’

Paco entered silently and offered us glasses of tea from a copper tray. I took a sip and waited for him to leave the room before I spoke again.

‘Your English is much better than it was when we first met, when Master de Aquila tried to pass you off as a translator.’

‘It was not, perhaps, the ideal subterfuge.’

‘But you have been studying?’

‘Luis has been teaching me,’ he said. ‘In the evenings.’

‘He must be a good teacher.’

He smiled. ‘He is very patient.’

‘As are you.’

‘Perhaps. Or, at least, I am very good at pretending to be patient.’

I placed the tea glass carefully on the table and looked at him. ‘Can you teach me Arabic? Please?’

‘Of course,’ he said, ‘it would be an honour.’

‘Thank you. I thought we could start straightaway, and then continue lessons on the ship.’

‘So that you have a few words when you arrive?’

‘As many words and phrases as possible,’ I said. ‘But there’s something else.’

His smile didn’t waver. ‘I thought as much.’

‘I don’t want to go to Salonica. I think we should go to Constantinople.’

One raised eyebrow was his only response at first. ‘That’s a long way,’ he said after a few moments.

‘I know it is, but that’s the point. I don’t believe we’ll be safe just a few days’ sailing from here. Fra Clement managed to reach his claws all the way across Europe to find us a few years ago. The stretch of ocean between here and Salonica would be nothing to him.’

‘True enough.’

‘It might be part of the Ottoman Empire, but it’s an outpost.’

‘Also true,’ said Al-Qasim. ‘The empire is happy enough for outposts to rule themselves, so long as they don’t make trouble.’

‘But in the capital, in Constantinople, there’s the Sultan and his court, the army, there are your priests —’

‘
Imams
.’

‘Sorry, your
imams
, and magistrates — all sorts of different powers at play. It will be easier for us to stay hidden in a big city.’

Al-Qasim nodded, so I went on.

‘If we can find a place there, we’ll be further out of reach of the Church, I’m sure. There’s an English ambassador and a whole
consulate, as well as Venetian and Dutch traders if we need them. There are people to do business with, eventually, if we are able to work.’

I stopped for breath and he held up one hand, then let it drop into his lap and turned his head slightly to gaze out of the window at the boats and the green water lapping at the houses opposite.

‘I love it here,’ he said softly.

‘I know. So do I.’

‘I had not thought to travel so far again. Like you, I have been adrift for too long. I certainly never planned to return to the imperial city.’ He sighed. ‘But you are right.’

‘I wish I wasn’t.’

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘What next?’

‘I need you to help me convince the others.’

‘That,’ he said with a grin, ‘may be the hardest task anyone has ever set me.’ He stretched out his hand. ‘Come. We may as well make a start. This could take some time.’

‘No!’

Willem and the
signora
shouted it as one.

‘Absolutely not,’ the
signora
went on. ‘I wouldn’t dream of such a thing.’

‘Nor I,’ said Willem. ‘It’s full of heathens and Greeks and concubines. And plague. And —’

‘Now you’re being ridiculous,’ I said. ‘Constantinople is one of the greatest cities on earth, filled with history. There’s Sancta Sophia and the Hippodrome and —’

‘Isabella,’ Al-Qasim said, ‘I’m afraid the historical line of argument, fascinating though it may be to you, will not sway them. Let me try.’

Willem and Signora Contarini sat on the other side of the table from us, arms crossed, eyes defiant.

‘There is nothing you can say that will convince me to travel to the other side of the world,’ said the
signora
.

‘You will die if you stay here,’ said Al-Qasim. ‘We all will.’

I gulped. But he was right.

Luis took up the argument. ‘The danger is great and very real. Fra Clement will not rest until he has all of you thrown into the Inquisitor’s dungeons, and after that — who knows? The stake? Perhaps something quiet but equally effective like the garrotte.’

‘The only safe course,’ I added, ‘is for us to get as far away as possible and throw ourselves on the mercy of people who will never give in to the Church, no matter what Clement says or does.’

‘Venice is at war with Constantinople,’ said the
signora
. ‘It is treachery for me to even think of going there.’

‘That’s why it’s perfect,’ said Luis. ‘Venice never allows a small inconvenience like a war to affect trade — ships sail back and forth between the cities all the time. But the Inquisitor or any official Church delegation will not be welcome there. If Fra Clement tries to come after you, he will be thrown from the cliff-tops. Or into the Sultan’s dungeons.’

‘That sounds more like it,’ said Willem. ‘But it’s still a heathen city.’

‘We are all heathens to you, Willem,’ said Luis, ‘and we get along, don’t we?’

Willem grunted. ‘I’m used to you now. That’s all.’

‘Think of it this way, Will,’ I said. ‘In the centuries when the city was called Byzantium, from the days of Saint Helena, it was the crowning glory of Christendom. Constantine, Justinian — generations of emperors were soldiers of Christ.’

‘Until they went mad.’ The
signora
clenched both fists. ‘I know all about Constantinople. My uncle lived there for months. I published his memoir and it does not make pleasant reading.’

‘Things have changed since those days,’ said Al-Qasim. ‘I promise. I, too, was there in the dark years. It’s not like that any more.’

‘You can’t be certain of that.’ Signora Contarini closed her eyes and let her face sink into her palms. ‘I cannot believe this is happening. To me.’

‘But what about the workshop?’ said Willem. ‘We could possibly leave it for a few months, but not forever.’

‘It won’t be forever,’ said Al-Qasim.

‘But perhaps a long time?’ asked the
signora
.

‘Perhaps.’

She slapped her hands flat on the table. ‘I will appeal to the Doge, to the whole Council.’

‘It won’t work,’ said Luis. ‘They won’t help you. They need Rome’s backing for this war.’

‘Yes! A war with Constantinople — the very place you wish me to go.’

‘The city itself is not at war,’ said Luis. ‘Those battles are all happening miles out to sea. They are fighting over Crete, no closer to Constantinople than we are.’

‘But still —’

‘
Signora
,’ I said softly. ‘It’s no good. You know that.’

She sighed. ‘I hate this.’

‘We all do,’ said Al-Qasim.

She looked up at him, and reached for his hand. ‘I know, my friend. I know. But unlike you, I have never left my home before.’

‘That’s one thing I’ve learned,’ said Al-Qasim. ‘You can get used to almost anything if you have to.’

‘Not me,’ I said. ‘I always feel like an exile. No matter how much I love Venice, I’ll never get used to that.’

He smiled, but sadly. ‘Perhaps one day.’

‘But what about the business?’ Willem asked. ‘What about my work?’

‘You will find different work,’ said Al-Qasim, ‘just as you did when you came to Venice.’

‘It’s all right for you,’ said Willem. ‘You have nothing here.’

Al-Qasim blushed. I’d never seen him do that before.

‘Do not be so sure,’ said Signora Contarini.

‘I know how you feel, Will,’ I said, and turned to the others. ‘It’s just that Venice has become our sanctuary.’

‘I understand,’ said Al-Qasim. ‘I feel the same. We have built a home here, and this is where my heart will always dwell. But it is no longer safe. For us. For you.’

‘And so you must leave,’ said Luis, his voice unusually husky. ‘But you will be safe in Constantinople.’

‘You don’t know that for sure,’ said Willem. ‘It’s too far. Anything might happen on the way. You’re asking us to travel to the end of the earth, to some little pagan town.’

‘Far from it,’ said Luis. ‘Constantinople is bigger than Venice, bigger than Amsterdam. I know many people there.’

‘You know people everywhere,’ said Willem. ‘Those assassins you mentioned —’

‘We’re not killing anyone, remember?’ I said. ‘Not even Clement.’

‘More’s the pity,’ said the
signora
.

‘This way is better,’ said Luis. ‘Trust me. You may even come to like Constantinople. Many people long to visit it.’

‘Nobody will even know we’re there,’ I said.

‘What’s the point of that?’ said Signora Contarini.

Luis laughed. ‘Just sometimes,
signora
, it is wise to go unnoticed. And in such a place you won’t attract attention.’

‘The city is so vast now,’ said Al-Qasim. ‘Some call it Istanbul, “the city”, as if it is the only one that matters, and perhaps they are right.’

‘So I hear,’ said the
signora
. ‘But it will always be Constantinople to me.’

I smiled. ‘It will always be Byzantium to me.’

‘Whatever it’s called,’ said Willem, ‘I’m not going.’