James Heneage - The Towers of Samarcand

*

The discussion that took place later was conducted on the bed in Suleyman’s tent. On entering, Zoe had seen a large stove with a chimney that disappeared through the roof. Its doors were open and the scented heat made beads of sweat gather quickly at her temples. In the middle was a bed with the skins of antelopes upon it. The only other objects were a table with a jug and two cups and a basin of petalled water. Towels were draped over its side.

Zoe began to undress while Suleyman poured the wine. One took longer than the other since Suleyman had not greeted her out on the plain and could wait. At last she was lying naked on the bed, her body the colour of honey in the firelight, her long hair spread across the pillows.

‘It’s been some time,’ she murmured, her fingers tracing their way from her breasts to the triangle of hair between her legs. ‘You’ve looked forward to it?’

Suleyman’s face was half in shadow so that only a part of his smile was visible. There was no sound beyond her breathing and the smell was of sandalwood. ‘Of course.’

In fact Suleyman had looked forward more to seeing Anna, however unreciprocated the pleasure would be. But there was no doubt that Zoe’s body gave him satisfaction beyond anything derived from the harem.

Zoe said: ‘Come here.’

She had opened her legs and her fingers were deep inside the space between. Suleyman emptied his cup, rose and removed his mail. He wore a simple caftan of silk beneath. He took off the caftan, walked over to the bed and lay down beside her.

‘Now,’ said Zoe, ‘we will discuss.’

*

The first discussion involved few words and went on for an hour. At its end, they both lay staring up at the roof of the tent, enjoying the feel of sweat upon their skin and the smell of consummation all around them. They were thinking of different things: Suleyman, a siege; Zoe, what had been different about this lovemaking. It was certainly different, containing a desperation that could not just be explained by the passage of time. Suleyman had changed. She rose from the bed and walked over to the basin, splashing water over her face and drying it with a towel. ‘Tell me about your father,’ she said, returning the towel to the basin.

Suleyman yawned. ‘My father? Why do you want to know?’ He paused. ‘He is mad.’

‘Madder than before?’

‘Madder. He’s been getting letters. From Tamerlane.’

Zoe considered this. Bayezid’s obsession with Tamerlane had been there before she’d left for Mistra. The world did not seem big enough for both of them. ‘What do the letters say?’

Suleyman rolled on to his side, watching her. ‘They taunt him, call him vassal. Sometimes in verse. They’re quite funny.’

Zoe walked over and sat next to him on the bed. She put her hand to his cheek, stroking his beard with the backs of her fingers. ‘And you? How does he treat you?’

Suleyman looked down at his hands. ‘He hardly talks to me any more, just Mehmed, even Musa, and they tell him to lift the siege and go east to prepare for Tamerlane. Bring the Khanates of the Black and White Sheep on to our side.’

‘Which makes sense.’

Suleyman stiffened. He turned his head away from her so that her hand fell to the pillow. ‘Not to me. My future depends on my taking Constantinople. You know that.’ He paused and stared ahead, his face a frown. He said: ‘If we go east, it will be because Constantinople hasn’t fallen. Mehmed will inherit this empire and I will go to the bowstring.’

Zoe brought both her hands to her lap. She sat up, her back straight. ‘So you must take Constantinople. Where are the cannon?’

‘Still in Venice. There are delays.’

‘Such as them splitting in the cast? I think Plethon has been there with money.’ She paused. ‘What about Chios? When the time is right, you could take Chios and give it to Venice. You know how much they want the alum trade.’

‘I’d have to wait for my father to go away. He’s forbidden any further attacks.’

Bayezid’s teeth were graced with the same fillings that Luke’s tribe had seen in the caravan, provided only by the mastic of Chios. The island owed its continuing freedom to the Sultan’s toothache. She leant towards him. ‘If you don’t take Chios soon, it’ll be impregnable. They’re building more maze villages.’

‘Your spy told you this?’

Zoe nodded. ‘If you take it quickly, with your soldiers rather than the corsairs, Bayezid need never know. What does he care if it’s run by Venetians or Genoese as long as he gets his mastic?’

The Prince thought, fleetingly, of how he’d missed her. She rose and walked over to the table with the wine. She poured them both a cup and gave one to Suleyman. She took a sip of her own. It was warm from the fire. ‘And I have another plan. You know about the Varangian treasure that was said to be buried somewhere in Mistra?’

Suleyman lifted the cup to his lips. His eyes were alert.

‘Well, I found it and I don’t think it’s treasure. Well, not gold or jewels anyway. Something far more valuable. Something that might persuade Emperor Manuel to surrender Constantinople.’

Suleyman’s eyes were bright above the rim of the cup. He swallowed the wine slowly and leant over the bed to put the cup on the carpet. ‘Why do you think that?’

‘Because it is a single casket and the casket is not large.’

‘So what do you think it is?’

‘I don’t know. But Plethon does and he thinks it important enough to save an empire. Or destroy it.’ She paused. ‘And Anna knows where it is because she reburied it with him.’

Suleyman rolled on to his back. He sighed. ‘She wouldn’t tell me.’

‘Not under torture?’ Zoe asked softly. ‘I think she would.’

Suleyman didn’t reply. He was looking straight up at the ceiling of the tent and his eyes were unblinking. Zoe sat down again on the bed. ‘I think she would talk under torture,’ she murmured. ‘What do you care more about: her or Constantinople? Her or the bowstring?’

Suleyman sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, his back to Zoe. He sank his head into his hands, running his long hair through his fingers. She could see his shoulders moving in time with his breathing. She moved across the bed slowly until she was holding him from behind, her breasts pressed to his spine, her arms circling his forearms.

‘You couldn’t do it, could you,’ she said quietly. It wasn’t a question. ‘Even for Constantinople. Even for your life.’

Suleyman was sitting very still, his shoulders the only part of him moving. He was staring into the shadows of the tent. They were both silent for a long time, both acknowledging new boundaries, new vulnerabilities.

‘There is another way,’ she said.

He didn’t reply.

She moved to sit beside him, no longer a lover, now a friend. ‘Luke. She would tell you if you threatened Luke.’

‘But I don’t know where he is. Only Yakub knows and some Venetians who are now dead.’

She took his hand. ‘I could find him. Di Vetriano recruited Karamanids to help him take the monastery The Karamanid lands are next to Yakub’s Germiyans’. The Karamanids might know something.’

Now Suleyman turned to her. ‘You would go there?’

Zoe nodded. ‘And bring him back.’ She paused. ‘For you.’

‘And your price?’

She squeezed his hand and then brought it slowly to her lips. ‘There is no price, lord. I want you to win.’

ANATOLIA, SPRING 1397

After six months with the tribe, Luke had learnt their language but still hadn’t got on a horse. Gomil had seen to that.

The chief’s son hated Luke for many reasons. He hated him for helping Shulen. He hated him for humiliating him by the fire. Most of all he hated him for being there at all. Luke’s presence in the camp pointed to a plan that faced east, to an alliance with Tamerlane. Gomil wanted the tribe to look west, to march with Bayezid into the Christian heartland of Europe.