Revelations

FORTY-EIGHT

Several ornate tents were pitched within the broad compound, protected by the high walls that surrounded it. Leaving the Janissary soldiers, Ezio moved on among them, getting ever closer to the center, where he guessed Tarik’s quarters would be found. Sure enough, as he approached, he heard the familiar tones of Tarik’s voice as he spoke to a courier who had just come up, joining Tarik, who was in the company of a third Janissary, evidently an adjutant.

“Tarik bey,” said the courier. “A letter for you.”

Tarik took the letter without comment, broke the seal, and read it. He was laughing in a satisfied manner even before he had reached the end. “Perfect,” he said, folding the paper and putting it in his tunic. “The rifles have arrived in Cappadocia, at the garrison of Manuel Palaiologos’s army.”

“And our men, are they still with him?” asked the adjutant.

“ Evet. They will contact us when the Byzantines break camp. Then we will meet them when they reach Bursa.”

The adjutant smiled. “Then everything is falling into place, efendim.”

“Yes, Chagatai,” Tarik replied. “For once.”

He waved the men away and started to walk away, among the tents. Keeping at a safe distance, Ezio shadowed him. But he could not remain completely unnoticed and was glad of the little Turkish he had already picked up since his arrival in Constantinople, as guards either came to attention or soldiers of similar rank to his own greeted him. But it was not all plain sailing. Once or twice he lost his trail and noticed suspicious looks directed at him before he picked it up again; and once he faced a direct challenge. Two guards blocked his way:

“What regiment are you from, efendim?” the first asked him, politely enough, though with just enough edge to his voice to make Ezio wary.

Before Ezio could reply, the second cut in: “I do not believe I know you. I do not see your imperial insignia. Are you cavalry?”

“When did you get in?” asked the first, his voice openly unfriendly now.

“Where is your captain?”

Ezio’s Turkish wasn’t up to this. And he saw that, in any case, their suspicions were more than aroused. Swiftly, he unleashed his hookblade and tripped one up with it, sending him crashing into the other. Then he ran, darting between tents, jumping guy ropes and still keeping one eye on the now-distant Tarik.

There was shouting behind him:

“Imposter!”

“Deceiver! You will die!”

“Stop him!”

“It’s the outlaw who killed Nazar! Grab him!”

But the compound was very large, and Ezio took full advantage of the fact that, in their uniforms and with their almost identical mustaches, one Janissary looked very like another. Leaving confusion in his wake, he soon picked up Tarik’s trail again and located him in a quiet corner of the barracks, where the senior officers’ map-rooms were to be found.

Ezio watched as Tarik entered one of the map-rooms; he glanced around to ensure that the man was alone and that he himself had thrown off the last traces of pursuit, and followed Tarik in. He closed and bolted the door behind him.

Ezio had already collected all the information he believed he needed. He knew that Tarik planned to rendezvous with Manuel at Bursa, and he knew that the arms shipment had arrived at Manuel’s garrison in Cappadocia. So when Tarik immediately drew his sword and flung himself at him, he did not need to ask questions first. He stepped neatly aside to his left as Tarik thrust with his sword, then unleashed his left-hand hidden-blade and plunged it into the right-hand side of the Janissary captain’s back, ripping through the kidney as he cut in hard with the blade before withdrawing it.

Tarik crashed forward onto a map table, scattering the charts that covered it and drenching those that remained with blood. He caught his breath and, drawing on his last reserves of strength, heaved himself up on his right elbow and half turned to look at his attacker.

“Your villainy is finished, soldier,” said Ezio, harshly.

But Tarik seemed resigned, almost amused. Ezio was suddenly seized by doubt.

“Ah, what bitter irony,” said Tarik. “Is this the result of Suleiman’s investigation?”

“You collude with the sultan’s enemies,” said Ezio, his confidence ebbing. “What did you expect would come of such treachery?”

Tarik gave him a regretful smile. “I blame myself.” He paused, his breathing painful, as blood flowed steadily from his unstaunched side. “Not for treason, but hubris.” He looked at Ezio, who had drawn closer to catch his voice, which had now sunk to little more than a whisper. “I was preparing an ambush. Preparing to strike the Byzantine Templars at the precise moment they felt safest.”

“What proof do you have of this?”

“Look. Here.”

Painfully, Tarik pulled a map from his belt with his left hand. “Take it,” he said.

Ezio did so.

“This will lead you to the Byzantines in Cappadocia,” Tarik continued. “Destroy them if you can.”

Ezio’s voice had sunk to a whisper, too. “You have done well, Tarik. Forgive me.”

“There is no blame,” Tarik replied, struggling with the effort of speaking at all. But he forced himself to go on, knowing that his next words would be his last. “Protect my homeland. Allah ashkina! In God’s name, redeem the honor we have lost in this fight.”

Ezio put Tarik’s arm over his shoulder and lifted him onto the table, where he hastily tore the scarf from his neck and tied it as tightly as he could around the wound he had made.

But he was already too late.

“Requiescat in Pace,” said Ezio, sadly.

Outside, he heard the hue and cry for him taken up once more, and close by. There was no time to repine over his mistake. Hastily, he tore off the uniform until he was stripped down to the simple grey tunic and hose he wore underneath. The map-room was close to the barracks wall. With the help of his hookblade, he knew the wall would be climbable.

It was time to go.