Chapter XVII
Yazid
They were huddled by a fire; their cloaks were furtively clung to; the Saracens that surrounded them were laughing and joking. Arzealous eyed them carefully, he did not feel threatened more frustrated; they had wanted to quickly move off; and yet here they were, hemmed in. He knew the problem was not if they became unnerved by their surroundings, but whether impatience would make one of his companions do something rash.
They had climbed down from the walls just as the sun had set and from there had made their way under cover of dark across the water. Two small boats, with their baggage had been conveniently placed, leaning up by the side of a small outer gate, they had been covered over with blankets so as not to draw any attention from spies, the three conspirators had then carried them over to the water's edge and had cautiously waded out to sea, they had then clambered aboard and had quietly made their way across to the other side. They had carefully alighted from their boats, masked them, and then making sure they had not been seen, slunk toward the enemy camp. Once inside they had found a place away from prying eyes and undressed, after they had thrown the black Stegion wears that had helped them pass unseen through the ranks of the Saracens, into a fire. They had watched as dramatically their clothes had smouldered and then blazed, so inviting were the flames that a number of Saracens had joined them; fortunately they had not realised what had set the fire to rage so.
This was no Roman camp, there was no brawling or drinking when off duty, these men were unfortunately as sober as could be, and that meant they were alert and by all appearances well disciplined; a distinct advantage when going into battle. They pushed and jostled each other to get close to the fire. One person stepped on Arzealous’s foot without even realising it. He quickly withdrew it; the last thing they wanted was an altercation.
General Petron suddenly cried out, “Allah is great.”
There was a raucous response as the Saracens joined in a deafening crescendo of, “Allah is great.”
As the company broke into song and revelry, Petron took Arzealous by the arm and pulled him backward. Callinicus followed their lead and slowly as one they turned and began to walk away, behind them the singing got louder, as others marched past all wishing to be part of the gaiety.
“Good thinking Petron.”
“It’s the one thing that fires them up, the words, 'Allah is great,' I learnt that when fighting them: and this isn’t the first camp I’ve had to walk through unnoticed,” whispered Petron.
“This encampment seems to go on forever, did either of you hear where the Emir resides?” asked Arzealous.
“I told you I’ve been in camps like this before, so I know their layout reasonably well, and I don’t suppose there’s much difference between this one and any other.”
He took his dagger and crouched down, he then drew a plan of a Saracen encampment, showing where the main caravans were kept, the armoury, and then he jabbed the knife into the ground at where he thought the Emir might be situated. They studied the plan a moment and before any enemy might consider their behaviour suspicious, Petron rubbed out his rough sketch; indeed to be true the scrawl was so bad that had they been spied, no one would have recognised the drawing anyway.
He then led them round the perimeter of the Saracen position; tents seemed to stretch for leagues in every direction, not the small confining tents of the Roman Stratiotai, but large marquee size billets. People shouted and jostled to be heard; lathes rasped to sharpen scimitars, horses whined and dogs barked; some that passed them by would salute and say ‘Peace be with you,’ which was ironic since this was a camp of war and the last thing on anyones mind was peace. There were entire areas designated for horses and camels, for arms and wears, for slaves and concubines, for silks and shoes. They had made a city outside the city walls; a city to destroy a city.
Most Saracens when going into battle wore metal linked veils over their faces, so it was strange to finally look upon their enemy, whose faces were not dissimilar to their own. They joked as the Romans did: laughed and quarrelled the same, there was something familiar about their humour. They wore full length tunics beneath a woven leather jerkin with greaves on their legs and leather arm shields, woven into which was Arabic script. The sword that hung from their sides was a long curved scimitar blade which could cause substantive injury or fatality. As they passed one tent, a man who had been obscured by his shield, stood up and approached them.
“Peace be upon you.”
The man wore the same uniform as Arzealous but of a different rank. As they drew near his eyes widened and he began talking quickly; he was gesturing toward Arzealous who he seemed to recognise.
“Where have you been Aziz we’d thought you’d got killed in our latest assault?”
Arzealous shrugged beneath his veil his face was well hidden.
“Well that cannot be helped now; after the latest debacle, you are back in favour with the Emir, he wants you to start working on building a siege engine that will breach those walls.”
As they got closer the man became suspicious “Wait, let me see your face.”
Petron had already stepped behind the man, and peered into the tent the man had been sitting at the entrance of. It was satisfactorily empty. Arzealous and Callinicus stood in front of the Saracen, to block anyone from seeing what they were about to do. Suddenly the man collapsed and was quickly dragged into the tent. Arzealous checked to make sure they had not been noticed and followed. The tent was spacious and quite extravagant, there were silk cushions laid out on what was a large multi coloured rug, with motifs of peacocks and dears running along its sides, at its centre was a jewelled pattern design of Arabic script. In one corner laid out on a long table were metal platters with fruits and meats on them, indicating that perhaps this was a man of some standing. There was a sofa to one side, which appeared to have a dual purpose as a bed; a blanket was flung chaotically over it. The armour was carefully laid out on a chair. They dragged the man to one side and laid him on his back.
“What are we going to do with him?” asked Callinicus.
“We’re going to kill him otherwise he’ll give the alarm,” said Petron.
“He can give the alarm just as easily if he’s dead, as there’s nowhere to hide the body,” said Arzealous.
“Perhaps there’s another way,” said Callinicus.
“What’s that?” replied Petron.
“There’s a way I can get him to forget what has happened, it’ll only work for a short time, but that’s all we need, right.”
The others nodded.
“Is this some alchemy you brought back from Syria?”
“Something like that, gag him, bind his hands and feet and hold him still.”
They did as he said, and sat the man down on a stool and began reviving him. The man moaned softly as Callinicus pulled from beneath his tunic the Seal that he had got from Humming Bird, and holding it up to the man he began to concentrate, the pendant began to faintly glow.
“I want you to gaze at this.”
The man groggily looked up, his eyes beginning to focus on the pendant, as it began to pulse.
“You shall forget your encounter with Aziz. When we leave the tent you shall wake and go back to polishing your shield and remember nothing of us.”
The man’s gaze was fixed, he nodded slowly. Callinicus gestured for Arzealous to remove the gag.
“Tell us the name of, and where the Emir is.”
“His name is Yazid; he is at the heart of the encampment."
His eyes narrowing, Arzealous took a step back.
"Is everything okay?" asked Petron.
"I'm sure I recognize the name from somewhere, but it escapes me. Continue with the questioning."
Callinicus nodded, "Is he on his own?"
"No, he is surrounded by his personal guard and with him are the Vizier and the Grand Mufti.”
“How might we gain access to him?”
“He reads daily from the Qur?
??an with the Grand Mufti, and you will be accepted into his company if you are an Imam or if you hold high office.”
“We will now unbind your hands and feet and leave you here, after we are gone you will feel that you slept and had just woken from a strange dream.”
The man nodded once again, Petron watched in awe and silence as the man was untied and gently laid back to rest on the sofa. The three then departed: proudly they mingled among the Saracens; no one stirred at their approach, or questioned their passing. They were fortunate indeed that they wore clothes of rank, it was this that secured their passage, and for the most part the ruse had worked except of course that Aziz happened to have been recognised. They knew that if they were to see the Emir, then the easiest way would be if they got hold of a Holy Qur’an and one of them, most likely Callinicus, could then play the part of an Imam. When they found an empty tent Petron asked them to remain there while he would explore ahead and try to find the right wears for an Imam. The tent had a drab interior, there was a woven mat on the floor; sandals had been kicked to one side of it; one lay upturned over the other, its worn soul had a small bulge in it, made no doubt by the ball of its owners foot. There was a standard with Arabic script which hung from a wooden pole near to the entrance. Cushions lay scattered on the floor, and at their centre was a small table with some small clay platters, upon which were half eaten dried fruits, dates and figs. The two set themselves by the opening and stared out.
“Michael, was it Gabriel that gave the teachings and learning to the Arab tribes.”
“What was done was to maintain the Equilibrium and the Way. But suffice it to say that whosoever asks, shall receive guidance. And it is not for us to pass judgment on others for what they do with the knowledge and wisdom given to them.”
Callinicus picked up a Holy Book that lay on top of one of the cushions, and passed it to Arzealous.
Arzealous handled the book reverently, “The Sacred Seal you’ve got around your neck will give you the ability to read this book, and more importantly understand it. There’s much power in these words and the message is unique; not in the fact that it is new; because the message of compassion is an ancient one; but in the fact that it may still be understood without the confusion of human vanity getting in the way, although it is still open to misinterpretation and misdirection by the unscrupulous and vengeful. Take it, place the Seal over it, and you will understand its true meaning.”
Callinicus did as he was told, he shut his eyes and carefully placed the Seal over the book, once more it softly began to glow. Callinicus began nodding his head as though he were listening to a voice. At times his brow appeared furrowed, at times relaxed, a picture of attentiveness, he seemed oblivious to all else. When he had finished, he held the book firmly in his grasp in humility. Petron arrived a few moments later, he looked curiously from Arzealous to Callinicus, sensing he had missed something important; beneath his arm, was a cloak and a dark turban.
“While one of us gets to the Emir as an Imam; the other two will have to wait close by, and I’ve managed to find somewhere safe where we can do just that.”
“Are you ready Callinicus?” asked Arzealous.
Callinicus nodded; Petron passed him the cloak and turban.
“There’s one other thing.”
“Here we go, and what is that?”
“The Saracens have had guests and not of the ordinary type.”
“Let me guess the Rageon.”
“Close, but I don't think so; I overheard a group of cavaliers speak of an ancient menace that acts for both good and ill, who the Caliph has given great authority to; they did not really know what they were dealing with, it was all very confusing. The Grand Mufti doesn’t agree with what's going on; apparently he feels this expedition of theirs has been usurped by a dangerous, rather than evil power, and from what I could gather, he's already had a disagreement or two with the Emir over it, and perhaps we can use that.”
“It certainly could mean the Rageon or The Wraith are here, and as we are all aware they think this society primitive, easily controllable.”
“I remember our conversation with the Viglator and that you had one or two run-ins with things out of the ordinary, I must say I had hoped he was mistaken, or like most people do in his position; he’d exaggerated; that you all had exaggerated, but now I have definite proof that such demons exist, I’m more concerned than ever; it’s a little disconcerting when myths are not myths anymore; and to think, I always thought such fiends kept to the shadows, I must admit to being taken aback, to find that they’re quite real, and that they’re walking amongst us, and worse still that they are having dealings with our enemy. I can honestly say this is turning out to be the weirdest battle I’ve ever fought.”
“Perhaps we could turn the Saracens against their erstwhile friends.”
“I’m afraid that’s going to be difficult, if the Wraith are here then they no doubt have the ear of the Emir and are using the 'good book' as a means to an end; or perhaps the Saracens have been offered a choice of any booty from the great prize; and whilst the Mufti may disagree with some things, he’s going along with them for now, as he sees us as the greater threat and our destruction as paramount. So whoever’s going in to see the Emir will have to be up for a different kind of fight; a struggle of wills.”
Arzealous pondered a moment; and took Callinicus to one side, “I guess this task now falls upon you. The Seal should help you in this undertaking, though I don’t know what power it will have over the Wraith or the Rageon. Since such beings may have a means to counter its effects, so you will need to be careful that you don’t reveal your true self. We will be close by should anything untoward happen and remember you are to do more than just argue the meaning of the Book, we need to know as much of what they are planning as you can glean.”
Callinicus nodded calmly enough, “Understood, just point me in the right direction and I will go on ahead, you two then follow on.”
Petron took his sword and scratched out where the Emir’s tent was, “All you need do is get to where they keep the large amphora filled with oil and water; there’s wagon after wagon load of them just here, once there, you go to the far end of them. Then turn southeast, walk about three hundred paces and you’ll see the Emirs standard. They’ve dug a deep well close by, you can’t miss it, when you’ve finished meet us there.”
Arzealous stamped out the plan, “Remember the Wraith will be cunning and resourceful, be on your guard always.”
“I don’t think I need to be reminded of that.”
Callinicus shook their hands and departed.
Petron and Arzealous waited in silence for the most part, and were about to leave when three Saracens entered the tent, the one out in front was a short swarthy fellow; the other two being taller seemed to be his guard; one of the men had a crooked nose while another had green eyes that blazed like emeralds from his dark face, and there was a small scar that though healed had cut too close to his ear; beneath their cloaks were light plated leather strapped jerkins, and beneath those they wore long dull red tunics. Their boots were dusty and worn; all three were thick set. They seemed unsurprised to find others using the tent, and greeted them in the usual manner.
“Peace be upon you.”
“And upon you,” said Arzealous.
“Why don’t you join us for something to eat; for tomorrow we fast.”
“Thank you but we were just on our way.”
“May I ask what you were doing here?”
“You may ask,” said Petron as he made for the opening.
The two guards stepped in front, preventing his exit.
“I’m sorry we can’t be sure that you are not spies; so what were you doing here?”
“Oh, we were spying,” said Arzealous with a dead pan look on his face.
The man's eyes widened a moment and then he burst into laughter as did his companions.
“Just one thing before you leave, the Qur’an chapter 21 verse 11.”
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Arzealous gazed into the man’s eyes and seemed to stare into an unknown distance, “And how many a town which was iniquitous did we demolish, and we raised up after it another people.”
“And so we shall do the same to this Christian city of Constantinople,” said one of the Saracens.
Arzealous turned to leave, “It means to place in those that have no belief, a new belief of compassion and mercy, the verse is about the conquest of the soul, not of any material conquest. It concerns the struggle within all people to behave in a righteous merciful manner.”
The three looked at each other and back at Arzealous, and bowed their heads respectfully as they left.
The camp air was fresh that morning, they had moved throughout the night and were finally nearing their destination, most fires had burnt to ash and there was a quiet bustle rather than chaotic one. People seemed to be readying themselves for another assault on the city, as row upon row of soldiery were, with the help of their companions being dressed for battle. Then there was the sound of a horn, a few groans; mutterings and rumblings of discontent from the men, whilst others smiled, relaxed and began to unstrap their leather jerkins; there was to be no storming of the citadel that day.
They made their way to where the Amphora were situated; large clay pots raised up on wagons. Close too was a pen filled with goats; there was a mighty bleating as people walked among them dragging some away to be culled. There was a sudden crash as one of the pots smashed; the two men who had been given the task of carrying it, shouted angrily at one another, each blaming the other as to who should be punished for the break.
As they approached the Emir’s tent, Arzealous and Petron could see Callinicus waiting outside it; two guards stood either side of him as someone stepped out and ushered him in.