Tanith of Gold 04
“This is what we do. Pack these bodies into the ship you confiscated and send it swiftly to Venice. Pay the captain whatever he needs. Write a letter on my behalf to the head of the Medici family regretting this death resulting from an attack on my Chief Magistrate. We expect an explanation and are currently reviewing our grain contract with the city. That will keep them very quiet.”
The King meets Tanith
The next day he left early to meet his guardsmen. Tanith was up early and opted to come with him and leave her grandfather resting.
The bodies had been stored in a mortuary in the basement. There was a foul smell as one of the Assassins had voided his bowels as he died. Michael inspected the Venetian merchant first. Di Medici had a large ring on his finger with his famous family crest and on the same finger a ring with the new papal crest. Michael sucked in his breath and whistled softly to himself. Perhaps he had been rash in his judgment - here was potential trouble indeed. He will have aroused the wrath of a very powerful and vindictive family and Pope Innocent was an irascible enemy to provoke. Yet, he thought, with a grin, that is what King Frederick thrived on.
As if he had summoned his King, there came a booming, good-natured voice rolling down the corridor. Hearing a quick gasp he looked round and saw that Tanith had stripped some of the armour from one of the Assassins and had been quickly trying on an elaborate Damascus steel breastplate. To do so she had let down her tunic top and the straps had become entangled with the armour. She was reaching behind her and her breasts were swinging in front of her. Michael leapt to help her and so it was that the Holy Roman Emperor, most powerful king of the known world strode into the room to find Michael seemingly struggling with a strikingly beautiful woman whose dress was falling apart, revealing her heavy breasts. She flushed with embarrassment and Michael was wordless.
Once again the King showed his utter mastery of any situation. His eyes swept around the room, taking in all the detail but he barely paused in his stride and moving up to Tanith he said in a conversational tone. “That is fine armour - made in Damascus I believe.” He gently pushed Michael out of the way and untangled the cords quickly. Tanith's top was still down but he held the breastplate against her and sized it up. “I'll have my armourer adapt this to your chest - you do not need any more scars.” He inclined his head slightly at the scar on her chest and said quite conversationally, “That wound was stitched very well.” Tanith had not said a word as she gazed at him then she nodded and stood quietly as he pulled up her bodice and tied it in place swiftly and gently.
“Now,” he said briskly, “I have been briefed by Captain of the Guard. Tell me more.”
Michael recovered his professional poise very swiftly and gave a crisp but detailed account. While he was talking the King was inspecting the bodies. He glanced at Tanith, “Show me your knives.” She reached to her waist and a knife appeared suddenly in each hand. Michael realised that she had reached with unbelievable speed through a slit in her tunic to a leather belt filled with knives. She handed one of them to the King handle first after flicking it in a dizzying blur upwards and catching it by the blade. He took the knife with a small bow to her and matched it to the wound in one of the Assassins.
“You throw with both hands at once?” She nodded. He raised a quizzical eyebrow to Michael, “You were destined to live, my friend. I haven't seen one of these killers in our land but I have heard about them. You were marked to be killed and these fellows can't do it now, “ he prodded one of them on the chest, “- so their live companions will.” He paused in thought and said almost to himself, “This hastens my plan somewhat.... And now let's see our very royal friend from Venice.” The King fingered the rich purple cloth on the merchant thoughtfully but he paused even longer to inspect the rings.
“What is His Holiness playing at now...” Rowan knew that subtle inflection of admiration and exasperation. The King and the Pope were locked in a seemingly endless game of power and strategy. Pope Innocent was a master of intrigue but King Frederick matched his guile with a ingenuous honesty which left the Pope, his erstwhile Protector, writhing with impotent rage.
The King straightened up abruptly, “This is what we do. Pack these bodies into the ship you confiscated and send it swiftly to Venice. Pay the captain whatever he needs. Write a letter on my behalf to the head of the Medici family regretting this death resulting from an attack on my Chief Magistrate. We expect an explanation and are currently reviewing our grain contract with the city. That will keep them very quiet.”
The King discovers
“That's done - let us go and eat - I have been away too long spoiling myself with my falcons.” He was already walking briskly away. The entire episode had taken less than ten minutes and they were now trotting to catch up with him. He was a stocky, muscular figure almost crackling with energy. He demanded a quick summary of the last two weeks of legal matters while he had been away.
As they approached his council rooms the murmur of many voices became audible. The king had been away for longer than normal on his hunting trip and there were many people of some consequence waiting. He swept past them booming out to all, “I will attend to you shortly, gentlemen.”
He ushered Tanith and Michael into a small adjoining chamber where a meal was laid out. The servants were swept out and the door closed in a moment. They all washed their hands in the large bowls of warm water. The King piled cold meats and fruit on platters and handed food to them, deep in thought. When they were seated on velvet couches he turned to them and fixed his gimlet blue eyes on them.
“I have little time and much to discuss. Firstly,” he turned a half-smile on Tanith, “Welcome to Palermo, Fraulein. I had heard that you were on the way. And within 12 hours you are killing my enemies - this is good.” Rowan knew that when his accent became clipped he was disguising a strong emotion.
As he looked at them from his seat they were against the light and they were surrounded by a glow from the morning sun. The sun glinted on the King's red beard and from Tanith's hair, softly dropping around her face. Tanith had not said a word yet but her gaze was intense into the King's eyes and Rowan felt an unexplained and agonising sense of loss. Then the King in front of Rowan's disbelieving eyes took Tanith's right hand, dropped to one knee and slowly laid his forehead on the back of her hand. Then he looked up to her eyes and murmured some words in a language which Rowan recognised as ancient Persian. Tanith responded with the same words and placed her forehead on his right hand. Suddenly the King rose to his feet and gave a great shout of joy. He was prone to strange outbursts so Rowan was not too startled, but he dared not question what had just happened.
“Now, to business!” The King spoke Greek now and Rowan knew that meant that there were points to be noted and business-like transactions. More esoteric talk was the field of Arabic.
“The mysterious ways ....” he began to pace in an excess of energy, his eyes blazing with excitement. Abruptly he faced Rowan, “I have a very important mission for you: for both of you. I will explain later ... I will send for you tonight ... no, tell Portia to make that fish dish of hers and I will come to see you on my own. In the meantime make ready for a voyage to Narbonne. Misha, there is a large galley in the port captained by a man I know called Mustaq. Show him my ring and tell him to prepare to sail tomorrow morning. Two passengers leaving and three returning. Make sure he has everything he needs for the voyage. He has his own crew but take twenty Guards with you to the harbour - we do not know if there are more Assassins here. Tell the guards you are inspecting the ship. I want no-one - not even Portia - to know where you are going. Fraulein - please stay for a few minutes.”
He smiled at Michael who knew he had been dismissed. The sting was allayed by the memory of his boyhood name, Misha. They has grown up together in Michael's uncle Antonio's household in Palermo, fellow orphans. His uncle was often away on trading voyages so their everyday parents had been the household servants. His uncle was a shrewd and somewhat flamboyant man who had never married but who had a woman in every port in the Mediterranean.
There had been only an outside chance that the young Frederick would inherit the throne and the patronage of Pope Innocent has been in word only, which did not clothe and feed an energetic boy. Perhaps it had been a shrewd move to care for Frederick but they both knew that Antonio had a generous heart and had treated them both as sons, even when they were caught in imaginative pranks. Frederick was endlessly fascinated by nature and they used to escape classes with their tutor to climb the hot hills above the town, turning over rocks and delving into streams. They had discovered the joys of language early. In their own household they heard several dialects of Greek from domestic workers, Sicilian dialects all around them, Norman French in many of their friends houses, Arabic and Latin from tutors. Between each other they often used their own slang composed of the choicest words from all of these languages.
Michael had reached the door while musing about this, when he thought he should ask what to do about his legal cases so he turned around to speak but the words died on his lips. Tanith and the King were standing very close, holding their right hands clasped at the chest and they appeared to be about to kiss but they did not move closer. In the instant that he stood immobile Michael realised that they were breathing each other's air. There was a look of bliss and intense happiness on their faces and as he gazed they seemed to shimmer with white light. Knowing that they were oblivious of him and all else he closed the door quietly behind him and gestured to a guard. He was one of the King's personal guards, a Muslim warrior, renowned for his battle skills. Rowan gave him the signal that nobody was to enter the room and then he left to find the ship in the harbour. On the way he sent a messenger to the courts to authorise his understudy, a brilliant Jewish student, to preside until he was back. He grinned to think of the reactions of some of the wealthy merchants.
