"Your offer is generous, my friend," the leader of the group told me, "but we have no money with which to repay your kindness."
"We have come to the city to make our fortune," another said-a young man with a dark feather-wisp smudge of moustache. The head man gave him a disapproving look which he blithely ignored, and announced: "We are the best potters in all Nicea."
"Have you travelled far?" I asked.
"Not as far as you, by the look of it," answered the leader dourly.
"We have been some time in the east," I volunteered. "Is this road always so crowded?"
"You must be the only men in all Byzantium who do not know what has happened," the chief potter said, regarding us dubiously.
"The basileus is dead!" the young man informed me with undisguised pleasure.
"Truly?" I asked, trying to sound suitably amazed.
Dugal joined in, saying, "When did this happen?" His Greek was not good, and the men stared at him before answering.
"Six days ago," said another potter, unable to resist any longer. Indicating the sack on the ground between his feet, he said, "We have made funeral bowls which we will sell in the markets here." So saying, the man untied the mouth of the bag, reached in and grabbed what appeared to be a handful of straw. From the straw, he withdrew a pale blue and white bowl, finely made, if somewhat small and shallow. He offered me the bowl to examine, and I saw the inside had been decorated with an image of a man wearing a crown and holding a spear in one hand and a cross in the other. Below the man, who appeared to be standing atop one of the city's domes, was the word Basil.
"It is very handsome," I said, passing it to Brynach for his appreciative appraisal.
"City people will pay very much for this fine work," he said proudly. "And we have made three hundred of these bowls to sell."
"The emperor's funeral," I mused, steering the conversation back onto course, "is it to be soon?"
"Why, it is tomorrow," replied the leader. Then leaning close, he confided the secret of their hoped-for success: "We are going to sell our bowls outside the Hagia Sophia." Taking the bowl from Dugal, he put his finger on the image of the dome and gave me a conspiratorial wink. "We know where the funeral procession will pass."
"I wish you well," I said. "It seems we have chosen a poor time to come to the city."
"A poor time," agreed one of the potters, "if you hoped to sup with the emperor!" Everyone laughed at this outrageous suggestion. "But maybe not so bad if you have something to sell."
"Especially," continued the second potter, "if you stay long enough to welcome the new emperor." So saying, he withdrew another bowl, the same as the first in every detail-the same man with spear and cross standing atop the same dome-save for the inscription which read, Leo. "We have made three hundred of these also."
"You have sown your seed with admirable fore-thought," Brynach said. "I wish you a bountiful harvest." He paused and asked, "Is it known how the emperor died?"
"They are saying it was a hunting accident," the chief potter confided with a gossip's enthusiasm. "It happened at the summer palace at Apamea."
"A stag pulled him from his horse and gored him," added the youth helpfully. "They say the emperor was dragged twenty miles before they could get him free of the beast."
"That is not certain, Issacius," cautioned his elder. "It is a sin to repeat rumours."
"The emperor's guards were with him and they saw everything that happened," continued the youth, his zeal unabated.
"No one saw what happened," asserted one of the other potters. "I heard the basileus had ridden ahead, and no one knew anything was wrong until they saw his horse running away. That is why the Farghanese were too far away to help."
"They gave chase and cornered the stag," continued the second potter with a dark look at the youth. "One of the bodyguard had to cut the emperor's belt to free him from the stag's antlers."
"Yes, but the beast escaped into the forest." The youth paused to enjoy the effect of his next announcement. "It took the emperor nine days to die."
"Nothing good comes of repeating rumours," the chief potter scolded. To us he said, "The truth is that we have heard many things. Some say one thing, and some say another, and they cannot all be right. I think no one really knows what happened. Therefore, it is perhaps best to say as little as possible."
"A wise course," I agreed. We talked about the possible funeral preparations and the various imperial ceremonies, and when I judged we had learned what we could from the potters, I bade them farewell.
Leaving the enforced procession, we made our way back to the ships. Dugal led the way, and I followed, heedless of the muck and stink, mindful only of the scheme taking shape in my mind.
70
Your plan possesses the elegance of simplicity," observed Lord Sadiq approvingly when I told him. "A proper splendour will make it irresistible."
Accordingly, the amir chose a villa on the Golden Horn, a magnificent house-even larger than that of Governor Honorius' in Trebizond-with dozens of rooms on two floors, and a central courtyard which boasted a fountain. Even by Constantinopolitan standards it was an opulent, if not ostentatious, abode. The amir explained, "Only the most alluring bait silences the shriek of the trap."
"Lord Sadiq, you are the bait in this trap," I reminded him.
We took residence and, under cover of darkness, spirited thirty Sea Wolves and three Armenian pirates into the house. The next morning we sent Faysal and all eight of the rafiq, arrayed in fine new clothes, to the imperial palace to place Lord Sadiq's petition before the Imperial Prefect, requesting an audience with the new emperor.
"There was no mistake," Faysal said upon his return. "The fellow knew the house well. He told me many foreign emissaries make use of it while staying in the city."
"And he said he would send someone to interview the amir?" I asked. Faysal nodded. "When?"
"Tomorrow, or the next day," Faysal replied. "The prefect was quite upset that we have arrived unannounced. But I explained that, owing to the emperor's untimely death, we were unable to make our presence known until now."
"And he believed you?"
Faysal smiled. "I gave him no reason to believe otherwise."
"What of the soldier?" wondered Sadiq. "Did you have any difficulty locating him?"
"None whatever, lord," Faysal answered. "All was as Aidan said it would be. I spoke with the man-"
"Did anyone see you?" I interrupted.
"It is difficult to say," Faysal said. "But I took pains to be as discreet as possible."
"Will he help us?"
"He said we could trust him to take whatever actions necessary to see justice accomplished."
"Then it is in Allah's hands," Sadiq observed.
The trap was set. That Nikos, now bearing dead Nicephorus' title must come to pay a visit to the amir, I doubted not at all. Visiting foreign dignitaries had long been part of his court function, after all, allowing him to remain close to the throne. Also, no one knew better than Nikos himself what had been done to destroy the peace treaty between Byzantium and the Sarazens. He could not risk having that treaty come to life again at such an inappropriate moment.