“Ah, Tarik,” whispered Suleiman. “He should not have been so secretive, Ezio. What a terrible way to do a good thing.”
“The weapons have been taken to Cappadocia. We must act immediately. Can you get me there?”
Suleiman snapped out of his reverie. “What-? Get you there? Yes, of course. I will arrange a ship to take you to Mersin-you can travel inland from there.”
They were interrupted by the arrival of Prince Ahmet. Fortunately, he called out to Suleiman in an impatient voice before he arrived, so Ezio had time to withdraw to a corner of the room, where he would be less conspicuous.
Ahmet entered the room and wasted no time at all in coming to the point. “Suleiman, I have been set up and made to look like a traitor! Do you remember Tarik, the Janissary?”
“The man you quarreled with?”
Ahmet showed signs of getting seriously angry. “He has been murdered. It is no secret that he and I were at odds. Now the Janissaries will be quick to accuse me of the crime.”
“This is terrible news, Uncle.”
“It is indeed. When word of this reaches my father, he will banish me from the city!”
Suleiman could not suppress a nervous glance over his uncle’s shoulder at Ezio. Ahmet noticed this and spun round. His manner immediately became more reserved. “Ah. Forgive me, nephew. I was not aware that you had a guest.”
Suleiman hesitated, then said: “This is… Marcello. One of my European advisers in Kefe.”
Ezio bowed low. “Buona sera.”
Ahmet made an impatient gesture. “Marcello, my nephew and I have a private matter to discuss,” he said, sternly.
“Of course. Please excuse me.” Ezio bowed again, even lower, and backed his way to the door, exchanging a quick glance at Suleiman, who, he prayed, would get them out of this. Luckily, the young prince picked up his cue perfectly and said to Ezio in a clipped, official voice:
“You know your orders. As I’ve said, there will be a ship waiting for you when you are ready to leave.”
“Grazie, mio principe,” Ezio replied. He left the room then but lingered just outside it, wishing to hear how the conversation would end. What he heard did not convince him that he was out of the woods at alclass="underline"
“We will track down the perpetrator of this crime, Uncle,” Suleiman was saying. “Have patience.”
Ezio mulled that over. Could matters be that dire? But he didn’t know Suleiman that well. And what was it Yusuf had warned about? Against meddling in Ottoman politics?
His mood was grim as he left the palace. There was one place he needed to be. One place where he could relax-as he badly needed to-and collect his thoughts.
FIFTY
So now we entered on that hidden path, my lord and I, to move once more towards a shining world. We did not care to rest.
We climbed, he going first and I behind, until through some small aperture I saw the lovely things the skies above us bear.
Now we came out, and once more saw the stars.
Ezio had started rereading Dante’s Inferno at Sofia’s suggestion several days earlier. He had read it before, as a student, but never really taken it in, since his mind was preoccupied with other matters in those days, but now it seemed like a revelation. But, having finally finished it, he put the book down with a sigh of pleasure. He looked across at Sofia, her glasses perched on her nose as she sat, head down, glancing from the original map to her reference books, to a notebook she was writing in. He gazed at her as she worked but did not interrupt, so deeply engaged did she seem in the task at hand. Instead, he reached for the book again. Perhaps he should make a start on the Purgatorio.
But just then, Sofia lifted her eyes from her work. She smiled at him.
“Enjoying the poem?”
He smiled back, placed the book on the table by his chair, and rose. “Who were these men he condemned to hell?”
“Political opponents, men who wronged him. Dante Alghieri’s pen cuts deeply, no?”
“Si,” Ezio replied, thoughtfully. “It is a subtle way to seek revenge.”
He didn’t want to return to reality, but the urgency of the journey he soon had to make pressed upon him. Still, there was nothing he could do until he had word from Suleiman. Provided that he could trust the prince. But his thoughts had calmed. How could it profit Suleiman to betray him? He resumed his seat, picked up The Divine Comedy again, and turned to the place where he had left off.
She interrupted him. “Ezio,” she began, hesitantly, “I plan to make a trip to Adrianopolis in a few weeks, to visit a new printing press there.”
Ezio noticed the shy tone of her voice and wondered if she had picked up the softness that had crept into his whenever he spoke to her. Had she realized how great his… affection for her had become? Overcompensating, he was deliberately nonchalant when he replied, “That should be fun.”
She was still diffident. “It is a five- or six-day ride from here, and I will need an escort…”
“Prego?”
She was instantly embarrassed. “I’m sorry. You are a busy man.”
It was his turn to be embarrassed. “Sofia, I would love to accompany you, but my time is running short-”
“That is true for all of us.”
He didn’t know how to respond to that, taking its meaning several ways, and remained silent. He was thinking of the twenty-year age gap between them.
Sofia looked down at the map for a moment, then back up. “Well, I could try to finish this last cipher now, but I need to run an errand before sundown. Can you wait a day?”
“What do you need?”
She looked away and back again. “It’s silly, but… a bouquet of fresh flowers. White tulips, specifically.”
He got up. “I’ll get you the flowers. Nessun problema. ”
“Are you sure?”
“It will be a nice change of pace.”
She smiled warmly. “ Bene! Look-meet me in the park just to the east of Haghia Sofia. We will trade: flowers for… information!”
FIFTY-ONE
The Flower Market was a blaze of color and pleasant scents, and there wasn’t a Janissary in sight. Ezio made his way through it anxiously, as nowhere in all this cornucopia had he yet been able to find any of the flowers he sought.
“You look like a man with money to spend,” said a flower seller, as Ezio approached his stall. “What do need, my friend?”
“I’m looking for tulips. White ones, if you have them.”
The flower seller looked doubtful. “Ah. Tulips. Forgive me, but I am fresh out. Something else, perhaps?”
Ezio shook his head. “It’s not my call, unfortunately.”
The flower seller thought about the problem for a moment, then leaned forward. He spoke confidentially. “OK, just for you, here is my secret. Many of the white tulips I sell, I pick myself near the hippodrome. Not a word of a lie. You go and see for yourself.”
Ezio smiled, took out his wallet, and tipped the flower seller generously. “Grazie.”
Busily, a man in haste, he made his way through the sun-warmed streets to the hippodrome, and, sure enough, in the grass along one side of the racetrack, he found white tulips growing in abundance. Happily, he bent down and, unleashing his hidden-blade, cut as many as he hoped Sofia would want.
FIFTY-TWO
The Imperial Park to the east of Haghia Sofia was laid out in formal gardens, interspersed with verdant lawns dotted with white marble benches and arbors ideal for private meetings, and in one of them he soon found Sofia.
She had laid out a little picnic, and Ezio could see at a glance that it wasn’t local food and drink. She’d managed somehow to organize a lunch that brought together some of the specialties of both their hometowns, so there was moleche and rixoto de go from Venice, and panzanella and salame toscano from Florence. She’d also provided figs from Tuscolo and olives from Piceno, and there was a dish of macaroni and turbot. The wine she’d brought was a Frescobaldi. A wicker hamper stood by the neat white cloth she’d laid.