In turn, he was gorgeously appointed in blue and green linen with a silk scarf draped around his neck. His shoes were jeweled and curled up at the pointed tips. The afternoon had been spent carefully waxing his beard and sharpening the points of his mustaches. Now he cut a dashing figure, one that was completely in place, and thus invisible, in the palace of the King of Kings. Far more demure in her dark cloak and robe, Thyatis was also invisible, though her nerves had been on edge since their carriage had been admitted to the grounds of the stupendous palace. The servant whb was escorting them paused before a tall doorway with a pointed arch. He bowed to the two guards, massively built black men in leather and iron, and whispered to them.
The guardsmen, somber in a dull red and black, returned the bow and opened the door behind them. Soft music drifted out and Thyatis forced herself to remain behind
Jusuf as he bowed to the room and entered in stately fashion. The servant sidled up to the Bulgar and Jusuf bent his head to listen. A bag of heavy coins was pressed into the eunuch’s hand and the plump little man bowed again before closing the doors behind him as he left the room.
Thyatis balanced forward on the balls of her feet. Raw boldness had gotten them this far, and the last of their gold had bought entrance to this room, but now she fretted at the prospect of Jusuf carrying off the last of his little stratagem.
Three days before, sitting on the mud-brick wall of a second-rate caravanserai on the outskirts of the sprawling Persian capital, Thyatis had frowned at the taciturn Northerner.
“My friend,” she had said, “do not take it wrongly, but as a matter of course, you are a gloomy fellow. You are brave and quick with a sword or bow-true-but you do not, as a rule, have a sunny disposition. In fact, you have the demeanor of a lemon.”
Jusuf, grinning smugly, had remained before her, brown arms crossed over his broad chest. He was grinning particularly at Nikos, who was eyeing him with his usual distaste.
“Well?” Jusuf said. “Here we are, but there are no Armenians to raise up in revolt. Any good we might do to help the Emperors must come from being properly placed in the city when, at last, their armies come before the gates.”,
The Bulgar turned and pointed off across the roofs of the city. Thousands of whitewashed mud-brick buildings rose up on a low hill at the edge of the Tigris. Above the tenements, on a great raised platform of brick terraces, stood the palace of the King of Kings. Actually, one of three palaces. This one shone in the hot sun like a beacon, its roofs plated with gold and the delicate architecture of its towers and dome a sharp contrast to the crowed narrow streets and dark bazaars of the city.
“What better place to be, when that day comes, than within the Palace of Swans?”
Nikos coughed and made a face at the barbarian. “Thyatis has an unusual fondness for underground places, friend Jusuf, but it does not seem likely to me that the sewers of the Imperial Palace are going to be unguarded. How do you propose getting into the palace, much less at the proper time?”
Jusuf rocked from one foot to the other. His grin, if anything, grew wider. “Because, my good Roman friends, I know someone in the palace. Someone important.”
The disbelief on Thyatis’ face must have been obvious, for the Bulgar snickered.
“Who?” She did not believe it. There was no way this steppe-rider had a contact in the second biggest city in the world, or within the palace of an Emperor.
“You’ll see,” Jusuf said, still smiling that big grin. “How much gold do you have left?”
The round chamber was softly lit by tall lanterns of copper and amethyst. Deliciously thick carpets covered the floor and spilled through the doorways. No bare wall was visible, save at the edges of the doorways, for heavy tapestries and hangings covered them. Brass chains hanging from the ceiling held more lanterns and the air was touched by the sweet smell of incense. Somewhere, through one of the doorways, a lyre played, a haunting sound pitched low enough to permit quiet conversation.
Jusuf stopped and stood waiting, the richness and subtlety of the furnishings making him seem garish and clumsy in his costume. Thyatis counted doors-three-and eyed the rooms beyond. If anything, they were more gorgeously appointed than this entryway. A severe-looking dark-haired woman dressed in dull gray entered through the doorway on the left. Amid the soft luxury of the rooms, the matron’s harsh figure was a shock. She frowned, her face clouding with anger when she saw them.
“You must leave,” she said in a clipped voice. “My mistress is not entertaining visitors at this hour.” Her voice, though thickened by anger, was naturally melodious and her Persian flawless.
Jusuf bowed, his hands at the sides of his thighs.
“Please, my lady,” he said in his best Persian, his voice quietly sincere. “I come from the north and have urgent news for the Lady Shirin. I beg you, let me speak with her. My news is for her ears alone.” -
The woman paused, halting an incipient tirade. Her head cocked to one side. Coupled with the pile of deep black hair pinned up on her head, she reminded Thyatis of a raven eyeing a shining stone. Her eyes narrowed and she nodded. “Very well. I will convey your message and see if the lady will receive you. Wait here.”
When the matron had gone, Thyatis whispered: “What news, O mysterious one?”
“You’ll see,” Jusuf answered, still smiling.
A moment later the matron returned, a trace of puzzlement on her face. She stood in the doorway and motioned them to enter. Once they were past, she drew closed a curtain behind them. Thyatis listened, but could hear no footsteps on the thick carpets.
“Most gracious lady,” Jusuf said, bowing deeply, “we are honored by your hospitality.”
Thyatis bowed as well, her eyes canvassing the room. The lyre music had stopped.
Half the chamber was walled with glass doors open to a garden of lush flowers and a sward of short-cropped grass. Paper lanterns hung in the trees, and their light reflected from an ornamental pool set among mossy stones. The delicate placement of the flowers, bushes, and rocks made Thyatis’ eyes widen. The gardens around the house of the Duchess seemed poor and ill-made in comparison. This room, these chambers, the garden, all seemed to shimmer with a luxury she had never realized existed. It struck Thyatis that the lanterns, the carpets, the couches, even the gob let of wine on the side table were all the finest that could possibly be acquired.
The woman who had risen, sylphlike, from a pool of warm light and linen pillows matched the room and made it complete. She was of medium height, though her slim-ness made her seem taller. Gorgeous brown eyes dominated a face of perfect curves and planes. Sleek upswept eyebrows and long lashes framed them. She smiled, her graceful dark lips suggesting laughter and merriment. Wavy dark-brown hair with russet highlights cascaded over smooth olive shoulders and down her back. A rich red gown with a scoop neckline that accentuated her full breasts clung to her body. Thyatis felt a bright spark of jealousy flare in her heart, but then it faded. The woman who returned Jusuf’s bow, laughing, her eyes sparkling with joy, could not be hated or reviled, only adored.
“Uncle!” She laughed, her voice husky. “I never thought to see you here, or in such a costume!” She looked upon Jusuf in amazement, and he turned slowly, arms outstretched, showing off his robes. “What could possibly have overcome you to don such frippery?”
Jusuf bowed again, beaming. “I could not come to see my favorite niece without dressing for the occasion! Besides, they would not let me into the palace dressed like a ragamuffin.”
A, slim-fingered brown hand covered the lady’s face as she tried to stifle a laugh. She failed, but then her eyebrows rose in surprise, taking in Thyatis for the first time. The woman stepped past Jusuf and made a graceful bow to the Roman woman, a single lock of her long wavy hair falling in front of her face.