‘Cover me with the bishop?’ he asked Alessandro.

Alessandro nodded. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say there was a woman involved.’

Swan wondered how it was that this foppish Italian could read his mind. ‘No,’ he said, lying.

However, being besotted with Khatun Bengül, whose deep brown-black eyes had occurred in every dream he could remember from the night before, didn’t prevent Swan from leaving the Venetian quarter with all the care his youth had taught him.

First, he no longer had Turkish clothes.

Secondly, he didn’t want his watchers – Yellow Face and Tall Man – to see him at Idris’s palazzo. Once they had followed him there, they would watch the place.

It was early. He was in European clothes, and he took a dagger under his doublet. Then, before the side streets were full of vegetable stalls, he climbed up on the wall that separated the Venetian quarter from the Amalfian quarter, and without too much thought, jumped down inside. He walked across the Amalfian quarter, drew some cautious stares, and duplicated his efforts, jumping on to an awning in the Pisan quarter and receiving a torrent of abuse from a young man with a Florentine accent. He mollified the man by buying an apple.

The Pisans, as he’d noticed a few days before, had a tower by their gate. He climbed the tower – empty at this hour – and looked down into the busy square outside the European quarter.

He didn’t recognise anyone outside the gate.

He passed the Pisan sentry without being challenged, and walked rapidly towards the Hippodrome. He passed the Severan Wall at the first gate and breathed a sigh of relief. The two janissaries at the gate looked at him carefully, but let him go.

East of the wall, he followed the broad main thoroughfare towards the magnificent bulk of Hagia Sophia. He couldn’t see whether he was followed, but the great avenue was packed with early morning traffic to the market north of the Hippodrome, and he slipped from cart to cart, trying to be both invisible and normal. He was the only man on the street in European dress. But he didn’t regret it – he didn’t believe he wore the Turkish dress well enough, and didn’t want to give anyone an excuse to arrest him.

His intention was simple – to use Idris’s morning ride to cover a visit to Bessarion’s palazzo. The groundwork was laid – he had a dagger and a purse with twenty ducats to buy the co-operation of whomever he found on the premises.

And he was going to see Khatun Bengül. He was sure of it. He hoped . . . well, it seemed possible she’d sent the note. Idris, after all, came in person.

A regiment of janissaries was forming on the open ground south of the Hippodrome, as well as sipahis – the elite cavalry of the Ottomans. He was pleased to note that few of the sipahis had a horse as pretty as his mare. He thought of her as his own.

He made his way through the crowd, feeling safer, and walked south around the cathedral and the Patriachate to come on Omar Reis’s palazzo from the east for safety.

He was as cautious as youth and love could make him. But he didn’t see the two faces he dreaded – nor would he have said that he’d spotted any figure, Turkish or Greek, out of place, or two places well separated in time.

The great gate of Omar Reis’s palazzo was shut, but as he approached, he saw the African from the sunrise visit beckon from a postern gate. He walked along the wall, took one last look over his shoulder, and ducked through the iron-studded door.

Something heavy struck his head, and he was . . .

He came to with a soft hand over his mouth.

‘You hit him too hard,’ said a firm voice in Arabic.

‘No, mistress,’ said another voice.

A woman’s hand ran down his shoulder to his arm, and then his chest, which was bare.

‘What a fine slave he will make,’ said Auntie.

Also by Christian Cameron

Catch the next instalment of Tom’s adventure in Tom Swan and the Head of St George, Part Three: Constantinople

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Follow Arimnestos, a slave of Thebes, as he breaks his chains to join one of the greatest conflicts in the history of the world – the epic clash between the Greeks and Persians

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The ultimate historical adventure novel: the life of Alexander the Great in a single, epic volume.

Alexander: God of War

Copyright

An Orion eBook

First published in Great Britain in 2012 by Orion Books

This eBook first published in 2012 by Orion Books

Copyright © Christian Cameron 2012

The moral right of Christian Cameron to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the copyright, designs and patents act 1988.

All characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN: 978 1 4091 2736 9

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