Ottoman Read online

  “Anthony!” Alexius called out, and Anthony Hawkwood turned his head, halting as he saw Anna Notaras panting at her brother’s side.

  “We are the losers,” Alexius said, “so will you not drown your sorrows with us?”

  “Why…it would be a pleasure,” Anthony agreed. Like all his family, he had learned fluent Greek since taking up residence in the city.

  He smiled shyly at the girl. Anna Notaras was sixteen, tall for her age but very slender. Her features were as aquiline as those of her brothers, but softened into attractive contours; her chief beauty came from her eyes, huge and black and luminous. Her hair, as midnight dark as her eyes, was gathered in an enormous chignon, exposing the whiteness of her neck; above it rose a gold-coloured hennin. This was kept in place by a wide black band over her forehead and down to her shoulders, and matched the black girdle around the waist of her pale pink silk gown. On her right shoulder she wore a green rosette.

  She was quite the loveliest thing Anthony had ever seen, as he thought every time he saw her.

  He had raised his grey felt hat. He, too, was dressed in the height of fashion, in a brown and gold patterned jacket which ended at his thighs; his hose was grey, so snug-fitting as to outline at once buttocks and crotch — no woman in Constantinople could have any doubt about the endowments of the man she fancied, save that there were rascals who used outsize codpieces to disguise their shortcomings.

  Anthony Hawkwood never wore a codpiece. But he, too, wore a green rosette.

  “And you, William?” Alexius invited.

  “You’ll forgive me, sir, but I have things to do.”

  “Work, always work,” Alexius smiled. “But you’ll permit the lady Catherine to join us — in your brother’s care.”

  William hesitated and glanced at his parents, who had stopped to overhear the conversation.

  “We shall not be an hour,” Anthony promised them. “And you are attending the Emperor’s reception.”

  It sounded less a reminder than an accusation.

  John Hawkwood looked at his wife. Mary’s face was tight with disapproval, but she would not contest his prerogative as a father in public. Then he looked at his daughter, who returned his gaze. She allowed no change of expression, but it was clear she wished to accept the invitation. Her eyes were still dancing with the excitement of the race.

  He felt a sudden spasm of apprehension clutch at his heart, but he would not risk a scene before the Notaras brothers.

  “Be sure it is no longer than an hour,” John Hawkwood said at last. “And stay well away from any brawls.”

  “Of course, Your Excellency,” Alexius promised, making a leg and doffing his cap to Mary. “An hour, and they shall be returned safe to your house. You have my word.”

  He seized Anthony’s arm. “We shall hide ourselves in my father’s palace.”

  “Will he not object?”

  “He is also attending the reception at the Imperial Palace — but why should my father object to your presence in our home? Are you not in Constantinople to defend us?”

  Anthony was never certain how to take Alexius Notaras. Was he poking fun or paying a genuine compliment? But it would certainly be churlish to take offence at this moment, and besides he was being promised an hour in the company of the lovely Anna.

  That a girl at once so beautiful and so well-born could ever smile upon such as him remained a source of total amazement. It had begun two years earlier, at the Emperor’s coronation — the first time Anthony had ever entered the Cathedral, to gaze in wonder at the marble-faced walls into which were set magnificent mosaics, at the huge windowed vault of the roof, the private chapels, the gold embossed pulpit, the immense golden statue of the Virgin, the even more resplendent statue of Christ, the tall-hatted, black-robed priests…and then at a girl standing quite close to him. Anna had been only fourteen years old, yet already she was, to his eyes, the most beautiful object of all in that mighty church. And she had smiled at him then, too.

  Over the following two years they had exchanged further smiles and glances at the balls, regattas and fiestas that made up so great a part of Byzantine life. Exchanging words was a recent step, occurring only since Basil’s so obvious infatuation with Catherine had led him to make advances to the Hawkwood family.

  Anthony was not sure what Catherine really felt about Basil Notaras. He and his sister remained the closest of confidantes, and he shared her delight in the flowing febrile life of Constantinople, so different to their memories of England…but on the subject of the young man, she had withdrawn into herself. She was undoubtedly very fond of his attentions, his continuous compliments, however, and she clearly found him attractive as a man, but she must be well aware that any ideas of a match would be frowned upon by both sets of parents.

  But Anthony had no doubts as to what he himself wanted. And being masculine and totally confident, he desired nothing less.

  Allowing his sister to be escorted by the two young noblemen, he dropped behind to walk beside Anna.

  “I am sad when we lose,” she said seriously. She was a true Byzantine from the top of her tall hat to the tip of the shapely little toes protruding from her sandals: the hippodrome was the most important thing in life for her.

  “We shall win another day,” Anthony promised.

  “Another day is not good enough,” she reproved him. “And to think of those awful Blues lording it over us…”

  As if she had given a cue, they heard the approaching chant: “Blue, Blue, Blue-Blue-Blue-Blue!”

  “Quickly,” Alexius called. “Down this alley.”

  Individuals might be afraid to cross swords with the sons of Lukas Notaras, but an excited mob was a different matter, and the five young people were still wearing their Green colours.

  The brothers had already hurried Catherine towards safety; and Anthony felt emboldened to grasp Anna’s arm to follow. It was the first time he had ever touched her, and felt shivers running up and down his spine. But before they could disappear into the gloom of the alley, there rose a shout.

  “Greens! Stone the scum!”

  Pebbles flew through the air, one striking Anna on the shoulder. She gave a little shriek, and appeared to faint into Anthony’s arms. He was totally confused by this, uncertain whether to lift her on to his shoulder, which was unthinkable — or indeed what to do.

  The mob was now upon them, some twenty youths wearing the Blue colours.

  “A girl,” they hooted. “We’ll paint her tits for her. We’ll paint her blue.”

  “To me!” Anthony bawled desperately. “To me!”

  But Alexius and Basil seemed to be out of earshot.

  There was nothing else for it — and an alleyway in Constantinople was not very different from an alleyway in Naples. Anthony drew his sword and presented it to them. Though he dressed in the height of local fashion, he had refused to succumb to Byzantine custom in the manner of weapons, and this was his trusty broadsword. No matter that it would need two hands to swing properly, it yet gave the hooting mob pause for thought. But as he slowly retreated into the narrow alleyway, conscious of Anna weighing on his left arm, her scent clouding into his nostrils, he felt her stir.

  “Anna,” he said urgently. “Anna!”

  She straightened, and seemed to realise where she was. His arm was around her waist, encompassing a great deal of unsuspected softness and she hastily stepped away from him. “My God!” she muttered.

  “Make off,” he urged her. “See if you can find your brothers, but make off.”

  “Her tits!” the youths howled. “We’ll paint them blue. And her arse.”

  “Hurry,” Anthony begged.

  She fled.

  “She’s getting away.” the mob hooted.

  They surged forward, but Anthony now had both hands round the hilt of his sword, and he advanced towards them. They checked as he swung the great weapon, left and then right, performing the perfect figure-of-eight his father had taught him and which would mow down
any living creature in front of him.

  The mob hastily retired. Several had drawn their own small swords, but there was no possibility of getting close enough to use one without having his head cut from his shoulders. They retreated further.

  Anthony completed their discomfiture by another advance. As long as he remained within the narrow alley — barely four feet wide — they could not surround him; indeed could only come at him two at a time.

  They began hurling stones again, but half-heartedly now; they had sought a bit of fun, not a genuine set-to. And their prey had clearly made good her escape. Anthony retreated once more into the alley, and this time the mob did not attempt to follow. But he kept his sword at the ready until he had reached the other end, emerging into a broader but empty thoroughfare.

  He looked left and right, but could see neither his sister nor his friends.

  “Anthony! Hsst!”

  He spun round and spotted Anna standing in the shadow of a wall. “Thank God, you are safe.”

  “I knew I would be safe with you.” She trembled.

  He put a comforting arm round her shoulders; it seemed the most natural thing to do. “Where are your brothers?”

  “I haven’t seen them.”

  Catherine left alone with the two Notaras brothers, when he had been detailed to chaperon her? Of all the misfortunes to occur, when he was so suddenly and strangely alone with the girl of his dreams.

  She seemed to understand his anxiety. “My father’s palace is in the next street,” she said breathlessly. They will have retired there.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “We must hurry.”

  She held his hand and led him on, while he gratefully sheathed his sword.

  “Such a weapon,” she remarked enigmatically.

  At the portico of the Grand Duke’s palace there were always two armed guards on duty.

  “Have you seen my brothers?” she asked them.

  “No, my lady,” they answered without hesitation, staring at Anthony curiously.

  “Master Hawkwood has saved me from violence at the hands of the Blues,” she explained. Still clutching Anthony’s hand, she drew him into the portico itself. Its roof rose a full thirty feet above his head, supported by splendidly carved stone pillars.

  Inside the building, he blinked at the richness of the drapes and furnishings, the marvellous polish of the floors, the obsequiousness of the servants who bowed to their young mistress. Though John Hawkwood’s house was, by courtesy, referred to as a palace, this indeed was a palace.

  Suddenly he inhaled a scent which was all too familiar. Catherine had been in this hall, and very recently.

  Which meant she was still inside the palace.

  “Master Hawkwood and I will have sherbet,” Anna commanded, and the servants hurried off, save for one senior man, who continued to stare at Anthony. He was an elderly fellow, with grim features and a discerning eye; his tunic was rich enough in gold braid to indicate some authority in the Notaras household.

  “Anna,” Anthony said, “those guards outside were lying. I know my sister is here. I must find her immediately.”

  Anna frowned and turned to, the major-domo.

  “Have my brothers returned yet, Michael?”

  “No, my lady.”

  “Are you sure of that?”

  “Of course, my lady.”

  “Ah! But they told us to meet them here,” Anna said. “Come, Anthony, you must be mistaken. We will await them on the terrace.”

  “She is here,” Anthony insisted. “This fellow is but obeying someone’s orders. Anna, I will see Catherine now.”

  “Are you accusing him of lying?” Anna demanded, her eyes suddenly cold. “My father’s steward? Why…” She gazed open-mouthed at the staircase, down which Alexius Notaras was at that moment descending.

  “I heard your voices,” he said. “You had no trouble with the mob, I trust.”

  “No thanks to you,” Anthony snapped. He was now as angry as he was alarmed. “Where is my sister?”

  “My brother is showing her round our house,” Alexius said.

  Anthony knew he must not quarrel if he could avoid it. “Then I also would like to see the house,” he said. “Will you take me to them?”

  “Why, I will not,” Alexius declared. “I thank you for returning my sister to us, but now you had best take yourself off.”

  “But Catherine?” Anthony demanded. “She must come with me.”

  “We will escort her home when she is ready to return.”

  “Do you suppose I can permit that?” Anthony’s anger at last overcame his caution as his imagination roamed over what might be possibly happening upstairs to his sister, his darling Catherine. “You are a wretch, Alexius. Aye, you and your knavish brother. I will have my sister brought to me now, and if she has been harmed…”

  “By God, but you go too far, you Azymite scoundrel. Steward! Have this fellow thrown out.”

  The major-domo immediately clapped his hands.

  Anna had watched the exchange in open-mouthed consternation. “Do not be hard on him, Alexius,” she begged. “He saved me from the mob.”

  “Then let him play the gentleman and withdraw,” Alexius snapped. “In my opinion he is a most importunate scoundrel.”

  Men armed with staves hurried into the hall — just as a servant carrying a tray of sherbet also appeared, and stopped to stare at the scene before him.

  Without further consideration Anthony drew his sword, as he had done once before in defence of Catherine’s honour.

  “Strike him down!” Alexius shouted. “He means mischief.”

  “Stop him!” Anna screamed, her earlier gratitude changing into alarm. “He will kill us all.”

  “I will have my sister,” Anthony yelled, and ran at Alexius, who promptly leapt behind his major-domo. Anthony ignored him and headed for the stairs. “Catherine!” he shouted. “Catherine, come to me!”

  He took a few steps upwards, then checked. The landing above him had filled with women. Most of them were domestics, but they were dominated by Catherine, standing among them.

  Basil Notaras was nowhere to be seen, but he could not be far away.

  Catherine had removed her hennin, and her cotehardie was in disarray. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkling, although at this moment with disapproval.

  “Anthony!” she called down. “You are causing a brawl. Please allow me to manage my own affairs.”

  He gasped in disbelief. “You…”

  “Anthony!” she screamed. “Look to yourself.”

  He heard a movement behind him, and hastily turned, but too late. There was a blinding flash before his eyes and he lost consciousness.

  Moments later he came to his senses, stretched out on the marble floor with men and women all around him.

  “Is he hurt?” his sister was asking anxiously.

  “A thick-headed papist? We have not broken his skull.”

  “He deserves to have been killed,” Anna said, her voice shrill. “He attacked my brother.”

  “Aye,” Alexius said.

  “I pray you, do not harm him,” Catherine begged. “He behaved as no more than a brother would.”

  “And a hero.” Alexius sneered. “Go upstairs, all of you. I will not harm him. You have my word.”

  Catherine hesitated, then hurried up the stairs.

  Anna followed.

  Alexius glared down at Anthony. “A hero,” he scoffed.

  “What is to be done with him, sir?” the steward Michael asked.

  “Take him out on to the street,” Notaras said, “and there beat him until he cannot walk. Then throw him into the gutter. And” — he flung out his hand to point at the broadsword — “break that into four pieces.”

  *

  John Hawkwood stared at his younger son in consternation.

  The elder Hawkwoods had earlier returned from the Emperor’s reception to find William in a state of some alarm; Catherine and Anthony had now been absent for thr
ee hours.

  “There is considerable rioting in the streets,” John commented. “Your mother and I were nearly set upon.”

  “My God, if Catherine has become involved in a brawl…” Mary’s voice was tight with concern.

  “She had three young men with her,” John growled. And then they all heard the stumbling steps in the entrance hall.

  Anthony’s fine clothes were torn, he moved groggily, there was blood on his face, and he was without his sword.

  Mary screamed, rushing to him.

  William assisted his brother to a seat. “What happened?”

  Anthony shook his head in misery.

  “Where’s your sister?” John Hawkwood demanded.

  Anthony sighed. “She went…she went off with Basil and Alexius Notaras. It was because of the mob, you see. And then…at the Notaras’ Palace…” His voice tailed away.

  “Tell me what happened. Straight now, boy!”

  Anthony obliged him — but he did not dare tell them that Catherine had wanted to stay there, had even allowed him, her own brother, to be beaten by servants. He did not suppose he would ever be able to comprehend that. He felt as if she had trodden on his very heart. But it would have to remain their personal secret, or he would never be able to look his father and mother in the face again.

  His parents and brother listened in silence until he was finished.

  “Those scoundrels,” John growled. “They have had their way with her.”

  “She did not come when her own brother called,” Mary snapped, seizing on Anthony’s lie as the significant part of the tale. “She did not even answer him.”

  “I’ll not condemn her unheard,” John snapped in reply.

  “They broke my sword,” Anthony said in utter despair.

  “Which you had used in the defence of their sister,” William agreed.

  John broke in, “Well, it is done. And you are all but done. Get you to bed, boy.”

  Anthony hesitated, then staggered from the room.