reason.’
‘And he’s rescued our hopes. If he hadn’t led Walter into the swamp, the wretch would never have told us where he’d hidden the gospel.’
‘We still have to get our hands on it. If Suleyman sends everyone to Konya, we might not get a chance to return to the tower.’
‘I think fortune will find us a way.’
Vallon laughed. ‘It scares me how much we’ve been sucking from that teat. It can’t be long before it runs dry.’
Wind gusted into the tent. Chinua marched in with Faruq and six soldiers. ‘His Excellency commands your presence.’ Faruq clapped his hands. ‘At once.’
Vallon put down his bread, wiped his hands and pulled on his boots. He and Hero walked to the entrance and went out into the turbulent night.
Suleyman paced up and down the throne room in his armour, his commanders trotting behind, a scribe taking notes. The Emir stopped when Vallon entered and waved his entourage aside. Wayland was already in attendance, standing pale and subdued beside Ibrahim, the gyrfalcon sitting on the hawkmaster’s fist. Vallon squeezed Wayland’s arm. ‘I think it’s going to be all right.’
The Emir hopped up on to his throne. Faruq exchanged a few words with him before facing the company. ‘There is no time for formalities. The pigeon was carrying a message from Persia. The Sultan Alp Arslan is dead — may his glorious deeds be rewarded in Paradise. He died two weeks ago while his army was putting down a rebellion on the Oxus river. A prisoner drew a knife and delivered a mortal wound. That’s all we know.’
Suleyman rocked on his throne, thumping his mace in glee. Faruq forced a smile.
‘The pigeon belonged to the Emir Temur.’
Vallon squeezed Wayland’s arm. ‘You’re safe.’
‘I don’t understand what’s-’
‘Nor do I. Listen.’
Faruq was speaking again. ‘Alp Arslan’s empire stretches from the Hindu Kush to the Mediterranean. His son and heir is only thirteen. The succession isn’t settled. While the rival factions in Persia plot and connive, his Excellency means to establish his own sultanate in Rum.’ Faruq raised a hand. ‘All blessings proceed from God, exalted be his name, and since his Excellency perceives the hand of God in today’s events, he has decided to reward the agents of his good fortune.’
Suleyman clicked his fingers. A guard at one of the entrances called down the passage. A servant hurried in carrying a pair of balance scales with one end adapted to some purpose Vallon couldn’t work out. The menial placed the scales on a table. Next to it sat Suleyman’s war helmet, sporting a panache of osprey plumes.
The Emir clicked his fingers again and Ibrahim stepped forward with the gyrfalcon. He set it down on the scales and Vallon realised that one side was a perch.
Suleyman descended from his throne and held out his hand. Another servant passed him a leather pouch. The Emir scooped out a handful of silver coins and dropped them on the empty pan. Two or three bounced out and rolled away. Officers hurried to retrieve them. The wind moaned outside and the walls of the throne room bellied in and out. The Emir grabbed another fistful of silver and grinned.
‘How heavy is the gyrfalcon?’ Vallon said from the corner of his mouth.
‘About five pounds,’ said Wayland.
‘Well, we won’t leave empty-handed.’
Suleyman heaped handfuls of silver on the pan. With a flourish he upended the bag and sprinkled the remaining coins. The beam tilted. The pan containing the silver settled, then rose again. The Emir frowned. He pressed down the scales in favour of the silver and let go, but it was wanting in the balance and settled in favour of the falcon.
Vallon began to rise. ‘His Excellency is more than generous. Please tell him-’
Suleyman waved him back. He looked around with furious intent and his eyes settled on Faruq. He grabbed the official’s hand and removed from it a ring set with a ruby. He held it above the heap of silver.
‘This had better tilt the scales,’ Vallon muttered.
Suleyman dropped the ring on to the pile of silver. The pan wavered and sank. The falcon rose. The spectators applauded and Faruq managed a feeble smile. The Emir held out the bag to Vallon.
‘The silver is yours,’ said Faruq.
Vallon nudged Wayland. ‘You won it. You take it.’
Wayland advanced awkwardly. He picked up a coin, dropped it in the bag and looked back.
‘It’s not a trick,’ said Hero.
Wayland filled the bag until about a handful of silver remained on the pan. He hesitated, gathered up the remainder and presented it to Ibrahim. The hawkmaster embraced him. The audience applauded once more.
Suleyman had resumed his throne. Faruq listened to him, stroking the finger where his ring had been. He faced the company. ‘His Excellency has more blessings to bestow.’
Here comes the catch, thought Vallon.
Faruq walked up to him. ‘His Excellency offers you a position as captain of a hundred in his personal guard. With the title comes land and a property in Konya. A band of trumpeters will proclaim your rank outside your gate each sunset.’
Hero sidled closer. ‘Accept the position if that’s what you want. Don’t worry about me.’
‘What about the gospel?’ Vallon bowed to the Emir. ‘His Excellency does me more honour than I deserve. Convey my humble gratitude and tell him that I’ve pledged my services to Byzantium.’
The Seljuks murmured and shook their heads. The Emir pinched his nostrils. He tugged at his moustache. Faruq approached Hero.
‘His Excellency esteems all branches of learning. He invites you to choose a position in his household as scribe, translator or physician. He intends to establish a hospital in Konya and would like you to work in it.’
Hero glanced at Vallon in panic. ‘How am I supposed to answer?’
‘Truthfully. If you want the position, say so.’
Hero plucked at his throat. ‘His Excellency has formed an inflated impression of my medical expertise. I’m only a student, with years of study ahead before I qualify. When I do, I look forward to returning to Rum and sharing what skills I’ve mastered with his Excellency’s physicians.’
More disapproving whispers from the Seljuks. The Emir settled in a malign slouch. He said something and Faruq addressed himself to Wayland.
‘The Emir’s offering you a position as assistant keeper of his falcons,’ Hero said.
‘I don’t know. I need time to think. I have to talk with Syth.’
Hero glanced at Suleyman. ‘In his world, men make the decisions. He expects an answer now.’
Vallon smiled at Faruq. ‘Allow us a few moments to consider.’ He turned Wayland aside. ‘Do you have any plans for when we reach Constantinople?’
‘No. I don’t want to live in the city.’
‘Quarter of the silver is yours. Enough to set yourself up as a farmer.’
‘I don’t want to work the soil.’
‘You could return to England.’
‘I can’t travel while Syth’s pregnant.’
‘Then I suggest that you consider the Emir’s offer seriously. You know what sort of establishment he runs. You’ve seen how cruel he can be when crossed; but having come so close to death at his hands, I don’t think you’ll make that mistake again.’
Wayland looked at Ibrahim. The hawkmaster smiled encouragingly.
‘I wouldn’t accept if it meant leaving Syth.’
‘It won’t.’
‘Will I have to convert to Islam?’
‘The Emir won’t insist on it. He employs Jews and Christians in his entourage.’
Wayland took a breath, looked at the gently smiling Ibrahim. ‘Tell him I accept.’
The Seljuks gave a smattering of applause. Vallon patted Wayland’s arm. ‘I think you’ve made the right
