Read The Emperor Awakes Online
Authors: Alexis Konnaris
He walked along the azalea path down to the summer hut. But hut it was not. It was a magnificent two-storey building with twenty-two rooms, that gave the impression that it was floating on the glorious gardens surrounding it, and it seemed as if it was about to fly away.
He went up the steps leading from the rose garden and entered the mosaic hall of the eleven fountains. He crossed the hall, went under an arch and entered a brightly lit room full of birdsong from the seventy-two nightingales set in cages around the room.
In the middle was a large gilded cage and inside was a man looking surprising clean and healthy and pensive, considering his confined condition. The Sultan treated his hostage with respect.
‘Ah. Inshalla may you live for a hundred years my dear.’
Konstantinos spat in his face through the rails. He would be no-one’s toy. He had to escape and get back to the City that needed him. Or could he possibly do more good by staying there inside the Sultan’s grasp, the lion’s den?
‘If you are going to kill me, do it quickly.’
‘Oh, no. That would be too easy a way out for you. I have plans for you. You are destined for my harem. And you will be a fine addition.’
‘I will rather die than be butchered to become a eunuch.’
‘You misunderstand me. That would be a waste for such a fine specimen of masculinity. No, you will be kept alive for my pleasure. I see many joyful nights ahead for us.’
‘I will kill you.’
‘You are hardly in a position to threaten me. You will be kept chained. Even like that you will be more than capable of giving me great pleasure, perhaps starting from tonight, in preparation for my final assault on your city. Our first night together will be my first gift to you, a great honour. My taking of your city will be my second. The third will be your joy of living in your city as my prisoner.’
And with those final words, the Sultan left.
Edirne (Adrianoupolis), Eastern Thrace
21st May 1453 A.D.
The Sultan’s fascination with the last Emperor did not last long. He was bored with him now. He had served his purpose. He could not afford to take the risk of the Emperor becoming a martyr, his tomb a shrine when discovered, his worship a cult. He had to be disposed of. The Sultan called for his most trusted adviser.
‘Mohammed, our honoured guest has overstayed his welcome. I want him killed and dismembered into as many pieces as possible. And then I want you to send out riders to the four corners of the earth to scatter his parts. Report to me when it’s done.’
‘Yes, your Majesty.’
The adviser bowed and left. The Sultan felt a momentary sadness, but it passed, overrun by his ruthlessness.
There was another man in the shadows who overheard this exchange. To the Sultan’s court he was Beyezit. But his real name was Julian and his loyalty was to his Emperor, not the Sultan. He had to help the Emperor escape. Mohammed, however, had suspected Beyezit for some time now and had him watched.
On the road out of Edirne they were ambushed. Beyezit was killed on the spot. The Emperor, too, was killed and was dismembered. Mohammed supervised the act himself.
But the riders were followed, by an unlikely figure, a Pallanian. He was the one who painstakingly gathered the scattered pieces of the Emperor’s body and took them to the Order of Vlachaernae who arranged for his body to be properly buried in a secret place, away from prying eyes and people. Cappadocia was the ideal place.
Cappadocia, Asia Minor
June 1453 A.D. (After the fall of Constantinople)
A small procession was almost at its final destination: the rugged cave landscape of Cappadocia. Four rode out in front. Another four were following on foot carrying a non-descript chest. Inside it was a body or rather the parts that once formed a body.
Their simple black monastic cloaks belied the vibrant colours decorating their garments underneath. All eight cloaked figures were members of the Order of Vlachernae.
The body they carried had the power to defy and make history. It was the key to the future.
Within weeks they arrived in Cappadocia. The chest carrying the body was buried with the full rites and honours becoming of a member of the Imperial family. But, having sealed the tomb and as they were ready to leave, they were ambushed by a group of Ruinands.
The Vlachernaeans were outnumbered and they all fell, except one that survived, but was left for dead. However, as the Ruinands attempted to break their way through and enter the cave, a blinding light emanated from the sealed entrance and all Ruinands were suddenly on fire, one by one becoming burning embers and then disappearing in little columns of ash.
And then all was dark once more. The awesome power that vanquished them was locked inside the tomb until the day that the chosen one would be allowed to enter undisturbed.
* * *
Elli picked up the story after the missing part that, unbeknownst to her, her brother Iraklios was reading at the same time.
Kostas Vendis paused at the gate. He had no doubt in his mind that Antonios would dismiss his plan off hand, without giving it due consideration. It was risky and it could cost them everything, even their lives. But it was a risk worth taking: all or nothing.
How could a risk-taker like Antonios resist such a prospect, such odds? He knew he had a damn good chance to persuade him and the others. And he would also benefit out of that plan of course.
Kostas composed himself, put on his inscrutable mask and went through the gate. He climbed the steps to the front entrance and knocked gently on the door.
He had hardly pulled back his hand when the door opened, as if by itself. He tried to hide his surprise, but Mrs Manto was standing before him, filling his whole field of vision, and she would not be fooled.
‘My dear Kostas. You look as if you’ve seen a ghost. I can’t have changed that much since you last saw me. I assure you I do not have a sixth sense. I just happened to be passing by the hall on my way to the library. But let’s not stand here on the doorstep. Come in, come in. Mr Antonios is in the garden with young Nikitas. They should be back inside any moment now. You can wait for them in the library.’
Kostas was anxious to see Antonios and was about to decline the invitation when he realised that it was an order wrapped as an invitation. He realised Antonios wanted a private moment alone with Nikitas and decided to obey Mrs Manto’s thinly veiled order. Mrs Manto was watching him. She caught the momentary doubt in his face and raised an eyebrow.
‘Mrs Manto. It’s a pleasure to see you again. I would be happy to wait for them in the library.’
‘For a moment there I thought you looked torn between an invitation to hell or paradise.’
Kostas laughed, embarrassed to have been caught out and came clean.
‘I was disappointed. The garden seemed a much better prospect on such a hot day.’
Mrs Manto lost no time in taking him into her arms and squeezing him tight. Kostas squeezed back and planted a kiss on each cheek. You could not but be swept into Mrs Manto’s strong maternal embrace. She was after all their de-facto mother.
He could not start to imagine what she had seen in her lifetime. Officially she was supposed to be fifty-six years old. However, he knew that she was much older than that even though she did not look it. Unlike Antonios Symitzis, she was not a fully-fledged member of the Order of Vlachernae, but an honorary one, and still bound by the vow to protect the Order’s ancient secrets.
Kostas heard voices coming from the back of the house. He saw Antonios and Nikitas entering the hall and let go of Mrs Manto. Deciding to humour Antonios, he stood at attention with his nose on its way to touch the ceiling and saluted. Antonios smiled and played along.
‘Aha, caught red-handed. So you are the object of Mrs Manto’s desires, the accomplice in this clandestine affair. I’ve been patiently waiting for her to come clean for far too long, but to no avail. I would not dare to interfere in her life, of course, but I did wonder who she had been sneaking out to meet for weeks.’
Kostas laughed and rushed to greet Antonios.
Antonios held both Kostas’ hands in his and then hugged him. He feigned anger but there was a twinkle in his eye.
‘It’s hard to let her go, isn’t it? Join the club. One hug and you are hooked and comforted, recovered and restored.’
‘My friend, I could not agree more.’
Antonios became serious and there was urgency in his voice.
‘Now let us go inside. We have much to discuss.’
They had hardly sat down when Mrs Manto came into the library and set down a tray with coffee, sweets, bread, olives, meats, fruit, honey and dates, all straight from Amaltheia’s horn of plenty.
‘I want to see empty bowls. Eat up.’
‘Mrs Manto, please let everyone know we don’t want to be disturbed for whatever reason, unless, of course, the house is on fire.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Mrs Manto left quickly and closed the door quietly behind her.
Kostas broke the silence.
‘Antonios, I suspect we are not here to discuss the forthcoming destruction of this city. We all know we can do nothing to prevent that. So, why are we here?’
‘Before I go into that, tell me whether we have any news of further Ruinand incursions into our territory. I am aware they have been distancing themselves from actual warfare and are using different tactics to expand their influence and hit us where it would hurt most, business. Our influence with the Ottoman authorities is strong, but in view of what is coming in a few months, we will lose an important cornerstone of our operations. Kostas, how is progress on the establishing of Cyprus as the base of our sphere of influence and the transfer of our operations?’
‘It’s going according to plan, but it’s expensive, especially since it has to be carried out in such secrecy. And it is personally costing me money. I am very stretched financially at the moment and I would like to know how long I would need to keep this up. I have been trying to anticipate any attempts at sabotage by the Ruinands, but I do not have a full picture of their operations and plans yet. Our attempts at infiltrating them have not had the desired result.’
The wheels of Antonios’ mind were already turning, formulating a plan. He chose his words carefully.
‘Kostas, I believe you should continue courting the British authorities in Cyprus and gaining favour with them. We will need to be allowed to carry out our activities from the island undisturbed. At the moment it is the only safe haven in the Eastern Mediterranean. Now, about the main reason I called you both here today. I have still not been successful in locating any of the descendants of the last Emperor. We still do not know what happened to the child. Let’s hope Manuel has good news for us. I’m expecting him soon. And I had a talk with Zoe. There is the matter of locating the exact burial place of the last Emperor. You will know about the prophecies. Well, we may have good reason to believe that they are indeed true.’
‘Antonios, I do not come without a gift of good news. One of the pair of the Likureian icons has resurfaced.’
‘Where is it?’
‘I have it in my possession.’
‘But how? They have both been lost for centuries.’
‘It was by accident. I don’t know whether the icons have a way of finding their way into their intended keepers, but I was as surprised as you were. I did not realise it at first. I had bought an icon for my collection when my six-year-old son found himself playing with it and as he was handling it, he must have pressed some hidden button; the icon fell like an outer shell revealing the Likureian icon beneath.’
‘But how do you know it is authentic?’
‘Well, let’s put it like this. Since I acquired it, strange things have been happening around me. There is no other explanation. It cannot be a coincidence. You know as well as I do the notoriety of the icon to cause such things.’
There was an almighty commotion in the hall and Manuel burst into the library. A deathly silence descended on the room, all eyes on Manuel. The only sound came from the clock in the hall and some birdsong outside. They all waited for Manuel to speak. Kostas even forgot the business proposal he had for Antonios.
‘The lead was a dead end. The man thought he was getting a reward for information. I do not know where he may have got that idea. He started his story well enough, but soon I realised he kept contradicting himself and saw through his lies. Fairytales the lot of them. He made his first mistake when he began throwing secondhand accounts that at first glance seemed convincing. I bet he was hoping to create a smokescreen and impress me with his historical knowledge and slow authoritative voice. Anyway, having just about avoided being blinded by his desire for his fifteen minutes of fame, three hours more like it, I could not confirm or otherwise ease my suspicions. We are back where we started. We don’t know what happened to the real Emperor and where he’s buried.’