Revelations

THIRTY-FIVE

At dawn the next day, Ezio made his way to the Grand Bazaar. It was time he saw for himself what talk there might be among the Janissaries, and he was impatient to be on the trail of their captain, Tarik Barleti.

But it was impossible, once there, entirely to avoid the importunate traders, who were all past masters of the hard sell. And Ezio had to pass himself off as just another tourist for fear of arousing suspicion, either among Ottoman officials or Byzantine Templars.

“You see this rug!” A merchant accosted him, plucking at his sleeve and, as Ezio had found to be the case so often there, getting too close to him, invading his body space. “Your feet will love you more than your wife does!”

“I am not married.”

“Ah,” continued the merchant, seamlessly, “you are better off. Come! Just feel it!”

Ezio noticed a group of Janissaries standing not far away. “You have sold well today?” he asked the merchant.

The man spread his hands, nodding to his right at the Janissaries. “I have not sold a thing! The Janissaries confiscated most of my stock just because it was imported.”

“Do you know Tarik Barleti, their captain?”

“Eh, he’s around here somewhere, no doubt. An arrogant man, but-” The merchant was about to go on but interrupted himself, freezing up before reverting to his sales patter, his eyes focused not on Ezio but well beyond him. “You insult me, sir! I cannot take less than two hundred akce for this! That is my final offer.”

Ezio turned slightly and followed the man’s gaze. Three Janissaries were approaching, not fifty feet away.

“When I find him, I will ask him about your rugs,” Ezio promised the merchant quietly as he turned to go.

“You drive a hard bargain, stranger!” the merchant called after him. “Shall we compromise at one-eighty? One hundred eighty akce, and we part as friends!”

But Ezio was no longer listening. He was following the group, shadowing them at a safe distance, hoping they might lead him to Tarik Barleti. They were not walking idly-they had the look of men going to some kind of appointment. But he had to be vigilant-not only to keep his quarry in sight but to avoid detection himself, and the crowded lanes of the souk both helped and hindered him in his task. The merchant had said the captain would be somewhere in the Bazaar, but the Bazaar was a big place-a confusing labyrinth of stalls and shops, a small city in itself.

But at length his patience paid off, and the men he was following arrived at a crossroads in the lanes which broadened out into a little square with a coffee shop on each corner. In front of one stood the big captain with the grizzled beard. The beard was as much a mark of his rank as his resplendent uniform. He was clearly no slave.

Ezio crept as close as he could, to hear what was being said.

“Are you ready?” he asked his men, and they nodded their assent. “This is an important meeting. Make sure I am not being followed.”

They nodded again and split up, disappearing into the Bazaar in different directions. Ezio knew they would be looking for any sign of an Assassin in the crowds, and for one heartstopping moment one of the soldiers seemed to catch his eye, but then the moment passed, and the man was gone. Waiting as long as he dared, he set off in pursuit of the captain.

Barleti hadn’t gone far before he came to another Janissary, a lieutenant, who to the casual eye would have just seemed to be window-shopping in front of an armorer’s establishment. Ezio had already noticed that Janissaries were the only people not to be badgered by the traders.

“What news?” Barleti said as he drew level with the soldier.

“Manuel has agreed to meet you, Tarik. He’s waiting by the Arsenal Gate.”

Ezio pricked up his ears at the name.

“An eager old weasel, isn’t he?” Tarik said flatly. “Come.”

They set off, out of the Bazaar, and into the city streets. It was a long way to the Arsenal, which was situated on the north side of the Golden Horn, farther to the west, but they showed no sign of taking any kind of transport yet, and Ezio followed them on foot. A matter of a couple of miles-and he would have to be careful when they took the ferry across the Horn. But his task was made easier by the fact that the two men were engrossed in conversation, most of which Ezio managed to catch. It was not hard to blend in, in the streets of Constantinople, crowded with people from all over Europe and Asia.

“How did Manuel look? Was he nervous? Or cagey?” Tarik asked.

“He was his usual self. Impatient and discourteous.”

“Hmn. I suppose he has earned that right. Have there been dispatches from the sultan?”

“The last news was a week ago. Bayezid’s letter was short and full of sad tidings.”

Tarik shook his head. “I could not imagine being at such odds with my own son.”