Chapter 67

In the Imperial Pavilion

In order to play the twin aeolian flutes properly, Mariapitkee used a circular breathing technique inhaling through the nose while simultaneously exhaling continuously through the paired pipes at her lips while fingering their holes to produce the haunting and mournful sounds. As she played she danced sensuously. White gown flowing diaphanously, she swirled for the Emperor and his guests. The Angelos brothers seemed nervous and unsure of themselves when they arrived, but later lay back on their couches more at ease. A tame bishop had been brought in as a fourth guest at the dinner - a lavish mockery of the simple fare the soldiers ate outside in the drizzling rain. The bishop particularly enjoyed the flute playing and the dancing. His left hand on the wine goblet on the table in front of him - his right under his robes.

She continuously refilled the wine cups as the evening progressed. The Emperor was polite, amiable, conciliatory even. Assurances were given as to the health and safety of the boy emperor. Was concern over his well being not the reason for this ill advised disobedience? Since the boy was fine all could be forgiven. The presence of the bishop did much to allay fears. Dinner concluded. The brothers accepted the offer of amnesty with its conditions and departed.

“I will wait for the return of my sons and we will have one more cup of wine to toast my bloodless recapture of this rebel city. Go my Sweetling, warm my bed. I shall be along shortly.”

Mariapitkee bowed to her master and made her way from the grand pavilion through the strategy tent and into the Emperor’s private sanctum. She had only stepped past the partially drawn flap when she was grasped from behind. A hand over her mouth, so sudden and startling she did not have the time to scream. Spun around in the dim light. Lips pressed against hers. A tongue intruded into her mouth. Dry. Sour, but not rank. Onions? She could not call out. She tried to struggle. A man held her close. She struck his chest, but her attacker was not fazed. At last the kiss ended and she drew back to see - her lord.

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She struck him again open palmed across the face.

“Why you hit me? You not like my surprise visit?” It was him with a silly carefree grin.

“You are alive,” she hissed.

“Si. Of course, I live.” He took her by the hand and pressed his lips to her fingertips.

“How did you get in here?”

He displayed the wet garb of a Mohamadeen archer.

“Why are you here?”

“I see you. On the hill after the fight. You look so sad. I come to save you.”

“I was sad because I thought you died in the charge.”

“No, that was another fellow.”

“The Emperor may be along at any moment. If they find you they will kill you.”

“Ha. Perhaps, I kill him.” He transferred her hand to his crotch and drew out a dirk - single edged, not as long as an old Roman gladius, it would have been a huntsman’s first choice to joint a stag. The keen edge gleamed in the flickering lamp light.

Could he cut the Emperor’s throat with a sudden lunge just as he had caught her from behind not a moment ago? She could lay enticingly on the cotton mattress tempting the Emperor forward into the pavilion - baiting him. The chance may never come again. She stroked his shaft. It would mean his death. He must know this. She pressed against him. Gently she withdrew her hand and lowered his arm holding the dirk.

“Shhh. No. They will strike you down even as the Emperor falls. I will be caught and tortured. What will become of my sister? You must fly, my Lord, and not simply from this camp. The men who came here tonight mean to surrender the city. All of the foreign soldiers are to be executed at dawn. I lost all hope when I thought you were dead. Now you are back. I cannot lose you again. Keep trying. You must find another way.” She kissed him again. Yes, onions. Onions were not so bad. The smell would not make her cry. She would not need to fix the kohl on her eyes again. That was past. Pushing him quickly back the way he had entered, he was gone again, rolling out the bottom rear leaving her with a tent peg to replace in the ground.

Damn it.

She had forgotten to ask his name.