Daggers in the Dark (Book 3 of Hanthalah)

Chapter 15

At the head of over a thousand men, I trotted back to Damascus with a severed head in a burlap sack and the body of a martyr laid out on a cart and covered with a sheet of cloth.

It spoke volumes about ibn Qays that he needed a thousand men to accomplish what I could with two hundred. After the Ghassanid chieftain broke free from his bonds and treacherously murdered the righteous ibn Qays in cold blood, his pitiful excuses of warriors were left leaderless. They answered to me now. They were my boys and they would speak my story.

I smiled grimly, imagining the screams of the dying as I stripped them of valuables and took their valuables in Crete or whatever Roman shithole we were bound for. We would return to our camp, ships heavy laden with treasures, mounts, slaves and equipment that would hamper our progress back to shore. My mouth almost watered with the prospect.

And it was all thanks to a rotting corpse on a cart.

Amina rode on a grey mare at my side. I decided I would make use of her, for there was no harm in having the voice of the gods by your side. To my left was my foul brother. 'Abd al-Rahman claimed he had misunderstood orders and sent a number of men to hunt down the fleeing Ghassanid.

"Your daughter – I thought she was one of my boys," my half-brother lied. "I sent her to drag him back by the collar. She would have succeeded as well if it weren't for ibn Qays and his treachery."

That did not stop him from earning a beating, however. It was in private, of course; someday, in the distant future, he would be leading a unit of men again. And his warriors needed to respect him in order to follow him. As was the case for me. I demanded respect from the bastard.

So, he rode, swollen-faced and black-eyed, sullen and sulking in his failure. I would be keeping him close at hand for a while until I was certain he would not sully my reputation or put my plans into jeopardy again. In the meantime, 'Abd al-Ka'aba would fill in for him. It was past time the boy learned to be a leader of men. However, he was no less volatile than his uncle, so I entrusted Sufyan and Mahmud with keeping a close eye on him.

And at the thought of shrewd leadership, my mind wandered to Mu'awiyah ibn Abu Sufyan. Ibn Qays revealed with his last words that Mu'awiyah had favored him on this expedition by providing him with an informant familiar with the Ghassanids. Doubtless, he would have come in handy in navigating the terrain or in capturing the camp far more swiftly. Had he served under a more capable commander, this informant of the Ghassanids may have made the journey to these lands shorter as well as more convenient.

But why did Mu'awiyah favor the foolhardy ibn Qays? True enough, he was a distant relative of the governor, a tribesman of the Banu Umayya, who were a clan of the Quraysh of Makkah. But were blood ties enough of a motive? Why did he not bestow the honor of sailing the Mediterranean upon his cousin in the first place?

And once again, I remembered a certain Marwan ibn al-Hakam, who was another man of Umayyad blood. During Ramla's wedding, he spoke of respect. The gratitude a shepherd ought to afford his flock. I showed my flock respect. But the lack of it was what drove me away from Mu'awiyah's palace in the first place. Among other things.

It made no matter. I was the only choice available to link up with the Muslim fleet now. I knew there were more ships docked on the Levantine coast, waiting for me and mine to hop on board and ravage the reeling Romans. Ibn Qays can enjoy his rivers of flowing milk and ravishing honey, halal beer and buxom Houris in the Muslims' boring version of the afterlife.

I would linger to enjoy the pleasures of this life.

***

"I'm sorry, my lord," I managed to break my voice, feigning grief. I lowered my head to avoid breaking into laughter.

Mu'awiyah sat before me, dumbfounded and struck. He had not expected his cousin to perish on such a minor expedition.

"So, the man just broke free of his bonds, unsheathed his dagger and stabbed ibn Qays?" he seemed dangerously skeptical of my tale.

I shook my head.

"No, sire. He did not have a dagger on him. My men made sure of that when we caught him in the pass. We stripped him of all arms and armor. We were about to give him the choice ofrepenting – whether he was willing to revert to Islam or not. However, as many of us know, the infidel is crafty and aided by Shaytan. He is malevolent, malicious and his soul is weighed heavy with hatred and ire. He must have snatched a dagger from one of my men's belts and used it to cut the ropes. I....I am sorry, my lord. I tried my best."

I lowered my head in a display of grief again. I felt Ramla's eyes on me. I wondered when Mu'awiyah had become so open with exposing his daughter to the prying eyes of other men. I felt a pang of jealousy, imagining the slaves lurking in the shadows ogling her with lusty, depraved eyes. Her slimy husband was present as well, on Mu'awiyah's other side. He was the Khalifa's son, and he had already sired a boy from her and knocked her up with another child. Her belly was slightly swollen, yet she retained her supple frame. I lusted for her. She weighed heavy on my head.

What I would give to be away from this fucking place again.

Mu'awiyah considered my words for a moment. I did not meet his eyes. I harbored doubts over the sincerity of his faith and I'm pretty sure he shared those same doubts with me. I knew there were rumors about me skipping prayers. Those would only be compounded by my public flogging weeks ago, for drinking. Rumors are a dangerous thing; the Ghassanid chief could attest to that, if he could still speak.

"I could usher in the man's concubine, my lord," I offered. "Amina, she is called. A woman of extraordinary beauty and wit, as well as a devout Muslim. She chafed under the tyranny of the infidel for a good long while and is the only witness to his crime of murder. He robbed me not only of a worthy comrade, but of a brother in faith."

I lowered my head again so that he would not see the lie in my eyes. I knew Mu'awiyah was far too smart to believe my story. But I did not expect him to. He only had doubts, and no solid proof. I left him without choice. There was a stretching silence that made me shift from one foot to the other uncomfortably before Mu'awiyah finally spoke.

"No, that is not necessary, Hanthalah. That is not necessary. You are off to Kos, then."

"Kos, my lord?"

"General Abu al-A'war has wrought a successful campaign there, in great thanks to defecting Roman priests. I suppose Allah saw fit to light their hearts and direct them to the righteous path. He occupies a city there now, waiting for reinforcements. You are to join him with any number of men you see fit. From your men, the pool of three thousand. Ibn Qays' troops are off limits. In two days' time, a fresh detachment of ships will be deployed to Kos. From there, you two will coordinate with one another."

"To what destination?" I inquired.

"Crete," he answered immediately.

"Crete?"

It was as good a place as Rhodes, I supposed. But I sensed there was more to this campaign. There was a stillness to the air in the palace. The soldiers that remained behind were more timid and distant than usual. I noticed more than a few packing belongings on carts or horses. And Mu'awiyah sounded vehement in his order for me to stray far from the late ibn Qays' troops.

"You're leaving as well," I accused him.

The room was silent as he provided no answer.

"There will be a coordinated land and sea assault," I continued guessing. "The Khalifa has approved of a new conquest of Roman land?"

There was reluctance to Mu'awiyah's posture. But it gave way to a tight smile as he contemplated further. Finally, he nodded, chuckling softly.

"We're off to Constantinople," he answered, brimming with pride.

Constantinople. The greatest prize of all.