other priests, Sultanept lived in hiding in Sumurtar, sheltered by the tunnels and subterranean chambers in which they served the gods-the sun, the moon, and the planets, alpha and omega of all things.
Maanu had promised Sultanept to restore him to the power and wealth that Abgar had taken from him when he set aside the religion of their fathers.
"My prince, we should go," Marvuz murmured. "The king may call for you, and we left the palace many hours ago."
"He will not call me, Marvuz; he will think I am drinking with my friends in some tavern or off fornicating with a dancing girl. My father hardly cares for me, so downcast is he that I will not accept the worship of his Jesus. The queen is to blame for it. She has convinced him to betray our gods and has made that Nazarene their only god.
"But I assure you, Marvuz, that the city shall turn its eyes once more to Syn and destroy the temples that the queen has built to honor the Nazarene. The moment Abgar goes to his eternal rest, we will kill the queen and put an end to the life of Josar and his friend Thaddeus."
Marvuz trembled. He bore no affection for the queen; he considered her a hard woman, the true ruler of Edessa since Abgar had first fallen ill, despite the king's recovery of his health. And the queen distrusted Marvuz. He could feel her icy gaze upon him, following his every move, for she knew that he was a friend of Maanu. But even so, could he kill her? For he was certain that Maanu would ask him to do it.
He would have no problem killing Josar and Thaddeus. He would run them through with his sword. He was weary of their sermons, their words filled with rebuke because he fornicated with any woman who would go with him and because, in honor of Syn, he drank without moderation on nights of the full moon until he lost his senses, for he, Marvuz, still worshipped the gods of his fathers, the gods of his city. He did not accept the imposition of this effeminate and virtuous god that Josar and Thaddeus never ceased speaking of.
12
THE SUN WAS RISING ON THE BOSPHORUS AS the
Stella di Mare
cut through the waves near Istanbul and her crew rushed about in preparation for docking. The captain watched the dark-skinned young man silently swabbing the deck. In Genoa, one of his men had gotten sick and could not make the voyage, and his executive officer had brought him this fellow. The XO had assured him that although the new man was mute, he was an experienced sailor recommended by one of the regulars at the Green Falcon, the tavern on the docks they all frequented when they were in port. At the time, given their imminent sailing, the captain hadn't noticed that the man's hands were soft, with not a single callus-the hands of a man who had never done a seaman's work. But the mute followed every order he was given during the crossing, and his eyes showed no emotion, no matter what job he was given.
The XO had said that the man would depart the ship in Istanbul, but all he'd done was shrug his shoulders when the captain asked him why.
The captain was Genovese. He'd been a sailor for forty years, and he'd docked in a thousand ports and known every kind of person. But this young man was a strange one, with failure etched on his face and resignation in his every gesture, as though he knew he'd come to the end. But the end of what?
Istanbul was more beautiful to him than ever. He breathed deep as his eyes scanned the port. He knew that someone would be coming for him, perhaps the same man who had hidden him when he arrived from Urfa. He yearned to return to his own town, embrace his father, feel the arms of his wife about him again, hear the happy laughter of his daughter.
He feared his meeting with Addaio, feared the pastor's disappointment. But at this moment failure, his own failure, meant very little to him, for he was alive and almost home. It was more than his brother had been able to do two years earlier. They had heard nothing, nothing from him since that black
Maanu had promised Sultanept to restore him to the power and wealth that Abgar had taken from him when he set aside the religion of their fathers.
"My prince, we should go," Marvuz murmured. "The king may call for you, and we left the palace many hours ago."
"He will not call me, Marvuz; he will think I am drinking with my friends in some tavern or off fornicating with a dancing girl. My father hardly cares for me, so downcast is he that I will not accept the worship of his Jesus. The queen is to blame for it. She has convinced him to betray our gods and has made that Nazarene their only god.
"But I assure you, Marvuz, that the city shall turn its eyes once more to Syn and destroy the temples that the queen has built to honor the Nazarene. The moment Abgar goes to his eternal rest, we will kill the queen and put an end to the life of Josar and his friend Thaddeus."
Marvuz trembled. He bore no affection for the queen; he considered her a hard woman, the true ruler of Edessa since Abgar had first fallen ill, despite the king's recovery of his health. And the queen distrusted Marvuz. He could feel her icy gaze upon him, following his every move, for she knew that he was a friend of Maanu. But even so, could he kill her? For he was certain that Maanu would ask him to do it.
He would have no problem killing Josar and Thaddeus. He would run them through with his sword. He was weary of their sermons, their words filled with rebuke because he fornicated with any woman who would go with him and because, in honor of Syn, he drank without moderation on nights of the full moon until he lost his senses, for he, Marvuz, still worshipped the gods of his fathers, the gods of his city. He did not accept the imposition of this effeminate and virtuous god that Josar and Thaddeus never ceased speaking of.
12
THE SUN WAS RISING ON THE BOSPHORUS AS the
Stella di Mare
cut through the waves near Istanbul and her crew rushed about in preparation for docking. The captain watched the dark-skinned young man silently swabbing the deck. In Genoa, one of his men had gotten sick and could not make the voyage, and his executive officer had brought him this fellow. The XO had assured him that although the new man was mute, he was an experienced sailor recommended by one of the regulars at the Green Falcon, the tavern on the docks they all frequented when they were in port. At the time, given their imminent sailing, the captain hadn't noticed that the man's hands were soft, with not a single callus-the hands of a man who had never done a seaman's work. But the mute followed every order he was given during the crossing, and his eyes showed no emotion, no matter what job he was given.
The XO had said that the man would depart the ship in Istanbul, but all he'd done was shrug his shoulders when the captain asked him why.
The captain was Genovese. He'd been a sailor for forty years, and he'd docked in a thousand ports and known every kind of person. But this young man was a strange one, with failure etched on his face and resignation in his every gesture, as though he knew he'd come to the end. But the end of what?
Istanbul was more beautiful to him than ever. He breathed deep as his eyes scanned the port. He knew that someone would be coming for him, perhaps the same man who had hidden him when he arrived from Urfa. He yearned to return to his own town, embrace his father, feel the arms of his wife about him again, hear the happy laughter of his daughter.
He feared his meeting with Addaio, feared the pastor's disappointment. But at this moment failure, his own failure, meant very little to him, for he was alive and almost home. It was more than his brother had been able to do two years earlier. They had heard nothing, nothing from him since that black
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