Ezio decided that his best course of action would be to try to rejoin the Italian musical troupe he’d been talking with, but took his time about it, getting the lay of the land.

But the royal guards were vigilant, and before long, one of them accosted him.

“Excuse me, sir, are you lost?”

“No.”

“Musician are you? Well, you’re being paid to play, not to mingle!”

Ezio was furious but had to contain his anger in order not to blow his cover. Fortunately for him, he was rescued by a group of wealthy-looking locals, four sleek men and four heartstoppingly beautiful women.

“Play us something,” they entreated him, forming a circle round him.

Ezio ran through the Landini again, remembering some other pieces by that composer and praying that his audience wouldn’t find them too old-fashioned. But they were entranced. And, as his confidence increased, Ezio was pleased that his musicianship also improved. He even dared to improvise a little. And to sing.

“Pek güzel,” commented one of the men, as he finished a set.

“Indeed—quite beautiful,” agreed his partner, in whose deep violet eyes Ezio would quite happily have died.

“Hmn. Technique’s not quite what it might be,” commented one of the other men.

“Oh, Murad, you are such a pedant. Think of the expression! That’s the main thing.”

“He plays almost as well as he dresses,” said a second woman, eyeing him.

“A sound as beautiful as rainfall,” said a third.

“Indeed, the Italian lute is every bit as lovely as our oud,” conceded Murad, pulling his partner away from Ezio. “But now, alas, we must mingle.”

“Tesekkür ederim, efendim,” the women chirruped as they departed.

Ezio, his credentials confirmed, was left unmolested by the guards from then on, and was able to make contact with Yusuf and his team.

“Brilliant, Mentor,” said Yusuf, when they’d reconnected. “But don’t be seen talking to us—it’ll look suspicious. Try to make your way to the second courtyard—the inner one—through there. I’ll join you.”

“Good thinking,” Ezio agreed. “But what may we expect there?”

“The inner circle. The entourage of the prince. And, if we are fortunate, Suleiman himself. But be on your guard, Mentor. There may be danger there, too.”

THIRTY

It was considerably quieter in the second courtyard, but the decorations, the food and drink, and the quality of both music and art were just that little bit more splendid.

Ezio and Yusuf, keeping in the background, scanned the guests.

“I do not see Prince Suleiman,” Yusuf said.

“Wait!” Ezio prompted him.

The orchestra struck up a fanfare, and the guests all turned expectantly toward a gateway in the center of the rear wall of the courtyard, draped with rich hangings. Costly silk Isfahan carpets were spread on the ground in front of it. Moments later, a small group of people emerged, clustered around the two men who led them—each clad in a suit of white silk, one wearing a turban with diamond pins, the other a turban with emeralds. Ezio’s eyes were drawn to the younger of these, and his lips parted as he recognized him.

“The young man?” he asked his companion.

“That is Prince Suleiman,” Yusuf told him. “Sultan Bayezid’s grandson, and governor of Kefe. And he’s only seventeen.”

Ezio was amused. “I met him on the ship, on the way here. He told me he was a student.”

“I’ve heard that he likes to travel incognito. It’s also a security measure. He was returning from the hajj.”

“Who is the other man? The one with emeralds in his turban?”

“His uncle, Prince Ahmet. The sultan’s favored son. He is grooming himself for the succession as we speak.”

As they watched, the two princes stood, as favored guests were presented to them. Then the princes accepted glasses of ruby-colored liquid.

“Wine?” asked Ezio.

“Cranberry juice.”

“Serefe! Sagliginiza!” Ahmet said, raising his voice with his glass, toasting the assembly.

After the formal toasts, Yusuf and Ezio continued to watch, as both guests and hosts became more relaxed. Though as Suleiman in particular mingled, Ezio noticed that his guards were discreetly but continually attentive. These guards were tall, and none of them looked Turkish. They wore a distinctive uniform of white robes, and their headgear was a high, white, tapering cap, like that of a dervish. All, equally, wore mustaches. None was either clean-shaven or had a beard. Ezio knew enough about Ottoman custom to realize that this meant that they had the status of slaves. Were they some kind of private bodyguard?

Suddenly, Yusuf caught Ezio’s arm. “Look! That man over there!”

A thin, pale young man with fine, light-colored hair and dark brown, expressionless eyes had sidled up close to Suleiman. He was expensively dressed and might have been a prosperous Serbian arms dealer, at any rate someone important enough to have made it onto the guest list for the second courtyard. As Ezio quickly scanned the crowd, he saw four more elegantly dressed men, none of them Turks, by their looks, taking up what could only be backup positions and discreetly signaling to one another.

Before Yusuf or Ezio could react, the thin young man, already at Suleiman’s elbow, had, with the speed of light, drawn a thin, curved janbiyah and was plunging it down toward the prince’s chest. At the same instant, the closest guard to him noticed and sprang into the blade’s path.

There was instantaneous chaos and confusion. Guests were pushed roughly aside as guards ran to assist both princes and their fallen comrade, while the five Templar would-be killers tried to make their escape through the crowd, now milling around in uproar and panic. The thin young man had vanished, but the guards had identified his companions and were now pursuing them systematically, the Byzantine plotters using the confused and disoriented guests as obstacles to put between them and their hunters. Exits were sealed, but the conspirators attempted to climb out of the courtyard. In the confusion, Prince Ahmet had disappeared, and Prince Suleiman had been left isolated. Ezio saw that he had drawn a small dagger but calmly stood his ground.

“Ezio!” Yusuf suddenly hissed. “Look there!”

Ezio followed the direction Yusuf was pointing in and saw that the thin young man had returned. Now, breaking out of the crowd behind the prince, he was closing on him, his weapon poised.

Ezio was far closer than Yusuf and realized that only he could save the prince in time. But he had no weapon himself! Then he looked down at the lute, which he was still holding in his hands, and, with a grunt of regret, made his decision and smashed it against a nearby column. It shattered but left him with a sharp shard of sprucewood in his hand.