“Await my command before you fire – but, get your rifles ready. We need to shoot them quickly.”
I see beads of sweat on Yuri’s forehead. He’s murmuring: I realise that he is praying.
The professor speaks again. “I think the stranger has brought news that the war has ended. Kılıç will kill us now, and later he will claim that we were shot while the war was still on.”
Kılıç is with the soldiers now, whispering furtively to them. They glance around, peering anxiously at the walls and shadows that surround us. There’s fear in the three men’s eyes. But Kılıç, I can see, is coldly determined to kill us. Suddenly, I hear his voice, loud and harsh.
“Shoot them all in the head. You need to kill your target with one shot… when I give the word.”
The men put the rifles to their shoulders. Like Yuri, I’m praying. Oddest of all, I hear the professor’s voice again. He isn’t praying; he’s speaking. Clear and bold, he says the words of a poem.
Kılıç glances one last time at us, his lip curled, his eyes like stones. I hear the click of the rifles’ catches. Axelson’s voice carries on.
Kılıç shouts. “Now!”
The guns fire.
36
The Happy Isles
It’s a deep, blissful blue; a color I’d never imagined: alive, sparkling and warm. The color of happiness. I’m looking out at the deep sapphire shades of the Aegean Sea, under a cloudless azure sky.
I’m leaning on the rail of the British battleship HMS Agamemnon. Professor Axelson was wrong: the war had not ended – quite. Talaat Pasha and his cronies have fled Istanbul, and the new government of Turkey has sent its representatives to beg the British for peace. The Turkish ambassadors are aboard this battleship. We are steaming towards the Greek island of Lemnos, where the ship will anchor and, this afternoon, the treaty will be formalized. Tomorrow, there will be peace between the Allies and Turkey, and the thousand-year rule of the Ottoman Empire will come to an end.
I hear footsteps on the deck beside me. Someone else is joining me to admire the scenery. Lord Buttermere looks out at the glittering waves. On one side of us, Lemnos rises from the water like a dream-island. I smell, above the waves, the scents of oleander and lavender carried to us from the island, which grows closer every minute. On the other side, I see the open sea, bounded by the shoreline of Turkey and the crumbling remains of ancient Troy. Below the ruins is the long yellow line of the beach where, long ago, the Greek ships landed.
Lord Buttermere taps the handrail. “It’s funny, Miss Frocester – a British battleship named after the victorious Greek leader in the Trojan War. I don’t think Kılıç Pasha will appreciate the irony, though.”
“I agree – although I remember Agamemnon himself came to a sticky end. But what will happen to Kılıç now?”
“We’ll put him on trial, for the murders committed by his troops during the Battle of Baku. But he would prefer that, instead of being handed over to a mob in Istanbul. The people of Turkey have finally found out about Talaat’s atrocities. Unless he and his henchmen manage to escape from Turkish territory, they will all be executed – or lynched.”
“Thank you for last night.”
“That’s quite all right. I just wish I’d been able to prevent Kılıç’s final nasty stunt.”
After the shots were fired, I opened my eyes. Everything was still the same: Yuri and Axelson tied to the stakes beside me, facing the three soldiers with their guns, and Kılıç standing by them. I saw the ancient ruins all around us, looming through that strange, dim light that comes just before daybreak. A growing chorus of birdsong rang out in the scented dawn air.
Then the soldiers threw down their rifles, and Kılıç dropped his revolver. Here and there, human figures appeared above the ramparts of Troy. I heard Lord Buttermere’s voice.
“Kılıç Pasha, I told you a few moments ago to untie these prisoners and release them unharmed.
You have not kept your side of the bargain. I heard you whispering your instructions to your men – before you shouted your apparent order to fire. A mock execution by firing over the heads of your captives! – a stupid, theatrical act of cruelty.
But since your three prisoners are still alive, I will keep my side of our deal. Here are the two warrants for your arrest that I told you about a few minutes ago.”
Lord Buttermere held up two sheets of paper, white squares in the growing dawn light.
“The first warrant, as I explained to you, Kılıç Pasha, was issued in Istanbul by the new government of Turkey. It accuses you of murder and treason. It authorises your capture and summary trial – and execution, if found guilty.
The other warrant is issued by the British government. It requests that you help us with our enquiries about events in Baku in September. General Dunsterville, who managed to survive the fighting, has submitted his report of events. But we do want to give you a fair hearing, and listen to your side of the story. And I’m very grateful that you have spared the lives of your prisoners. So, I will disregard the Istanbul warrant of arrest.”
Buttermere took one of the sheets and tore it in two, before continuing.
“If you look around, you will see that the ruins of Troy are now surrounded by armed sailors of the Royal Navy. They will take you and your men aboard our ship. The prison cell on HMS Agamemnon is not comfortable, but you will be glad of it. For you, it is much safer than any place on Turkish soil.”
Yuri and the professor join us on the deck, smiling broadly. Lord Buttermere greets them, but then, hands behind his back, he saunters away. He’s giving the three of us time to talk.
The professor is the first to speak.
“Yesterday in the Sultan’s Fortress, I was taken away from you two. So I never got a chance to tell you my good news. You received a letter recently, didn’t you, Miss Agnes, from Mr du Pavey?”
“I did. Have you had a letter from him too?”
“Mine is more recent than yours.” The professor grins. “Rufus has fresh news for us. He is leaving Yeravan, and travelling to England. Mariam Sarafian will accompany him. As you know, Mr du Pavey is unlikely ever to marry. But he states the firm intention of legally adopting Mariam as his daughter. He also plans to travel as soon as he can to the United States with her, to visit the missionaries Mr and Mrs Clements in Flagstaff, Arizona. They returned there after the Bolsheviks expelled them from Russia.”
Yuri laughs. “What will Rufus’s aristocratic English family think, Professor?”
“I can imagine some raised eyebrows from his father and brother at Breckland Court. But as the second son of the du Pavey family, he will not inherit the estate. And, with a daughter, he is perhaps less of an embarrassment to his family than as a forever single ‘confirmed bachelor’, as they euphemistically say in England.”
The professor smiles to himself. But he too, like Lord Buttermere, now wanders off along the deck, leaving Yuri and I together.
“So, Agnes, will you return to the States?”
“The war is over here, and it will be over in Europe too, in a few days. So, yes – I will go home. But what about you, Yuri?”