The Therapist

By Michael Kokkinaris

The magistrate of the Knights of the Order of Saint John, who are occupying the island, is called upon to solve the mystery of the mass murder of the peasants whose bodies bear the marks of a large animals nails. The sole survivor on the scene of the crime is a little boy, Andronicus Honiatis, who is unable to provide a clear witness of the murderer or murderers. A few years later, when it becomes known that the hands of the now young man, Andronicus, have healing powers, a ruthless chase to kidnap him begins. And as the medieval story of the knights of the island of Rhodes unfolds, so does another story. This one is far darker and more odious with its unpredictable twists and turns when into Andronicuss life enters Louise dAnjou, to whom his pursuer, who is eventually in some way to be connected not only to the murder of the peasantry but also to that of Andronicuss parents, is also fatally attracted. What follows in the narrative is beyond the bounds of human imagination, which is tested to the limit when the lives of our protagonists are invaded by the supernatural and it dawns on them that what their future holds is uncertain.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9781524674489

Book preview

The

Therapist

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(EL HAKIM)

NOVEL

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MICHAEL KOKKINARIS

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AuthorHouse™

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Bloomington, IN 47403

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© 2017 Papyrus Trinity Star LLC. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 03/15/2017

ISBN: 978-1-5246-7449-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-7447-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-7448-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017903631

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Birds of Passage

Eudokia Andegavini

Mehmet Ovrenoglou

Louise d’Anjou

The Exchange

Suleiman, seitan sin

Love in the Years of Occupation

Fatima

The First Attempt

Confrontation with Death

The Conspirators

Cuts of the Body and the Soul

In Exchange for Betrayal

Francesco Foscari

Born to fall in Love

The Murder

Suspicions

The End of the Thread

The Beggar

The Siege of the Castle

No one can change Fate

A Message sent from Allah

Shadows from the Past

As Handsome as a Byzantine Saint

Quirk of Nature

The Testament

The Death of Anastasia

The End of the Traitor

The Trial

The Man who lived on Borrowed Time

Birds of Passage

A s I watch them flying towards the south under the spell of the crimson-gold breath of the sun, I stretch forth my arms in worship of the Power that pushes them on instinctively in the never-ending cycle of life and death.

The birds of passage are leaving – and so are the people migrating in directions defined by the wind and by the desire of the mind and of the soul to fragment space and time so as to touch what they would have truly been, had they not harbored inside themselves all that they struggled in vain to overcome.

* * *

The sentry at the castle gate facing the sea is in no hurry to surrender his post to the head guardsman on this particular dawn. And he in turn will for the first time not get a glimpse of the light of day from the ramparts of the castle.

The horn sounds the signal of mourning.

The light chases away the shadows and the only thing that can be heard is the neighing of the horses as they greet the sun that shines down upon them.

All else is silent, motionless, constricted like the lips of both the victorious and of the defeated.

In the ramparts silhouetted by the light of the half moon the men’s gazes are vacant, their arms are as heavy as dead weights from weariness, their flesh wounded and their clothes are soaked with the blood of those who were rash enough to remain behind in the embrasures for a final show-down.

These soldiers are looking neither left nor right.

They are looking straight ahead awaiting the rays of the sun. And as their weapons catch the reflection of the first glow of light, a scream of terror is heard:

Allah ak bar!¹

A pang of anguish grips the souls that have felt the power of Allah as the white standard with the crimson cross is taken down and the gates of the sea are opened to allow the defeated to pass through with their weapons.

Everything is carried out in order.

Everything just as it was agreed upon.

The ships fill up.

The birds of passage vanish over the horizon.

Time resumes its never-ending cycle.

Mercy has run dry.

The countless bodies which are strewn around unburied in the ditches are asking for revenge.

As soon as the painter of the last galley is untied the victors will enjoy their loot.

Everyone and everything is in their hands.

Men, women, children, maidens, copper utensils, gold, ramparts, stones, honor, faith, dignity…

Allah ak bar!

The wind swells the sails and the looting begins.

* * *

"The only thing is that this time I’m determined to make Time work for me as well, for a change.

That’s the reason why I stayed behind – to challenge him to bring it all to an end.

Enough is enough.

That’s enough of this strange game whose beginning was kept a secret from the lord of corruption, Time, and which even today shows no sign of abating."

I grip the handle of the sword which lies quietly in its sheath waiting in vain for the thrill of death.

At the edge of the ramparts wild dogs have already appeared looking for blood to satisfy their hunger.

I cast a glance to the south and rest my eyes for a moment on the vessels that have become one with the horizon.

There they go.

Neither their rigging nor their sails can I make out, only tiny shadows on the infinite blue of the sea.

Then I balance myself on the rocks that serve as marine guards to the castle.

If I take one step, I will be freed forever.

If I stand still on the ramparts, they will set the dogs on me to catch me alive and they’ll sell me for a few measly coppers.

But then if I draw my sword again, the groan of death will issue from the men who yearn for my death in vain.

And when the slaughter ends I will be unable to stand and contemplate who is to blame for the fact that I too cannot ‘leave’, free from the shackles of memory which are far heavier than what my shoulders can bear.

Then a cry of delight brings me out of my stupor:

That’s the therapist – catch him alive and I will give you a thousand coppers. Make sure you don’t touch a hair on his head, though, or else I’ll impale you.

El Hakim!²

Allah ak bar!

The dogs retreated and growled as they felt the end coming and then they made way for their master to appear who now once more commanded them to catch me alive on pain of impalement.

And as they stood there, incapable of carrying out his order, he sunk his nails into their flesh looking me straight in the eye as if to challenge me.

And even if I had been as free as the birds high above the rampart to fly away, I would first have to finish off this beast, once, twice, as many times as the memories I had had since childhood.

And the first cut was really deep, as deep as the cut of the sword that had carved the wolf’s hide to sink into its flesh to hurt it, like Eudokia Andegavini as she was slaughtered by the lance of the monster who finally felt his own end approaching.

And as sparks flew from the swords seeking flesh to sink into, the memory of Andronicus set loose parental fury asking for revenge on the beast that had taken him away.

* * *

Eudokia Andegavini

I t has been quite a while now since the marine armed guard of the promontory of St. Nicolas left his out-post, waded through the water and then climbed onto the rock that emerged abruptly from the bowels of the sea.

It seemed to him that he had seen a fleeting glimmer.

He was not mistaken.

But then, with such a strong south-easterly wind, who would dare struggle against the waves which grew higher and higher as daybreak approached!

Further away towards the domain of the East the black sky forebode rain which was drawing all the nearer to the island. And as the mist crammed itself all the way into Simon’s lungs, the armed guard turned around to look in the direction of the sentry of the marine castle gate who, according to regulation, was supposed to be standing motionless on his rampart.

Nothing.

He could see nothing at all.

And it was the first time since he had been appointed marine armed guard that he could feel fear overwhelming him.

As if by instinct he grabbed the strap that fastened the horn to his body, ready to send the message that the sea had spewed up wild beasts.

He could not have been so mistaken.

Someone or something was out at sea.

And he was proved right the moment a flash of lightning lit the sky; but it was too late.

An enormous barber’s knife skillfully flung stifled even the cry of pain that would have emerged from deep inside him.

He opened his eyes wide for one last time to see the beasts that had come to sow terror everywhere.

The soul of Simon, the marine armed guard of the promontory of St. Nicolas, was gone and his lifeless body slowly dipped into the element from whose fathomless abyss on that morning the reaper had brought out those whom fate had chosen to inflict pain and wreak havoc.

A couple of pitch-black wolves surged onto the plain, ready to tear to shreds anyone who got in their way; after which they would hide to lie in wait just as they had been instructed to by their master, the great prefect Sultan Mehmet-beis,³ the conqueror of Constantinople, as relayed by his messenger the Great Vizier, son of Mezih Paleologos.

And such was their vehemence as they burrowed into the wheat fields that the ears of corn swayed as if caressed by the humid breath of the morning.

And if a farm-hand happened to cross their path he would not even have the time to realize what had cut the thread of his life. Only his eyes which could no longer speak reflected the terror of the beasts he had chanced upon.

Lightning struck once again and the sky came to rest upon the earth; and they became one, the unprecedented sight of which urged the lady of the plain, Eudokia Andegavini, who determined to reach the castle walls and then return to her lodgings, just as she had been in the habit of doing since she was small. Just like that, because it was her fate, so it was said, at some time to touch the sky, something she had been trying to do in vain to that very day.

Her nurse’s objections were in vain – so too was her pleading.

And as the unfortunate woman watched little Andronicus mounting the white steed to ride pillion behind his mother she fell to her knees unable to stop this madness.

The steed galloped freely as if it had no riders at all and made straight for the wheat fields where he could unleash all his might.

Andronicus clung tightly onto his mother who recklessly let go of the horse’s reins to form her arms in the shape of wings, to touch the sky. And her elation was such that she looked neither right nor left.

The hapless woman looked only at the sky as it entered deep into her heart.

The steed galloped through the wheat fields feeling the ears of corn pushing aside on his passing.

Eudokia Andegavini flew like the birds of the sea and her cloak was shelter to Andronicus, who felt the violence of the wind stinging his face.

The beasts too were running to find a hole in which to hide, shredding the flesh of any one they came across to pieces.

These were deadly wolves and there appeared a farm-laborer who placed himself between Eudokia and the beasts, determined to change her fate.

As the steed galloped and the wolves howled, Eudokia was doing her utmost to touch the edge of the sky.

The farm-hand received a stab in the chest and was left with arms outstretched staring for the last time at Eudokia’s white steed rushing her towards her death.

Andronicus managed to catch a glimpse of two black wolves before falling off the steed when it reared up in terror as the beasts stood motionless before it.

Eudokia felt the lance entering her breast, searching in vain to see the coward who had cut the thread of her life.

She too only saw two wolves with fiery eyes which stood but for a moment in front of her terror-struck steed.

The child doubled up and his mother fell beside him; something which saved his life even as the moments of her own were numbered.

Free now, though marked by the blood of his lady, the steed galloped frantically towards the vicinity of the castle, as if he wanted to escape the wild beasts which were hiding in the wheat fields.

And while Eudokia was at her last breath with the lance sunk into her body she made a futile attempt to embrace her son. To this end she searched for the little child’s lips to give him her final breath, together with her blessing, which she could only do with great difficulty.

But her end was to be far worse.

The streak of lightning sent by the lord of the sky to finish off the wild beasts set fire to the wheat fields and spread at once with the first breath of wind.

The flames wrapped around the farm-hands’ bodies which bore the marks of the beasts that had passed through the plain and in a flash reached Eudokia to finish her off.

The unfortunate woman leaned forward to embrace the body of the child, tugging at the lance that had mowed her down. And as she had Andronicus in her arms giving him her final breath, she died, giving up her body to the flames.

And just before the steed arrived at the southern gate of the castle, a heavy downpour began to wash away the embers.

* * *

As soon as the sentry at the southern castle gate saw the white steed standing restlessly at the edge of the moat he gave a horn signal to the head guardsman that this was not a coincidence with all that was happening on the plain.

And as the bad weather swept towards the west, the sun appeared in all its glory bringing bad omens – Simon’s body adrift amongst the rocks in front of the castle gate facing the sea, the burnt wheat fields, the blood-stained steed with the Andegavinos coat of arms and then the voice of Manouil Honiatis, the commander of the Grecos who was in the castle’s employment:

This steed belongs to Eudokia; it bears the Andegavinos coat of arms – and the blood is not its own, it is human blood.

Manouil’s face hardened, he felt a tightening in his heart.

He could bear anything – even a stab in the chest – the only thing he could not bear was for any harm to have come to Eudokia, the very breath of his soul.

Nor did the head guardsman have the time to stop Manouil who galloped off unarmed, grudgingly followed closely by only two swordsmen. And what he decided to do was indeed an act of great daring, for were the spies sent by the Sultan of Turkey to arrive, they would surely finish him off without breathing a word about it.

The commander’s eyes glazed over as he passed the scorched field-workers, looking around him in alarm in the hope of catching sight of Eudokia.

And he did; the unfortunate woman – an unrecognizable heap of scorched flesh.

Manouil knelt down beside her unable to bear his misfortune, finding his very reason for being, and he wept like a child at having been left completely alone in the dark.

And as the swordsmen watched him at a loss for words, what seemed to be a child’s voice was heard coming from the burnt flesh.

It was little Andronicus looking at them dumbfounded, holding in his hands the lance that had deprived him of his mother’s caress.

Manouil ordered one of the two swordsmen to take the orphan back to the castle and dashed off unrestrained in order to find the murderers.

And as soon as they were hot on their heels it seems that some shadow fell over them which made the horses rear up.

Manouil caught sight of two wolves coming out of nowhere and before he had managed to draw his sword, an arrow cut the thread of his life.

* * *

It took them until sun-rise to collect the bodies of the dead and to bring them back to the castle as had ordered monsieur Romilly, the commander of the castle guard and First Counsel of the Great Magistrate of the Knights of the Order of Saint Ioannis of Rhodes, His Excellency Fra Petros d’Aubusson.

And his lordship was concerned about what had happened that day, for according to his judgment none of it all was a coincidence.

Nevertheless, the only person in whom he confided his fears was Romilly, one of the few who kept his mouth shut in these difficult times.

And then there was what the two swordsmen who had accompanied Honiatis kept going on about; that apparently everything had been provoked by two wolves which had emerged from the sea. What was one supposed to believe?

That was the reason why he had preferred to examine the bodies himself in order to judge the cause of death from the wounds.

Romilly stood silently beside the Magistrate who in vain sought answers to his questions.

Not all the wounds had been caused by a knife.

It was obvious that something else had carved the bodies of all these people.

On the other hand, though, the course and the depth of the injuries were testimony to strong men, at least taller than their victims who had received stabs in their bodies, with the exception of the marine watchman, who had probably received the knife wound from below upwards.

And so? Romilly asked the Magistrate impatiently. What conclusion does your lordship expect to come up with?

Expect to come up with, Romilly? You mean the one you’re impatient to lead me to?

Why, my lord? Do you believe that the alleged murderers are wolves who held knives and lances in their paws?

In the glowing light of the lanterns the First Counsel could make out the Magistrate’s enigmatic frown as he took up a surgical tool to once again examine the wounds of the field-laborer whose body had emerged from the