Byzantium

50

We crossed the spacious hall and passed through a high-curved doorway and out into another world. Green and deep-shaded, shadows abounding, the garden of the amir was a cool haven amidst the oppression of heat and dust of the land beyond the high walls. Monkeys and parrots flitted here and there among the upper branches of the leafy canopy above. Water glinted and sang among the shadows, trickling through brook-like channels, gathering in darkling pools hidden beneath saw-toothed palms and splay-leafed flowered creepers. The liquid song of rippled run-and-trickle played lightly on the ear, murmuring reminders of peace and calm. The paths were many and interlacing, marked out with flat stones to pursue an idly wandering course around a large pond where imperious swans held sway, gliding serenely over the breeze-ruffled water.

Farouk led us along one path and then another, taking turns at random, until we were well beyond the palace precinct and any listening ears. Turning aside into a shady bower, he settled himself on a stone bench and offered me the place beside him. "Let us talk a little," he suggested, "before continuing our stroll."

The small exertion of the morning had all but exhausted me, and I was grateful for the rest. "This is magnificent," I remarked as I settled myself on the low bench.

"The amir is a man of many talents;" Farouk said, "architecture is not the least of them. This palace was built to the plans he drew with his own hand-the garden as well. Plants and trees from every corner of the Persian empire find their home here. It is a living work of art."

He looked around him, appreciating qualities of the garden which were, no doubt, veiled to my untutored eye. After a moment, his mouth framed a word, hesitated, and let it go. We sat for a while in silence before he said, "The path of life is rarely straight, I find. It twists and turns always unexpectedly."

This did not seem to require any comment from me, so I made none. The balm of the garden seeped slowly into me as I sat in the dappled shade. After a time Farouk continued. "We live in difficult times, my friend."

"Truly," I replied.

"As the amir rightly suggests, you have borne much for a cause of which you know next to nothing. You desire an explanation, and no doubt deserve one." He did not allow me an opportunity to comment on his observation, but proceeded straightaway. "However, you must understand that Lord Sadiq cannot, at the present time, offer you the accounting you desire. I am certain that he will attend to this matter once he is free to do so. Until then, perhaps you will allow me to be of some small service in this regard?"

His words were carefully chosen, if somewhat circuitous, but pricked my curiosity nonetheless. "By all means," I replied magnanimously. "Please, continue."

"As it happens, our Great Khalifa al'Mutamid, like the amir, is a many-talented fellow. His achievements are legend, believe me. Still, he is human, after all. Thus, I think you must agree that it is difficult for a man of several occupations to excel in them all equally."

"Such a man is very rare," I allowed, as Farouk seemed to want assurance that I followed his meaning-though why he persisted in speaking as if he were giving a formal oration, puzzled me.

"Unfortunately, al'Mutamid is perhaps not so rare as his people believe him to be."

"I see. Some people, I suppose, might have difficulty accepting these human limitations," I ventured, adopting Farouk's tone. "Such men might confuse the mere mention of weakness with treason, for example."

"Or worse!" he quickly put in. "Like an arrow, your intellect has penetrated straight to the heart of the matter, and just as swiftly."

"Such things are not unknown in the land where I was born," I told him. "Where kings rule, lesser men must always take heed for themselves. The truly benevolent lord is a wonder of the world."

"Precisely!" Farouk rushed on, "al'Mutamid is a gifted poet, and his calligraphy far surpasses any seen in a hundred years! Two hundred! And his disputation on theological subjects is rightly renowned far and wide." He paused, willing me to understand.

"Naturally," I allowed, "with so many interests it must be difficult to treat more mundane matters with equal consideration. By necessity, some pursuits will prosper while others languish."

"Sadly, that is the way of things completely," agreed Farouk. "Still, God is good. Our khalifa is blessed with a brother who has made it his duty to shoulder the affairs of state to which, by necessity, the busy khalifa cannot address himself."

"It seems a splendid arrangement," I observed, "and one which allows both men to fully devote themselves to the pursuits for which they are best suited."

"By Allah!" cried Farouk. "You have grasped the truth entirely."

"Even so, I do not see why this should cause Amir Sadiq undue concern. It seems to me he could direct to either man those matters which concern him, sparing the other needless worry."

"Alas," replied Farouk sadly, "it is not so simple as that. You see, although he is the khalifa's brother, Abu Ahmad is not entitled to wield the authority he, from time to time, must necessarily assume.

"I see how that would make Abu's position somewhat delicate."

"Amir Sadiq is the last in a long and illustrious line of Sarazen princes and is pledged at birth to serve only the khalifa, and him alone. His loyalty must remain forever beyond the taint of suspicion."

"Of course."

"If even the most insignificant breath of a word hinting that the amir entertained a divided loyalty were to reach the khalifa, Sadiq's death would follow as the night does the day."

"That swiftly?" I mused.

"That swiftly," agreed Farouk, "yet not so rapidly that he would not have leisure to witness the bloody executions of his wives and children, and all his household before his own eyes were put out and he himself was impaled and his head carved off with a dull blade."

"Loyalty is a virtue ever in short supply," I agreed.

"As you are a foreigner," Farouk remarked, "you cannot know how we have suffered under the mad khalifas of recent years. I could tell you tales to induce nightmares. Believe me, it is in everyone's best interest that al'Mutamid is allowed to pursue his poetry in peace."

"I believe you, Farouk."

"As you are a foreigner," the physician repeated, "you cannot know that an ugly rebellion has shaken the khalifa's domain to its very foundations. Abu Ahmad and the khalifa's army are even now engaged in vicious warfare in Basrah-that is in the far south. I believe Prince Abu will eventually quench the flames of rebellion, but for now the rebel forces grow ever stronger, more brazen and brutal; their attacks are increasingly bothersome. In one incident alone more than thirty thousand died. The rebels rushed into the city at midday and slaughtered people at their prayers; the blood of the faithful flowed knee deep in the mosqs." Farouk paused, his head weaving back and forth sorrowfully. "A most shocking tragedy, and merely one of many. This war is a disease that must run its course; I fear it will get worse before it gets better."

"I see," I replied slowly. Indeed, I perceived full well what Farouk was telling me. The caliph was little more than an impotent idler, content to spend his time writing poems and disputing theology, leaving brother Abu to rule in his stead. The southern rebellion now occupied the caliph's army-which is why peace with the emperor of Byzantium was so important to the Sarazens just now. If these facts were known to the Byzantines, I wondered, would Basil remain content with his peace treaty?

"Perhaps," I suggested, turning to another subject on my mind, "you might offer me your thoughts on the Armenians. I know nothing of them, and my views may well be clouded by recent events."

"Ah," replied Farouk, glancing around quickly, "for that I would need to gather my thoughts. Come, I will take you back to your room." He rose and we began following another pathway. "It is no secret," he began once we were moving again, "that the Armenians came to us seeking refuge from the wicked persecutions practised upon them by unenlightened emperors in the west-refuge which the Arab lords were happy to grant as the Armenians asked nothing save to be left alone to practise their peculiar religion. In return for safety and tolerance, they vowed to regard the enemies of the khalifa as their own, and to fight shoulder-to-shoulder with their Sarazen brothers. This they have done ever since.

"But in recent years, they have grown, shall we say, discontented?" Farouk's glance searched the nearby shadows. "It has been suggested that they no longer feel the protection of the khalifa adequate reparation for their travails."

"Perhaps they believe peace between the Sarazens and the Byzantines threatens the safety they have previously enjoyed."

"Again, my friend," Farouk said, smiling and nodding, "you have captured the matter with admirable brevity and concision. Yes, they fear the peace will bring the renewal of hostilities against them."

Despite the physician's smiles, a sense of dread settled over me. I could see that anyone seeking to thwart the plans of both emperor and caliph could not have contrived a more masterful stroke: an attack on the emperor's envoy together with the rumour that the Sarazens would not abide the peace treaty effectively crushed any hope of peace between the two long-warring empires. If, however, the true source of the treachery could be revealed-and I was certain Nikos was deeply involved-the fragile peace plan might yet be salvaged.

But who held the power to accomplish this feat? The caliph, of course, and perhaps the amir-armed with the information I had provided-could effectively expose the treachery. Anyway, I thought with some small comfort, it was well out of my hands.

"I thank you," I said, "for speaking so forthrightly about these matters. But, forgive me if I speak bluntly, why have you told me these things?"

"Men in positions of influence must often make important decisions," he observed blandly. "The best decisions are those which flow from true understanding. And, as I said before, you deserve a proper accounting."

"Once again, you have rendered your patient valuable service. Now, I think, I must concentrate whatever small abilities and resources I possess in helping free my friends and brothers who remain slaves in the mines."

"A worthy ambition, to be sure," confirmed Farouk. "I commend you to your task. Still," he stopped walking and turned to me, "I feel I must warn you, that path, should you choose it, is fraught with difficulty. Amir Sadiq has implied as much, and he is right. Nevertheless, he has given you his promise and a more valuable commodity would be difficult to imagine."

"Please, do not think me ungracious," I replied, "but my ignorance prevents me from grasping the nature of the difficulty you describe."

"The principal obstacle, I believe, lies in the manner which Faysal employed to free you."

"He killed the overseer."

"So I understand." We turned then, and I found that we were moving towards the palace once more. "Naturally, such extreme methods, however warranted, often have the effect of complicating matters far beyond our abilities to appreciate at the time."

I accepted what Farouk said, although I was beginning to grow weary of everyone telling me what difficult times we lived in and how I must be patient. I seemed always on the receiving end of such advice, but never in a position to give it. That, I thought, would have to change before I began to get my way.

My kindly physician returned me to my room then, and I rested through the heat of the day, rising when I heard footsteps in the corridor. Kazimain came into my room expecting me to be asleep. She started when, raising her eyes from the tray in her hands, she saw me standing beside the bed. Curiously, she blushed; colour seeped into her cheeks and throat and she hastened to place the tray on the low wooden tripod. She then turned and departed abruptly, leaving me with the distinct impression that I had spoiled a surprise.

I called after her to wait, knowing she would understand nothing of what I said. As expected, she paid no heed; I listened until her footsteps could no longer be heard, and then went to the door and looked out. Though I could easily be mistaken, I believe I saw her face at the far end of the corridor-just the side of her face, peering around the corner…she disappeared the instant I stepped from the room.

I ate some fruit from the tray, and drank the sweet drink from the golden cup, and sat upon my bed pondering what such odd behaviour could mean. I was thus occupied when I heard footsteps in the corridor. This time, I remained seated, waiting for Kazimain to enter when she would. It was not Kazimain who came to me, however, but Faysal, and he brought with him a slender young man with short curly hair and large sad eyes. The young man was dressed in simple white trousers and a short sleeveless tunic; he was barefoot, and his right foot was tattooed with a strange blue mark.

Faysal greeted me respectfully and remarked on my recovery. He then presented the barefoot young man to me saying, "This is Mahmoud. He is to be your teacher." At my inquiring glance, he explained: "The noble Sadiq believes you to be a man of intelligence. Further, it is the amir's belief that you will accede more swiftly to your rightful rank within his household once you are master of your own words. To this end, he has determined that you are to speak like a civilized man from now on."

"The amir is too kind," I replied, my heart sinking at the prospect of having to learn yet another language.

"Be of good cheer, my friend," Faysal told me. "Mahmoud is a master of many tongues. He will soon have you speaking like a true son of the desert."

"Again," I replied, my enthusiasm flagging, "I am in the amir's debt. I will look forward to beginning tomorrow."

"The day is not so far spent that you must defer your pleasure," Faysal countered. "Now is the propitious hour for new beginnings."

"As you will," I said, yielding to Faysal's suggestion. Turning to the young man, I indicated the cushions on the floor. "Please, be seated. Let us begin."

Mahmoud bowed slightly from the waist and folded himself onto a cushion, crossing his legs and resting his hands on his knees. "It is an honour for me to instruct you, A'dan," he told me in singing Greek. "My mother was from Thessalonika, thus I have an affinity for the speech of my earliest memory. I think we shall prosper together." He waited for me to ease myself into a sitting position on a cushion, and then said, "We begin."

With this, Mahmoud began saying the letters of the Greek alphabet, interposing them with their Arabic counterparts. Faysal watched for a moment, then left the room with a smile of satisfaction on his face. Thus began a long and arduous grappling for mastery of what must be the world's most insidious speech. Wonderfully fluid and subtle, it is nonetheless fiendishly difficult to utter for one not born to it.

I might have despaired ever succeeding, but from the beginning I determined that I stood a far better chance of rescuing my friends, and taking revenge on Nikos, if I could speak Arabic. It was to Gunnar and Dugal, then, and for vengeance sake, that I dedicated my efforts. Curiously, this determination took hold in me and produced an unexpected result. For as I dwelt on it over the following days, I began to feel different within myself. This feeling festered like a boil on my soul until it suddenly burst. I remember the very moment it happened. I was standing on the roof as the sun went down on another hot, wearisome day; I was watching the dusky reds and lavenders of the sky deepen towards night, and I suddenly thought: I will be a slave no more.

The idea shocked me with its potency. Instantly, as if a long-sealed vessel were shattered, spilling its contents every which way over the floor, thoughts scattered everywhere. Too long had I been the unwitting victim of fate; too long had I meekly accepted as my due whatever those in authority deigned to give me. Too long had I been the dupe of circumstance, the feather blown hither and thither, the leaf tossed on eventful waves. But no more.

I will be free, I thought. Men may rule me, but from now on I will be my own master. I will act, and not be acted upon. From this moment, I am a new man, and I will do what I want.

What did I want? I wanted to see my friends free, of course, and to see Nikos dead, or in their place. But how to do it? The answer did not emerge at once. Indeed, it took me some time to work out how it might be accomplished. When I finally glimpsed the shape of my ambition, it took a form far stranger than any I could have imagined at the time.

Meanwhile, I redoubled my efforts at learning to speak, as Faysal had it, "like a civilized man." In this I did not suffer alone. Through myriad blunderings, failings, mistakes, errors, and confusion, the patient Mahmoud stood by me, commending my feeble progress and patiently correcting my lapses. It could not have been easy for him to sit with me day after day, often in bitter disappointment over his thick-headed pupil's shortcomings. Nor was it easy for me-I cannot count the times I threw myself down gasping with strangled frustration at the difficulty of making sense.

"It is for your own good, A'dan," Mahmoud would say gently, before adding: "The amir wills it." Then, once I had composed myself anew, we would begin again.

My chief and only solace through this interminable ordeal was Kazimain. She continued to bring me my meals each morning and evening-as I could not speak well enough to attend the amir's table, Sadiq had decreed that I take my meals alone in my room. This was not a punishment, I discovered; he treated his own children the same way. I found this out some time after Farouk departed, pronouncing me well enough recovered to be safely left. Employing my feeble abilities, I spoke to Kazimain one evening when she came with my food.

"The days are growing shorter now," I observed mildly.

She lowered her eyes. "Yes," she agreed. "Soon Lord Sadiq will return and you will begin taking your meals at the amir's table. Then you will see Kazimain no more."

"Truly?" I said. It was the first I had heard of anything like this.

She nodded, her head still bent to her work.

"If my speaking Arabic prevents me from seeing you, then I shall pretend not to speak at all."

She glanced up in horror. "You must not!" she warned. "Lord Sadiq would not be pleased."

"But I do not want you to go away. I like seeing you."

She did not look at me, but placed the tray of food on the tripod, turned quickly, and made to leave.

"Wait," I said. "Stay."

Kazimain hesitated. Then, unexpectedly she straightened and turned back. "I am your servant. Command me."

Her reply, if I understood it correctly, surprised me. "It is tedious eating every meal alone. Stay and talk to me. It will be good for me to speak to someone besides Mahmoud."

"Very well," she agreed. "If that is what you require."

"It is." I sat down on a cushion beside the tray, and gestured for her to join me in my meal.

"It is not allowed," she said. "But I will sit while you eat." She picked up a cushion, moved it further away and sat down. "What would you have me say to you?"

"Tell me about-a," I could not think of the word I wanted, so said, "-Kazimain. Tell me about Kazimain."

"That is a tale soon told," she said. "Your servant Kazimain is kinswoman to Lord Sadiq. My mother was the amir's sister-one of four. She died of fever eight years ago."

"I am sorry to hear it," I said. "What of your father?"

"My father was a very wealthy man; he owned many olive trees and three ships. When my mother died, he grew unhappy and lost interest in his affairs. One night when he did not come to his meal, the servants found him in his room. He was dead," she intoned without emotion. "In our city it is said he died of a wounded heart."

Though I did not understand all she said, I grasped the essence of it, and found it fascinating. I had no words to express my interest, so I merely asked, "What happened then?"

"As the amir was eldest of all his brothers, I was brought here. It is our way," she paused, then added: "Here have I been, and here will I stay-until Lord Sadiq makes a suitable marriage for me."

This last was said with the merest hint of resignation-which I understood well enough, though I did not understand the word she used to describe the marriage. "This would not please you?" I asked.

"My pleasure is to serve my lord and obey his will," she answered mildly, but I sensed a disposition in sharp conflict to her words. Then she gave me a look of such direct and open appraisal, I saw a very different young woman before me than I had known before. "You speak well," she said.

"Mahmoud is an excellent teacher," I answered. "He makes his poor pupil appear better than he is. I am only too aware of how much I do not know, and how much more I must learn. I do not think I shall join the amir's table soon."

She stood abruptly. "Then I will come again tomorrow night so that you may speak to me-if that is your command."

"It is my…wish," I said.

She left the room without a sound, leaving only the slight scent of jasmine lingering in the air. I finished my meal and lay on my bed looking out at the night sky, and whispering her name to the southern stars.