The Sky Worshipers

by F. M. Deemyad

  Chapter Five

  The Bride of Baghdad

  If that maiden from Shiraz wins my heart

  I will grant her the lands of Samarkand and Bukhara

  Just to reward

  The beauty mark on her sweet complexion

  ~Hafez (14th Century Persian Poet)

  Prior to the ascension of the Khawarazm Dynasty to the throne, the Seljuks ruled Persia and Transoxiana. Unlike the current rulers, the old dynasty, also a Turkic one, was known for its benevolence toward the subjects and appreciation for the Persian language and culture. An ancient palace in the suburbs of Samarkand had now become the former royals’ abode. Persian subjects of Khwarazm Shah would have revolted if he had granted the Seljuk family a less than honorable place to stay.

  The ancient structure, although run down, still retained a portion of its former grandeur. Images of flowers and birds depicted on a mosaic frieze adorned its exterior. Tiny mirror tiles embellished the white interior of the multistory pavilion. White marble steps that led to marmoreal flooring still maintained their luster.

  Its carpets, some over one hundred years old, looked threadbare, but the servants and chambermaids, who had tended to the needs of the Seljuk family for generations, made sure that the palace remained in presentable condition, and that the garden continued to brim with roses in spring.

  The family was sidelined though and remained outside political and social circles. Although the former king had passed away long ago, just about everyone in Samarkand still called his family by their royal names; and sentries known as “gharavols” provided security services when called upon.

  Princess Reyhan, the witty granddaughter of the last Seljuk King had reached the peak of her beauty, for further attainment in that area did not seem possible to her admirers who grew in numbers by the day. Reyhan’s beauty was of the kind that commanded respect. When she shyly lifted her long, curled lashes, her large hazel eyes were like round cut amber upon her porcelain face. She looked fragile as she carried herself with the poise and grace of members of royalty.

  Tensions were running high between Khwarazm Shah and the Caliph of Baghdad. Mistrust had grown between the two leaders especially since rumors had begun to circulate that the Caliph had secretly encouraged the Mongols to attack Persia. The Caliph, motivated both by the desire to mitigate tensions with the Persian subjects of the Shah and the stories he had heard about Reyhan, made her a proposal of marriage on behalf of his son. Such a match would win the hearts and minds of the citizens who had admired the Seljuk kings and despised Khwarazm Shah. At the same time, it was meant as a snub to the Shah who did not want members of a former dynasty finding a lofty status in society.

  It was a time known to Europeans as the Ides of March in the year 1220 AD. Persian astronomers had calculated the precise timing of each month, based on earth’s rotation around the sun. In less than a week, at the exact moment of the commencement of spring, Nowruz or “new day festivities” that lasted for thirteen days would begin.

  As nature augured the season of hope with the melting snow and the warming earth, the family decided that the wedding should take place on the very first day of the ancient festivities. The news of the wedding had placed fresh focus on the family of the former king. The word “former” was dropped from all conversations, however, as residents of Samarkand shared the joy of young Princess Reyhan.

  Reyhan and her family used the private pool of the palace for bathing. Only on special occasions, like the upcoming wedding of Princess Reyhan, did they venture out to the main bathhouse of Samarkand which would then be closed to all commoners. A sign stating so, as well as the presence of gharavols outside the bathhouse, warded off inquisitive passersby.

  The bathhouse had wide steps that led to a deep green door with two small windows at each side. Hours before the arrival of the princess, ten gharavols had stood at considerable distances from one another in front of the bathhouse, each almost invisible to the other at dawn. No pedestrians or vendors lingered nearby, for all had heeded the morning call to prayers.

  A unit of ten Mongol warriors dressed as bathhouse workers approached the gharavols from behind. The Mongols had covered their faces in the red checkered cloth used as towels in such public places. Before the Persian gharavols realized the presence of encroaching enemy and before fear could settle into their hearts, their throats were slit one by one. They made no noise as they succumbed to death. In the eerie quiet of dawn, the Mongols dragged the bodies of their victims into the empty bathhouse and dumped them where they would not be discovered for days to come.

  By the time Princess Reyhan and her companions arrived, the sun had squeezed through the branches and left its trace on the pavement, shedding light on a bright red drop of blood, too small to be noticeable. The former crime scene appeared innocent, and nothing was out of the ordinary. The Mongols, wearing the outfits of the slain gharavols with blood rinsed out of them, performed guard duty as expected. The fact that they held their heads down was merely attributed to their piety and reluctance to stare at the ladies entering the premises.

  The special preparations made for Reyhan’s arrival surprised the Persian Princess and her chambermaids who had accompanied her. A reflection pool shaped like a flower and edged with mud bricks greeted them at the entrance. Water flowing from a fountain splashed onto the deep green tiles of the pool which stood in the middle of a large space. A vaulted ceiling, painted the color of fresh-made butter, met halfway down the walls with tiles of like color, studded with emerald green pieces of marble. The entry led to a larger space of similar design that contained an enormous pool of water. Tile-covered seat walls encircled the pool.

  The workers had scrubbed the entire bathhouse or Hammam until its tiles gleamed in the candlelight at every corner. Hammam workers had filled the warmed pool with fresh shimmering waters before leaving the premises to allow the ladies complete privacy. The male attendants, as well as the regular female bathhouse workers, were given a day off so that Reyhan’s trusted chambermaids would tend to her needs.

  Petals of rose, a flower grown and revered for centuries in Persia, filled the surface of the pool, and the scent of rose oil added to the water, infused the bathhouse with an intoxicating aroma. After all, few were the times when the old royal family visited the place. Princess Reyhan’s chambermaids washed her hair with an aromatic potion of green lotus powder called sedr, which made it the color of ripe dates. Thus, she got prepared for the next day’s ceremony of applying henna paste to her hands and feet in elaborate designs as required by tradition.

  Eager to get to the Grand Bazaar after luxuriating in an early morning bath, Reyhan felt an inexpressible sense of elation as she got dressed in an antechamber in the bathhouse. After wearing a long-sleeved silk dress, the color of the palest pink roses, she donned a short-sleeved black brocade topcoat with pink embroidery. A triangular scarf of yellow silk tied at her chin with a bejeweled ornament kept her long braids from the eyes of strangers. The ornament, covered in precious stones, was among the few pieces of jewelry the family still possessed. As she stepped out of the antechamber, her companions began to sing an old Persian bridal song in unison:

  The roads are narrow, oh yay

  Our bride a beauty, oh yay

  Hands off her tassels strewn with pearls

  Oh yay, oh yay, oh yay

  Looking fresh and renewed, the party left for the bazaar in several covered horse-drawn carriages which had been arranged to spirit them away at the appointed time. The Mongols dressed as gharavols followed them in their own coaches, maintaining a distance. The intruders wouldn’t attack the women at such a public locus, for the entire city would begin pursuing them within minutes.

  The barely visible strands of cloud soon began to give way to dark ones and a heavy rain shower ensued. Incessant rains of the past few days had already washed off any residue of snow. Little blades of grass poked their
heads out of the previously frozen earth. Early blooms of white crocuses dotted the landscape. Tall cypress trees that had lived more than a century rose like columns toward the sky, and fields of red poppies adorned the sides of stone-paved roads.

  As Princess Reyhan entered the Bazaar, an elderly woman, who appeared to be the wife of an even older shopkeeper with a snow-white head called out to her, Shazdeh Khanoom (Lady Princess)! She brought out an incense-burner to ward off evil from the bride-to-be, and as the smoke of dried rue seeds in it rose, she prayed for the princess’s health. “May the angels protect you, my dear Khanoom,” she said with sincerity. Reyhan gave her a coin as a small token of appreciation. Funds had been tight, for their limited allowance approved by the court of Khwarazm was dwindling further and further each year. Thanks to the marriage proposal, however, she could shop to her heart’s desire, courtesy of the Caliph of Baghdad. There were dresses to be selected, shoes to decide on and of course perfumes and jewelry.

  The numerous customers of the bazaar had still not quite worn the cobblestone pathway that ran through its length. In the virtually empty marketplace, the sounds of shop owners resonated as they called out, “Shazdeh Khanoom look at this fabric . . . Shazdeh Khanoom see this beautiful gem . . .” It had been a while since Reyhan had come to the Grand Bazaar. Her fellow countrymen had to go through so much trouble for her to maintain security that she shied away from the place and sent her chambermaids instead.

  The two Mongolian spies dressed as beggars waited patiently in the bazaar until finally, the opportunity they were expecting presented itself. They had informed their superiors in advance that the youngest daughter of the king who intended to marry the son of the Caliph of Baghdad on the very first day of Nowruz, just a few days away, would arrive with her entourage to make her purchases for the occasion. Thus, they had planned for the abduction of the princess. The act would strike terror in the hearts of the inhabitants and leave them vulnerable during the ensuing invasion.

  On that Sunday, a sign bearing the Persian word Ghorogh, meaning reserved, was placed at the entry to the bazaar, assuring the two spies of the timing of the royal visit. One of the fake beggars, hiding underneath a table displaying rolls of exquisite fabric, could see the hem of the princess’s pink silk skirt dancing in the breeze. At times, the soft fabric caressed the fingers of the ruffian, tempting him to touch the polished leather of the princess’s pointed toe boots. Her boots were a far cry from the rugged footwear he had seen back home. He pulled away his fingers though, resisting the temptation, knowing that if caught he would certainly be hanged.

  The other imposter had the inconvenience of being stationed outside on the bazaar’s roof near a peeping hole, right above the goldsmith’s shop. Despite the heavy rain that had soaked his clothes, he must have hoped to at least catch a glimpse of the fair ladies’ faces, for surely, they would stop at the Jewelers’ Corner. Luck was on his side. Not only did they come in, but were in his full view as they closely examined the fine craftsmanship of the flawless marvels of gold and silver. Delight sparkled in his eyes as he watched the fair maidens try on a number of rings and bracelets. Knowing that the Mongol warriors would soon arrive, however, he left his post and ran toward the entrance of the marketplace to await further orders. He did not have to wait long, because the famous falcon of a Mongol prince flew above his head and perched on the roof of the bazaar.

  Chapter Six

  Two Pools of Honey

  In the Mongol encampment erected near Samarkand, Genghis Khan addressed his sons with his distinct aura of authority. Looking toward the makeshift ger’s entrance with his jaw muscles twitching he said, “The sky has ordained me to rule the earth and impose my will upon the nations of the world. I have brought emperors to their knees and taken their women as prisoners of war.”

  Genghis’s four sons, all off-spring of Borte, his first love, and most respected wife, stood apart from one another, as their father addressed them. The Great Khan intended to choose the heir to the Mongol throne, the Khaqan or the leader of the Khans.

  “What I have achieved,” Genghis continued, “has not been easy. Many of our people, including some of our kin, lost their lives to establish this empire. What is being handed to you is a responsibility above all, to maintain the cohesion of our nation, to sustain our supremacy and to ensure that the Mongols are never humiliated again.”

  Although each one of his sons would be granted the status of Khan with his own dominion to rule, Genghis intended to select only one as Khaqan, to the will of whom all others would have to submit.

  At the same time, Genghis had finally come face to face with a lie he had lived with all his life. He noticed how Chaghatai, the second in line of succession, stared with contempt and hatred at Jochi, the heir apparent. Their contentious attitude had infuriated the Khan and forewarned of a crisis that threatened the unity of his empire. Family problems had come to surface like an old festering wound that was now impossible to heal, making him face a specter he had wished never to witness.

  Jochi, the eldest, a stout forty-year-old, was the natural choice, save for the fact that his mother Borte, while Khan’s wife had been kidnapped by a rival clan exactly nine months before his birth. Genghis eventually rescued her, and the matter was forgotten. No one had brought the issue up until that very moment when the Khan intended to announce that Jochi would be his successor. What had so far been mere insinuations to Jochi’s questionable birth and circumstances of conception exploded into open confrontation. Chagatai viciously questioned the legitimacy of his elder brother’s lineage, calling him the spawn of the enemy. Thus, the meeting ended abruptly.

  Tolui, the youngest son, had repeatedly called himself a warrior and not a statesman. He spent most of his days on the battlefield and during his short stays at home sharpened his military skills. Politics, statesmanship and the machinations needed to run vast territories did not seem to be what he looked forward to or cared much about.

  Ogodei, five years younger than Jochi and third in line of succession, possessed a disposition that distinguished him from his three brothers. He had a relatively mild temperament and enjoyed the bountiful beauty of nature and riding his favorite black stallion.

  Ogodei left the ger and its tense environment the very moment circumstances permitted him to do so and rode his horse far from the squabbling that had opened an old painful wound. Thankfully, no other soul was present in that meeting, save for Genghis’s most trusted advisor, a Chinese sage by the name of Ye Liu Chutsai.

  As he rode away, Ogodei recalled the determined, stern look on his father’s face. Hardships of youth and a lifetime of struggle had left their mark upon Genghis’s forehead. He tried to erase from his mind the image of the Great Khan pleading with his two eldest sons and how he failed, leaving him with no choice but to dismiss both as his possible successors. What made it all sound so ludicrous, was the fact that the Khan was still alive and well and needed no help in running his kingdom’s affairs. Ogodei had no idea what had possessed his father and made him decide to choose a successor at this pass. He did not want to even think about the fact that he might be the chosen one.

  He rode his horse through the wilderness without stopping, hoping to reach the unit of ten commandoes on a mission to kidnap the Persian Princess. The location was not too far from the Mongol encampment, and the adventure would surely ease this gut-wrenching feeling he had had all morning. Once he mounted his horse, his falcon tethered to his wrist; he felt free from the rules and regulations imposed by the Mongol court.

  Ogodei loved the wilderness and hunted beasts with the same agility as his ancestors. Alone, his fury at the way his brothers had treated each other in the presence of their father and their lack of respect for the Khan slowly subsided as the wind blew in his face, and he felt the sweat of the horse on the skin of his hand. He beat his feet against the sides of his stallion so many times, enticing it to ride faster that he feared he mi
ght have broken the poor animal’s ribcage.

  The earlier rain showers had left the fields smelling fresh. The scent of wet earth mingled with that of green grass. He loved the smell of the wilderness and knew he belonged to it. Trusted steed, rider and the wind together formed one instrument, the strumming of which became the music that satiated his soul. From all the territories that the Mongols had captured, the one he sought was indeed the tranquility of the meadow.

  The aromatic scent of wild hyacinths filled the air. Blades of grass turned translucent in the sunlight raised their spiky heads toward the sky. Ogodei imagined them to be sword-wielding enemy armies and lifted his sword in an illusory combat with them. He heard his falcon, now untethered, hovering above his head and laughed. The sound of his laughter mingled with the shrill cry of the bird. He took this as a good omen and thought of the adventure ahead. The bird was trained to lead him to the commander of the unit of ten Mongol warriors dispatched earlier to the Grand Bazaar of Samarkand.

  He arrived breathless in time to join them, as they entered the bazaar. Being the son of the Mongol Khan had its privileges. He took on the mission of capturing the princess without complaints from the others, who were left with the task of kidnapping the remaining members of her entourage.

  Ogodei longed to see the look of surprise on the faces of the women they were about to capture, as he liked staring into the eyes of the animals he hunted when he entrapped them. It thrilled him to see the realization in their faces that there would be no escape. He anticipated a similar look of surprise on the faces of these women. But even from a distance, he felt overwhelmed when he laid eyes on Reyhan. He was about to pick the most beautiful flower in the land. The princess’s eyes, like two pools of honey that would have melted any man’s heart, remained focused on him.