Harald laughed again, helping them to their seats. Glad that his wife, Inga, had not made the voyage with him, and relieved to have the equally distressing Thruna already married, he now looked toward the evening with renewed interest. The stuffy Greeks had been most boring; he had wondered how he might stay awake for the rest of the evening. But now, this young stranger from Baghdad had brought new life into the party. And with such beautiful women at his side, Harald was convinced he would yet have a good time.
All manner of foods were swiftly placed before the hosts. From stuck pig to the finest lamb and skewered beef. Casseroles of every description; pots laden with stew, covered with onions, smothered with a peppery tomato sauce; mountain-high husks of corn on platters swollen with garnished potatoes; baked chicken, dashed with ground cinnamon and cloved garlic, sprinkled with a rich cheese sauce. Skewered roast, fried eggplant, hams basted and covered with breadcrumbs and nutmeg. There were thick muttons and mutton chops, oxtail, gut and veal, doused in sour cream atop sliced cucumber. Fish and fowl, vegetables galore. Many of them strange foods to the eyes of Sinbad, but all readily devoured with relish by the Norsemen for whom most were specially prepared.
Wine flowed freely, but to Sinbad’s surprise he saw that most of the guests from Denmark spurned it, preferring instead to drink the bitter barreled ale they had brought themselves. It did not take long for bellies to be filled and thirsts quenched. Tongues spoke more freely as more and more of the ale and wines were consumed. And Sinbad noted that, like her father, Princess Thruna, now queen of Crete, had a most healthy appetite for the heady, homebrewed ale. Holding her flagon high with one hand, a soft layer of foam nestled like a moustache above her lip, she laughed and drank, toasting everybody at the table in true Nordic fashion. The braided princess seemed more than a match for her dour and austere husband, Sinbad noted with a chuckle, thinking that the king had probably let himself in for more than he realized.
King Harald joined in the merriment, insisting that Felicia and Clair share with him their lives and pasts, rollicking at the tales Felicia had to tell, pinching both women in embarrassing places and, much to the consternation of his Greek hosts, turning the atmosphere of the banquet into one decidedly Viking in nature.
Harald roared good-naturedly as several of his men started to brawl. The combatants cleared off a table top and, while other guests fled their seats in horror, the king stood and offered a fine prize to the winner. When the flushed king of Crete bade them to stop and behave like gentlemen, good Harald shut him up with a deadly glance.
“Such patsies these Greeks are,” he mumbled to Sinbad with a wink. “Tell me, is there sport among the peoples of the Mediterranean?”
Sinbad laughed, himself growing heady on the strong brew. “Indeed there is, my lord,” he replied boastfully, returning the wink. “Why, among my crew is a man, a man … Not a man, my lord. A giant. The strongest giant in all of Islam — the world’s greatest wrestler.”
Harald’s blond brows narrowed with interest.
Thruna leaned across her husband and looked to Sinbad. “Is this man here now?”
“Unfortunately no, my lady. He enjoys the banquet in the plaza, along with the rest of my crew and the good people of Crete.”
“Then bring him,” demanded Thruna, ignoring her husband completely. “Let him fight one of our own to determine which land bears the true champion … ”
Harald pounded his fists on the tables. “An excellent idea! Bring on this giant!” He looked distastefully at the two warriors having it out with swords atop the table and commanded them to cease. As the crowd of onlookers voiced their displeasure with hoots, Harald raised his arms and calmed them. “Enough of these amateurs,” he growled. “We’re going to have some real fighting. Between Captain Sinbad’s best warrior and our own!” At this a mighty cheer went up from the hundreds of Norsemen.
“Balox, come forward!”
All eyes turned as the powerful viking stood from his chair at a distant table, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, strode forward with awesome strides, and bowed before his liege.
“Are you ready for a contest, good Balox?”
The hirsute warrior’s sharp teeth glinted; he grinned. “At your command, sire.” He looked about the room distastefully. “But which of these effeminate Greeks am I to fight?”
The Hellenic guests murmured at the insult. The king of Crete rose to his feet and tried to intercede before things got out of control. “I … I don’t think this is a very good idea,” he stammered.
“Oh, shut up!” barked Thruna. “Don’t you ever have any fun?”
At this the Norsemen chuckled. The king sat back humbled, his face as long as his sigh.
Sinbad bowed to him. “Sire, do not be upset. This will only be a friendly match. I promise you. No weapons. A bout of wrestling to entertain your noble guests.”
But the king was still hesitant; he didn’t very much like the thought of his carefully planned party being taken over by all these foreigners.
“Please, my dear,” cooed Thruna, now snuggling up to him. “For me? just this once?”
The king growled but assented. He stood again. “Have the wrestler from Sinbad’s crew brought here,” he commanded his guards.
Harald laughed. “What? And deny his shipmates the honor of seeing him?” He, too, looked to the perplexed guards. “Bring all of Captain Sinbad’s crew! Let’s see what kind of men these Easterners really are!”
And the crowd of Vikings applauded while the Greeks shrank. Balox quickly stripped himself of his furs and jacket and stood proudly flexing his muscles before the oohing and ahhing audience.
Harald laughed again, clapping Sinbad on the shoulder. “I must warn you, my friend: Balox is my finest soldier. Why, once in the German black forests I saw him kill a bear with his hands!”
Sinbad smiled. “Thank you for your concern, King Harald. But I, too, must give warning. If Mongo breaks your man’s back, don’t blame me.”
The king bellowed. He held out his empty flagon and called for more ale. Twenty serving girls scurried to do his bidding.
It was not long before the arched doors of the hall flew open and in came the crew of the Scheherazade, all slightly drunk, all staggering up toward Sinbad at the platform. In the middle of the group, a full head above everyone else, came Mongo. The jolly giant was already set for the match, naked save for a small covering about his loins. His body, in preparation, had been gently smeared with fat so that his flesh glistened in the candlelight. He glanced briefly at the waiting Balox, then politely bowed before Harald and the king of Crete.
Harald turned to Sinbad. He rubbed at his flowing beard with obvious admiration. “Hmmm. It seems you told me no lies, my young friend … ”
“I never lie, sire,” replied the beaming captain, realizing that even the mighty Balox seemed to be dwarfed by his giant.
Harald clapped his hands. The center of the floor was cleared, tables dragged out of the way. Many of the Greek ladies in attendance turned away their eyes. “Let the fight begin!” roared Harald. “A hundred pieces of silver to the winner! Paid by our host, the king of Crete!”
The crowd cheered madly while the king of Crete put his head to his hands and groaned.
And so the fight began. Balox and Mongo circled each other for some long moments, then both charged, each seeking a quick pin. Though the Libyan showed an advantage in height and reach, the wily Balox proved a tough competitor. Used to such combat in his raiding days along the Northern European coasts, he gave Mongo more than a fair fight. Indeed, for a long time he not only kept the giant at bay but actually almost pinned him several times through the use of a number of tricks unknown to the East.
Harald munched upon a great leg of lamb, enjoying every second. Thruna leaned forward, her blue eyes wide, and shouted vulgar epithets at Balox every time Mongo slipped away unharmed.
The wrestlers tumbled across the floor, smacked into tables, crushed urns, and sent silverware flying. Balox grunted w
hen Mongo’s fist met his mouth; spitting teeth and blood the Viking delivered a blow of his own to the giant’s solar plexus. Then they grappled again, twisting, cavorting, slamming themselves against the draperies and pulling valuable tapestries from the walls.
The Norsemen loved it. So did Sinbad’s crew. And so did many of the younger Greeks who also considered themselves athletes. But Thruna’s husband could only simmer with anger. He was beginning to dislike his barbaric father-in-law and his rugged new bride. Was the palace of Crete to be turned into an arena for brawling? He shuddered and grew determined to keep family visits to a minimum.
“Hit him, Balox!” screamed a nervous Thruna, swinging a fist through the air. “Or must I get in there and do it for you?”
Felicia was jumping up and down, her own fists flailing. “Come on, Mongo! Pin him! Pin the oaf!”
Both fighters were growing weary; they squared off panting, sweat dripping from their bodies like rain.
Harald looked to Sinbad and frowned. “Seems to be a draw,” he mumbled with disappointment.
“I think so, sire. Your man Balox is much sturdier than I thought.”
“My man? What about your own? Why, I’d give anything to bring him back to Denmark with me. A man like that … ” He sucked in air and sighed wistfully. Then he said, “What about it, Captain? Come back to Roskilde with me. Join my fleet, you and all your men. Why, together I bet we could teach those German and Irish dogs a trick or two, eh?”
Sinbad was certainly flattered. He would have loved to share some adventure with the king of the Danes. But how could he go when so many matters were yet unsettled? When Sherry still languished in the caliph’s court as a wife and prisoner?
“I thank you for the offer, my lord,” he said. “And were it possible I would gladly accept your hospitality. But” — he lowered his gaze — “alas, it just isn’t possible. Not now one day, perhaps … ”
Suddenly the crowd roared; Mongo had all but finished off the clever Viking, but as he drew close to a pin, Balox somehow managed to wiggle out of his grasp. The Norsemen became excited and many of them were clearly itching to get involved in a little bout of their own.
Then it happened. One of Sinbad’s crewmen accidently jostled the Viking behind him. The Norseman used the bump as a pretext to start a brawl. He hauled back his fist without warning, connected, and sent the startled crewman sprawling. At this, several other members of the Scheherazade leaped upon the attacker — and the fight was on. Seconds later, all of the crew, joined by a handful of sturdy Greek youths in training for the Olympics, charged the willing Vikings.
Casseroles smashed to the floor, women screamed and ran, priests dumbfoundedly ducked for cover. The brawl rippled outward until it encompassed the entire hall.
The king of Crete was on his feet in an instant. Veins popping, he shrieked at the sight of valuable treasures being smashed all over the place.
“Stop it!” he screamed, crimson with rage. “I demand you stop at once!”
But the noise was so great that no one had heard. Harald turned to his son-in-law and looked at him as though he were mad. “What’s the matter with you, eh?” he asked. “Don’t you like your people to enjoy themselves? In my court we do this all the time. There’s no harm — ”
“Be quiet, you old fool!” yelled the king of Crete. “Just look at the hall! It’s a shambles! Those vases your men broke are priceless! Those tapestries — ”
Burly Harald would have killed the little Greek without batting an eye had it not been for the marriage and the trade agreements whose ink was still wet. “Sit down, you weakling,” he seethed. He glanced to his grinning daughter. “And count yourself lucky … ” His intent was not lost on the king of Crete who, knees quivering, sat down in silence. Every time another valuable artifact was heaved against the wall, he flinched.
Sinbad, hoping to rekindle the strained friendship, quickly took out the silk-wrapped present and drew both Harald and the king away from the fight. “My lords,” he announced. “I would like at this moment to present Thruna with the present I have brought. Had I more time to select, I might have found something even more worthy, but as I’ve been at sea … ” He crouched as a large gaily painted urn sailed above his head and shattered behind him. Then he unwrapped the brooch and held it out for all to see.
Felicia took one look and gasped; her eyes grew wild. Sinbad saw the look and smiled. “It is dazzling, isn’t it?” She tugged at his sleeve, breathless. “Sinbad” she stammered. “Sinbad, listen to me. Don’t — ”
But before she could finish her thought, Thruna squealed with pleasure. “Let me see it!” she pleaded, and Sinbad was all too eager to hand it over. “For your wedding, good lady. May you and your husband know many happy — ” Felicia was pulling at him more frantically. He turned around, annoyed. “What is it, girl? Why are you — ?”
“We must get that brooch back!” she panted. “Now! Quickly, before the king of Crete sees it!”
“What in Allah’s name are you talking about? It’s their gift. Our goodwill effort on the part of Baghdad.”
“Oh, its stunning!” cried Thruna, clutching it to her breast while her pleased father looked on.
“Yes, my lady. Rare as a star. The finest handiwork you shall ever see. The famed craftsmen of both Baghdad and Damascus toiled for fully a year to design and forge it — ”
A dark pall came over the king of Crete’s face. “May I see this present?” he demanded, his hand brazenly stuck out to accept it.
Thruna was still beside herself with excitement. “Isn’t it marvelous, my husband? What fine work! These men of the East should be well rewarded for their art.”
The king scowled. “Give it to me.” Thruna handed it over with growing puzzlement. Her husband was obviously upset, and she didn’t understand why.
The king took it with both hands and examined it carefully, all the while growing more livid.
“What’s the matter with him?” Sinbad muttered.
Felicia gulped. “That brooch, Sinbad. Melissa took it from — ”
“Where did you get this?” barked the king of Crete, rising from his chair and glaring at the puzzled mariner.
“My lord? Why, that gift was forged just for this occasion. It — ”
“You’re a liar!”
Sinbad stared back at him. The king’s lips were trembling, saliva was dripping off his lolling tongue. “A liar, sire?” He began to rise, but before he could, King Harald, suspecting that something was amiss, kept him in his place.
“What seems to be the matter?” he asked.
“The matter? The matter?” The king’s eyes were popping from their sockets. “You dare even ask such a question? An outrage! In my own home, no less!” And he pounded his fists on the table.
Harald looked at Sinbad and shrugged. “Poor fellow’s had too much to drink, I suppose. I can’t think of any other reason — ”
“I’ll give you plenty of reasons!” he boomed. And he stuck the brooch directly beneath Harald’s nose. “Do you see this? Do you see it?”
Harald nodded. “Yes. And I think it’s lovely. Too feminine, perhaps, but lovely. You should thank Captain Sinbad for bringing it here.”
“Oh, I’ll thank him, all right. I’ll thank him! Guards! Guards!”
Felicia, Sinbad, and Clair all jumped up.
“See here!” growled Harald.
“You’re a fool, Harald!” sneered the king of Crete. “This gift belongs to me! It was my grandmother’s! An heirloom in our family for nearly three hundred years! Two years ago it was stolen — my family’s treasures were being shipped for safekeeping to Rhodes when pirates attacked and stole everything aboard. This brooch that our good Captain bears is not a gift of Baghdad but my own precious jewel! No doubt this rogue” — he pointed at Sinbad contemptuously — “was the very pirate who stole it! And now he dares return it as a gift. What an insult! Guards! Call the guards!”
“Is this true?” asked Harald.
Sinbad lifted his right hand solemnly. “I swear to you, my lord, I didn’t know. If what the king says be true, I honestly didn’t know it … ”
“Liar! Liar!” hollered the king, searching frantically for his guards, who were standing far across the room and didn’t hear his calls over the commotion of the brawl.
Felicia faced the shaking king. “Sinbad tells the truth,” she said. “He didn’t steal the brooch — it was captured by the Scarlet Pirate.”
The raving king gasped. Tales of the Scarlet Pirate were rife throughout the Aegean; the very mention of her name sent shudders down every spine.
Harald glanced over at Felicia. “How do you know all of this?”
“Because,” there was an air of defiance in her tone, “I was there. I was one of the pirates.”
More gasps from the sputtering king. “See? I told you! I told you!”
But Harald seemed more amused than anything else. Hands to his paunchy belly, he laughed. “All’s fair upon the open sea,” he reminded his son-in-law. “Anyway, now that you have the brooch back safely, why be angry? Sinbad did you a favor — ”
“A favor?” Spittle sprayed in every direction, some landing on Harald’s face. The Dane frowned.
“Guards!” bellowed the king again, so loud that this time they couldn’t help but hear. “Arrest this man!” he shouted, waving a bony finger in Sinbad’s direction. “And all of his crew! Put the lot of them in the dungeons!”
Sinbad pulled his knife and shielded Clair with his body. Felicia drew her own weapon. “We’ve got to get away!” she cried.
Sinbad nodded. From down the hall came a squad of spear-carrying Greeks. Their clatter broke up the friendly fight, leaving all the parties struggling to their feet and gazing on in wonder and puzzlement.
“How are we going to get out of here?” rasped Sinbad, looking about frantically.
Harald shook his head. “There is no way. Put down your weapons. Perhaps I can see to it that no harm comes to you. Perhaps — ”
Sinbad wavered, knowing instinctively he could trust the bulky Viking. But the king was so enraged …
The Thief of Kalimar; Captain Sinbad; Cinnabar Page 69
