The Thief of Kalimar; Captain Sinbad; Cinnabar

by Graham Diamond

  “We mustn’t fight them, my liege,” said Sinbad. “Look, my lord. They have hundreds of soldiers aboard, fresh troops unscarred from any battle. We are too few — ”

  “Bah,” growled Harald, spitting contemptuously into the water. “I’ll handle it; I’ll take your First Minister and break his spine with my own hands. I’ll let my axe shave the hair from his head and then I’ll — ”

  “Please, Harald! You mustn’t!”

  The king was more than puzzled. “But why not, man? Surely you don’t want to return to Baghdad in chains? And if killing the minister is the only way, then … ” He shrugged.

  Sinbad sighed and shook his head; he was in a quandary as never before. “You don’t understand,” he said at last “That man, the minister, is the father of the girl I love, the woman I yearn for every moment of my existence.”

  Harald looked to Felicia in disbelief.

  “It’s true, my lord,” said the pirate. “Sinbad told me of it long ago. Dormo was to be his father-in-law. You can’t just kill him.”

  “It’s a very complicated situation,” broke in Sinbad. “But believe me, Dormo loves me — and I love him. No harm must come to him.”

  “Then you are in a pickle,” observed the Viking king.

  “That, sire, I am.” And his shoulders slumped dejectedly.

  All along the Arabian ship soldiers were massing to counter the array of Danes deployed along the shore. Bows drawn, quivers jammed with arrows, they took up strong positions from stem to stern, patiently waiting for commands.

  “Better make up your mind, Captain,” said Harald. “It won’t be long before they lower their skiffs. Look — already a landing party is being formed.”

  Sinbad looked away, not knowing what to do. Should he fight Dormo, this man who had been more than a friend for so many years? Or should he put an end to all the bloodshed here and now, give himself up with no questions asked and be taken back to Baghdad to wait at the caliph’s pleasure? He shook with the thought. But one thing he did know: No matter what the consequences, he could never stand by and see Sherry’s father slain. Not by his hand or any other; it was better to die.

  Even as he pondered this grave decision the lonely church bell rang again. The startled mariner and his companions turned to see a terrible commotion in the village. The survivors of Pansa had begun to cheer and shout, laugh and sing, hug one another and run madly from the plaza up toward the road.

  “By Allah, what’s going on?” cried Sinbad, momentarily forgetting his dilemma.

  Maria Victoria was shouting to him again, her voice carrying on the breeze all the way from the tower to the harbor. “Come see!” she yelled, “Come and see for yourselves!”

  Perplexed, the band quickly moved from the dock to the plaza, and there they watched as thousands upon thousands of armed knights and footmen came marching over the distant hills in their direction.

  “What is it?” cried Sinbad to Father Augusto.

  The priest made the sign of the cross and smiled. “It can only be one thing, my friend — El Cid, victorious from the plains of Navarre, come now to meet the Moorish threat along Barcelona’s frontier.”

  And indeed they came, mounted knights resplendent in their fine armor, vests of mail, plumed helmets, and cloaks flowing behind. Drums beat slowly, trumpets blared; the tramping of feet in steady rhythm filled their ears as the powerful army swiftly crossed the hills and approached the regions of the dusty road.

  “El Cid,” whispered Sinbad in awe.

  Felicia nodded darkly. She gazed from one end of the horizon to the other, her eyes tearing from the flashes of sunlight reflected off shields and armor.

  “By Odin, I’ve never seen such an army as this,” swore Harald. “Just look at them! There must be at least ten thousand!”

  “I’d like to meet this Cid,” said Sinbad, recalling the tales he had heard of the prophetlike leader of Castile’s forces.

  Maria Elisa shook her head violently and looked at him with pleading in her eyes. “Sinbad,” she begged, “You must get away from here at once!”

  “Don’t be silly, girl,” laughed Harald, every bit as impressed as the others. “Look how happy your villagers are to see them. Look at them running over the road, cheering and throwing flowers — ”

  “But they’re not Moors!” cried Elisa. She tugged at Sinbad’s sleeve. “Please, listen to me,” she entreated. “To the Cid you are one of the enemy, no different from Suliman — ”

  Sinbad was aghast. “What are you saying? Me and my crew saved Pansa! We’re not his enemy!”

  “No matter,” said Elisa, her cheeks streaming with tears. “El Cid is sworn to rid all nonbelievers from Castile. And you are one.”

  “I’m not a heathen,” barked King Harald angrily.

  Elisa lowered her gaze from his royal stare. “Perhaps you are not, my lord. But think — what of your bride-to-be? Felicia is as much of a heathen as Sinbad is, at least in the eyes of the Cid. Would you want to stand by and see her harmed?”

  Harald’s face flushed crimson. “By the gods of old,” he roared. “If one of those Spaniards touches a single hair on her head, I’ll — ”

  “Then you must flee as well,” pleaded Elisa. She grabbed Sinbad tightly and forced him to look at her. “As much as I love you,” she said, “I’d rather see you gone, far away and never to return, than stand by and watch you suffer. Go, Sinbad! Get to your ship before it’s too late!”

  Harald scowled. He called again for his men to take battle positions, this time along the broken barricades of the wall. The Vikings grimly took places over the corpses of Suliman’s slain followers, their eyes darkly set upon the locust-like swarm of men moving down from the heights.

  “Are you crazy, Harald?” sputtered Sinbad. “They have an army of ten thousand! Ten thousand!”

  The king was unmoved. “Norsemen fear no odds, young captain. We’ll stand and fight — and mark my words, this … this Cid, whatever that is, won’t be so quick to take us on.”

  “And what of Dormo’s ship?” added Sinbad. “Have you forgotten the hundreds of Baghdad soldiers ready to come ashore? By Allah! Has all the world gone insane? We haven’t got a chance!”

  “He’s right, you know,” said an impassive Felicia to her future husband. “Perhaps it is better if we gracefully withdraw … ”

  “It may already be too late,” said Father Augusto, pointing behind. A great longboat had already been lowered from the Baghdad warship, carrying a dozen soldiers with hands at the hilts of their swords. Dormo, standing in the middle of the crowd, was stern-faced and somber as the shirtless oarsmen brought them closer to berth.

  “Prepare to fight!” shouted Harald.

  To the dock scrambled half his force along with Mongo and Milo and the crew of the Scheherazade.

  “This is madness,” mumbled Sinbad, his anguish growing by the second. He and his band were trapped in a vise, with no escape possible. On one side marched El Cid in all his pomp and splendor, prepared to wipe him and his crew off the face of Iberia forever; from the other side came an equally determined Dormo in the name of the caliph, also determined to see the name of Sinbad erased from the world.

  Felicia scurried from the king’s arms to take command of the forces on the dock. She gave the order for bows and swords to be drawn, for the longboat bearing Dormo to be stopped from reaching shore.

  “Wait!” shouted Sinbad, dashing as fast as he could to reach the pirate. “Listen,” he said, panting, “hold off for a second; let me talk to Dormo, maybe we can reach an accommodation … ”

  “Don’t be a fool, Captain,” said Milo with knitted brows. “Dormo’s been waiting for this moment for how long? Only Allah knows how he found us, but now that he’s here, he’ll get what he came for.”

  The longboat came surging through the rippling water, with Dormo pushing his way to the bow. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called, “Sinbad! Sinbad, is that you?”

  The mariner looked to the
angry pirate girl. “Felicia, please. Give me a minute to talk to him, just a minute … ”

  She bit tensely at her lip and sighed. “All right, then. Speak with him if you think it will do any good. But remember — I’ll not hold off for long. Warn Dormo not to touch shore, otherwise … ” Her thought did not have to be finished; Sinbad took one glance at the readied Vikings and shivered. The crew and soldiers aboard the Arabian ship also watched tensely, their weapons in hand, prepared to fight should a single arrow fly from shore.

  Sinbad ran over the smoldering planks of the dock and stood at the very edge. The bows of sunken fishing boats protruded from the water like tiny black icebergs.

  “By Allah, I’ve been searching for you since the day you left home!” shouted Dormo to Sinbad. “At last I’ve found you!”

  Sinbad held up a hand. “Don’t come any closer, Dormo. Lift your oars at once! You mustn’t set foot on land.”

  The minister grimaced. “Sinbad, what’s this all about? Why are you — ?”

  “Please, Dormo. Don’t make it worse. Turn your longboat around and get to your ship. Sail from here at once — and never look back.”

  “But,” sputtered Dormo, “but I’ve been trying to reach you for so long! We have to speak; I almost caught up with you near Crete, but — ”

  “I know about the pirates that attacked you, Dormo; and believe me, I thank Allah that you’re alive … ”

  “It was close, Sinbad. They almost had us. Our sails were ablaze, their grappling hooks were already thrown. But we fought them off; by the time repairs were made you had already gone. I thought I’d lost you forever.”

  “Better if you had, Dormo! I don’t know how you found us now, but it would have been better for us all if you hadn’t.”

  The hawk-nosed minister signaled for his oarsmen to draw in their oars. Twenty meters from land the long boat came to a halt and bobbed gently in the shallow water. “Now listen to me, Sinbad,” Dormo called, his voice becoming harsh. “This ship of mine has faced more perils than you can imagine to find you. In fact, we almost gave up, until we reached the channel of Corsica and met up with the fleet of the Cretan king.”

  Were the Greeks still after him, too? Sinbad shuddered with the thought.

  Dormo continued, “It was because of him that we knew we were still on the right trail. I’d have caught up with you before you reached Mallorca if it hadn’t been for that ferocious storm … ”

  Sinbad groaned. “Then you should have turned around, just like the Greeks. Coming here is useless. Go back, my friend. Go back now. I don’t want to have to see you killed.”

  Dormo’s eyes grew wide. “Killed? You would have me murdered?”

  “For Sherry’s sake, no. And for the sake of the friendship we once shared. But turn about, Dormo. Tax me no more; these companions of mine are growing impatient.”

  The minister snapped his fingers and the oarsmen took up their strokes again, coming closer to shore.

  “Draw your weapons!” cried Felicia, and the front rank took dead aim for Dormo’s heart.

  “Go back!” pleaded Sinbad. “I warned you — you must not come any closer!”

  Dormo set his jaw; he stood brazenly at the fore, almost daring the Norsemen to fire. “Now listen to me, Sinbad,” he called as the longboat nearly reached the shattered quay. “I didn’t chase you all this way for nothing. I want you to come back with me to Baghdad today. There is no time to lose.”

  “Never!” flared the mariner. He clenched his fist around his knife and held it menacingly. “I’ll not let you take me, Dormo. Not alive. I’ll not wear your chains; I’ll not languish in the caliph’s dungeons. I’m not a criminal — no matter what Schahriar claims!”

  Dormo’s mouth hung wide. “But of course you’re not, my boy! No one ever said — ”

  “Then why are you here? Why have you chased me all the way from Baghdad?”

  The minister heaved a long sigh and shook his head sadly. “Oh, my poor Sinbad. If only you had not fled home so rashly. If only you had stayed in Baghdad but a single day more … ”

  “Why? So the caliph could imprison me — and laugh even as Sherry was made his bride?”

  Dormo threw up his hands in exasperation. “But this is what I’m trying to tell you, son! For love of Prophet! Won’t you listen to me now? Sherry never wed the caliph!”

  Sinbad stared at his old friend. “I … I don’t believe you … ”

  “It’s true! Allah be my judge, won’t you hear me out?” The skiff had all but reached shore; Sinbad turned to Felicia, who had been listening to the entire conversation. For a second she hesitated, then, seeing the pleading in Sinbad’s eyes, she ordered her force to hold off.

  Dormo leaped to shore and stood face to face with the man who once was to be his son-in-law. “There was no wedding, Sinbad,” he said. “There shall never be. Sherry is free — and waiting for you now.”

  Sinbad gasped. “Sherry … is … free … ?”

  “That’s right. You see, after the order for your arrest was given, all Baghdad was incensed. There was not a man in the whole city who did not know that you were innocent of the charges. There was a terrible demonstration, an uproar as never before. Riots broke out against Schahriar’s injustices. Even his own court and ministers turned against him … ”

  “Including you?”

  Dormo nodded gravely. “Including me. A petition was brought before the caliph demanding his abdication at once upon peril of death. He had little choice but to sign it. Schahriar is no longer ruler of Baghdad. He has been expelled from the city, sent to his summer home on the Tigris where he may live out his waning years in peace. Baghdad has a new caliph.”

  “Who?”

  The First Minister smiled thinly. “Me.”

  “You?” Sinbad’s lips sputtered, unable to form words or thoughts.

  Dormo put his hand upon Sinbad’s shoulder. “Yes, my son; it is so. My first order was to have all charges against you dropped, all your properties returned, and your good name restored. My second command was that you marry my daughter, Scheherazade … ”

  Sinbad numbly dropped to his knees; he took Dormo’s bejeweled hand and kissed his ring. “My lord,” he stammered, “if … if only I had known … ”

  “But there was no way for you to know, was there?” went on the new caliph. “As rumors said you had left for Damascus and then Jaffa, I knew that you must be tracked at once and told of your fortunes. Another man in my stead would never have been believed; I knew that only I myself might convince you of the truth. Arise, Sinbad, my son. And come with me now, back home where a special place awaits you. Court Poet and Philosopher shall be your newest title. That, and, husband to my daughter.”

  Sinbad rose slowly, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “Yes,” he cried, “yes, I’ll come with you. Forgive me, my lord, for not having believed you before … ”

  With an imperial wave of the hand Dormo dismissed the matter. “How soon can you be ready?”

  Before Sinbad could reply, the sound of trumpets shattered the air. King Harald and his men were at their battle positions, calmly waiting as the army of El Cid reached the Pansa road and headed straight for the village.

  “By Allah, I almost forgot!” rasped Sinbad, staring at the advancing knights of Barcelona and Navarre. “Excuse me, sire,” he begged, and before Dormo could as much as nod, he bounded off back to the plaza and the battle-hardened King of Denmark.

  “To the ships, Harald!” he shouted. “No time to lose; let’s get away before this Cid reaches the village!”

  “But how?” said the Viking. “What about that Arabian ship at our backs?”

  “They’re friends,” cried Sinbad gleefully. And he threw his arms around the Lion of Roskilde. “I’m going home!” he shouted. “Home to Baghdad; home to Sherry!” He implanted a fat kiss on Harald’s hoary cheek, leaving the king astounded.

  “Have you lost all sanity, man?”

  Sinbad shook his head. “No, sir
e. For the first time I think I found it. Now hurry! Gather your men and get to your ships. In minutes El Cid will be here.”

  At the sight of Felicia waving him on, the burly liege grinned, grabbed Thruna by the hand, and scurried as quickly as he could toward the quay.

  “Come on, come,” called Sinbad, urging everybody to hurry.

  Maria Elisa slipped to his side and took both of his hands. “Good-bye, my captain,” she whispered.

  Sinbad paused to wipe a tear from her round eyes. “Good-bye, Elisa. I’ll never forget you. In my heart a candle shall always burn for you … ”

  She smiled and kissed him softly. “And in my own as well, Sinbad. Vaya con Dios. Go with God.”

  Sinbad embraced her tightly and then turned away, pained to be leaving tiny Pansa and all his new friends, but hoping that one day he would come back to a rebuilt village where everybody dwelled in peace.

  “All set,” said Methelese, who had been supervising the skiffs to the waiting ships. “Let’s be on our way.”

  Sinbad nodded happily, but suddenly he stopped. His face darkened and he looked around with worry.

  “What’s the matter?” asked the Greek.

  “Don Giovanni! Where is he? I haven’t seen him since … ” He recalled the little frogs being on his shoulder as he fought side by side with King Harald. But now the frog was gone, and in the excitement Sinbad had completely forgotten about him.

  “I can’t go,” he said. “Not without my closest friend.”

  “We cannot linger,” said Milo, his eyes upon the advancing forces of the knights of Castile.

  But Sinbad was adamant. “No; go on ahead if you like. I’ll stay until Giovanni’s found.”

  The Greek and the old sailor exchanged furtive glances; they knew their captain was serious. Rather than leave a friend behind, he would risk his very life, even at a time when all his wishes had been fulfilled.

  Milo sighed. “Then we’ll look together.”

  With Maria Elisa helping, the three men scoured the plaza, calling the frog by name, digging by hand through the rubble, kicking over grim corpses of Suliman’s bandits. Time pressed; the drums grew louder, the first knights and pages were reaching the perimeter of the destroyed village.