“Long ago, before even the advent of Mahomet the prophet who brought us the true faith, our people worshiped many gods. Even now the ignorant are still superstitious and pay homage to their old gods, which they should not, but old habits die hard in a harsh world,” the old man said.
“You mention Egyptians as though you are not of the Arab people, Hajji, but everywhere the language of the Arabs is spoken.”
“True it is, Suleiman. Long, long ago we were many people clustered together along this river of life. There were many more Dhimmi, Christians and Jews, people of the book. My own ancestors were not Arabs from the desert, but times change, and so we have to change with them, and since the arrival of our Sultan we are now being told we should be good Sunni Moslems instead of Shia,” he exclaimed with a shrug.
Talon did not miss the irony in Khaldun’s voice and gathered from his comment that there had been some kind of upheaval recently. He asked many questions.
The old man was happy to answer them. Talon learned that he had been in Egypt before the invasion of the conquering army of Salah Ed Din’s uncle. Hence he could also provide some answers to Talon’s enquiries about the Ismaili who had been here before, and how the country had been ruled previously.
* * * * *
One day Talon decided to take a manuscript and read it in the garden, seated in the sun-dappled shade next to a pomegranate bush, which was overshadowed by huge sycamores. As he was engrossed in the text, he barely heard the light step of someone coming along the path towards him.
He went down on one knee when he realized just who it was.
“Salaam, my Lady. Peace be with you.”
She inclined her head gracefully in acknowledgement and then said, “Peace be with you, Suleiman. Why have you chosen this place to read?”
“My Lady…a long time ago…or so it seems now, a friend once shared with me the shade of a pomegranate tree when in blossom. I find it is calming to read while sitting in the shade of trees. Moreover, over there is a fig tree which, according to legend, is also very soothing, so much so that should even a raging bull come near to the tree it too would be calmed.”
She laughed with delight and waved an elegant hand at the pomegranate tree with its full red blossoms and exclaimed, “Indeed, Suleiman, I think you are right. It is both beautiful and calming to be near this tree! Who told you that? It sounds as though it might have come from a woman,” she said archly.
Then without waiting for an answer she said more seriously, “I have heard from our wisest of men, the Hajji, that our warrior is also a man of letters. That is worthy of approval. Where did you learn to read?”
“My Lady, my first and best tutor was a Christian priest,” Talon said truthfully, thinking of Jean de Loche, who had helped him through his first years in Persia, as he too had been kidnapped on the same raid.
“He taught me Latin, and then later I learned Farsi, and of course your tongue as well.”
“So you are a warrior, a man of letters, and a merchant’s son. You seem to be very young for all this,” she said with a smile, taking a seat on a flat rock that ornamented the side of the path. The woman who had accompanied her moved so that she stood behind her mistress.
Talon could not help but to remark to himself that she was very beautiful indeed and her smile was captivating. He felt a pang of jealousy that the Emir Abbas should possess such a wonderful creature. But he suppressed it, not wanting to annoy or upset the mood of the conversation, which was light and pleasant.
“I was sent to a hard school when very young, my Lady,” he remarked casually.
“My lord should be back before too long, and then he can reward you appropriately for your courage and for saving our lives,” she said.
He opened his mouth to protest, but she lifted her hand and said, “Malek talked to me about how you and my son Kazim are becoming friends.”
“He is a good boy,” Talon said. His tone was neutral.
“But he does not spend enough time with someone who could teach him.”
“I beg your pardon, my Lady?”
“I would ask you yet another favor, Suleiman.”
“I shall do anything within my power to help you, my Lady, you have but to ask.”
“Kazim is growing up and needs a little discipline, but also to be trained in languages and the ways of the world. Khaldun is very old and lacks the energy to teach one so young, and he told me that I should ask you if you would consider the post of Tutor.
“This would include some time spent with my daughter, because she too needs to be able to read well and to write and to use the numbers. I wish to have my daughter…Jasmine, educated well before she is married. She had some tuition while in Alexandria, but it pleased me very much that she herself has asked me for more. She will be the least of your problems… it is Kazim.” She sighed and continued.
“I have brought old men in as tutors, but Kazim dislikes them because they want him to learn things that mean nothing to him at his age. You are young and I think wise beyond your years, Suleiman…could you help me with his teaching? At least until it is time for you to go,” she added, a little vaguely. “I shall of course recompense you for your trouble.”
He had been watching her while she sought the words to ask. He almost missed the last statement and had to ask again to be sure he had heard her correctly. She repeated.
“Will you teach him some of the things a young warrior should know, as well as other things about the world that you know?” she stated again patiently, and a little louder as the wind had picked up and was blowing noisily through the trees and making their loose clothing flutter. Once again he had the good fortune to see her face as her veil slipped, and once again he was struck by the perfection of her features. He just heard the last words she uttered.
“Or are you planning to leave us sooner, rather than later?”
He laughed but she misinterpreted it and gave a small frown. Seeing this he hastened to respond. “My lady, forgive me; I meant no offense. I am finding it astonishing that I should be asked to teach when it is I who should be taught. The Hajji is a far wiser man than I, and it is at his feet that I should sit rather than set myself up as a tutor.”
She smiled then and he saw her beauty once more in her eyes as well as her form. “The Hajji, may Allah grant him many more years to his life, said that you were modest about your knowledge but that I should try to persuade you. How can I persuade you, Suleiman?”
He concentrated this time, and answered the request with a smile of his own.
“There is no need to persuade me, my Lady. You have given me back my life and that of my companion; I would repay you however I can. I would be honored to serve you. When do you wish me to start?”
* * * * *
One day news came that the war in the south was over. The army was on its way back to Al Qahirah to be honored by the Sultan, and this meant that the lord was coming home. The Sultan’s fleet had even been seen sailing down the great river towards Al Qahirah the day before.
There was a palpable change in the atmosphere of the estate. Servants and men-at-arms were tense with excitement and anticipation, and so were Jasmine and Kazim. Malek, on the other hand, was not so happy, and his face was morose and worried.
“I do not know if I will have a head after he hears about the ambush,” he confided in Talon dolefully one evening while they were eating in their favorite place under the sycamore near the stables.
“You should not worry so much,” his brother said, punching him on the arm.
“Our lord is a just man and I am sure that her Ladyship will not allow it. She knows of your worth, brother.”
“Malek, my good man, Allah is witness that you have proved your worth many times over to him. Do you not think he will take this into consideration when he comes to judge you …if indeed he is inclined to?” Khaldun said as he munched some papyrus seeds, his white beard moving rhythmically up and down as he chewed carefully with the few teeth left in h
is mouth.
Talon threw an olive pit into the flower bed nearby and nodded.
“From all you have told me, and what I have heard from others, your lord is a good man who must appreciate how hard you work on this estate, Malek. It could not function without you and no mistake.”
“I am glad that it is only the estate I have to worry about and not any of the master’s other wives at the same time. That would be too much to deal with, for one man.” There were chuckles at that.
“My lord Abbas only has one wife?” Talon asked incredulously.
“Yes, Suleiman, he has only one wife, but he has about five or six concubines here and there. Some are in Al Qahirah, and the others are in Al Iskandrȋyah. However, I believe our master is deeply in love with our Lady, so his concubines are neglected.” Bilal laughed and reached for another cabbage roll. He shifted and gave a small fart. Talon was appalled at his bad manners.
“Our Sultan, on the other hand, must have about eighty wives.” Malek grinned at Talon’s expression.
Talon pretended to be shocked. “Eighty is a lot for any man!” he said reverently with a grin in return.
“Well, he has his favorites of course, which means that the others die of boredom or use the eunuchs to satisfy them,” Bilal stated knowledgeably.
“How do you know all this information?” Khaldun threw up his hands. “Whenever these two get together the subject always gets around to women,” he said, pretending to be disgusted. “Suleiman, I expect better from you at least.”
Talon looked solemn. “Indeed Hajji, I would not think of disappointing you.”
Bilal grinned at the old man, and Malek winked at Talon.
Yesterday this day’s Madness did prepare,
Tomorrow’s Silence, Triumph or Despair:
Drink! For know you not whence you came nor why:
Drink! For you know not why you go nor where.
— Omar Khayyam
Chapter 7
Abbas
With loud shouts and yells of excitement, the cavalry squadron swept down upon the small group of Nubian men who were running across the rocky plain. These Nubians were trying to keep up with their own retreating army much further ahead, which was partially hidden by the clouds of dust lifted by the fleeing army.
The stragglers, realizing that they were not going to catch up with the main body of their army, turned to face their aggressors and formed a tight group with their buffalo hide shields up and their spears pointing out, in a vain attempt to stop the charging cavalry. But their spears were not long lances, merely stabbing blades, and aside from the occasional breast plate of tough reeds, the tall Nubian men were almost devoid of armor and therefore an easy target for the long lances of the Egyptian cavalry.
The horsemen were able to smash into the group and easily break it up; the riders, using their mounts as battering rams, drove the terrified individuals to the ground, or made them turn and run, which was fatal. They hacked ferociously at the disorganized Nubians, beating with swords at the flimsy shields, and hacking down at exposed flesh. It was inevitable that the exhausted ranks of Nubians would disintegrate and flee in all directions. This was their undoing, as the Egyptian riders rode them down, stabbing at them, ignoring any pleas for mercy until none were left standing.
The dead littered the area along with the broken chariots, discarded military equipment, and booty that the raiding army had hoped to take home. The Nubian army was in full retreat with the hindermost being taken down by formations of cavalry such as this one. Abbas Abdul al Azim ibn Athir Faysal, Emir in his own right, reined in his excited horse, wiped his bloody scimitar with the end of his robe and sheathed it with a snap. He then turned his Arab war horse away from the receding dust cloud. He glanced back at his own men; like him, they were clad in flowing linen, or in some cases cotton robes, to ward off the sun and dust. Most of them wore a kafeya, a head wrap made of a wide linen or cotton strip, exposing only the eyes, eyebrows and foreheads, which were almost white with the accumulated dust. Their mounts were streaked with sweat and almost blown with the effort of the chase.
They rallied around him, shouting their victory songs and brandishing their bloody weapons, happy as a pack of hounds that had just made their kill. They had ridden hard to catch the Nubians and had succeeded in doing so just before they could escape over their own borders.
One of Abbas’s men was brandishing a helmet taken off of a fallen Nubian. He waved it contemptuously in the air. “Look master, now they use crocodile skin for their helmets. These are no match for our steel. I had hoped for booty, but this is worthless.”
He tossed the bloody and shredded helmet of hide into the dust.
The Sultan had forbidden his brother, General Turan-Shah, to follow the Nubians over the border, as he had other concerns, and one of them was not fruitless pursuit into the depths of the southern desert beyond the first cataract of the Nile. As a consequence, Abbas was honoring the command by not continuing the chase.
Allah be praised, he had lost very few men during the long day’s running battle; the enemy did not fight back with any enthusiasm, being more interested in saving their skins so close to home than confronting the mounted devils that bore down upon them whenever they tarried.
Without speaking, Abbas raised his hand and turned his sweating, dust covered horse northward to lead his men back towards Aswan where the battle had commenced. Despite the chase, his mount was light on its feet and seemingly carried him without effort. Not for the first time he wondered at this breed that came from the deserts of the Arabs. He was followed closely by his Nubian warrior slave Panhsj, who also rode one of his master’s fine animals. The man was so large that the horse seemed small under him, but he rode it well. As always, he stayed close, as his responsibility was his master’s life. He, with Abbas’s two hundred personal guards, arranged themselves behind their master in several loose rows as they began to ride northwards across the war strewn country.
Scattered all along the dry, dusty route among their unclaimed booty were the bodies of men who had been overtaken by the vengeful Egyptian cavalry during the last two days of fighting. Many corpses were already bloated and had attracted the inevitable flies and vultures, which landed their ungainly bodies clumsily. They waddled over to yet another body that was being steadily dismembered by others which were tearing at the flesh. Jackals lurked on the outskirts of the main feast, careful not to get in the way of one of these giant birds and risk being struck a fearsome blow by those sharp beaks. They would dart in when they saw an opportunity to seize a strand of flesh and run off to squabble with their own kind over the scraps.
Abbas allowed his men to take what they wanted from the dead as long as it did not inhibit the fast pace he was setting. By the time they were within sight of Aswan, his men did not so much resemble a company of disciplined warriors as a band of disreputable traders, clanking and jingling with all the metal, silver, gold and other goods they now carried. There had been more than one occasion when he had had Panhsj intervene and break up a knife fight over the booty the contenders had pilfered. By now their exhausted horses were in much need of a rest.
* * * * *
They arrived late in the afternoon two days later at Aswan to find the remainder of the Egyptian army already preparing to leave. Along the entire riverside was gathered a crowd of exhausted soldiers trying to obtain transport for themselves from the harassed quartermasters. Many were already embarking on boats and Abbas, who was in a hurry to get back to his estates, wanted to make sure there was a berth for himself and some of his higher up subordinates. The river bank was teeming with men, horses and camels, including a few elephants that had been discovered abandoned by their former masters. Many of the Egyptian cavalry squadrons were squatting near their mounts in whatever shade they could find, resigned to the dust, the heat and flies, stoically waiting for the order to move off.
Leaving his horse with two of his men, Abbas walked down to the river’s edge, accompani
ed by Panhsj. It took some tramping about in the mud and pushing aside people who got in the way before he was able to catch hold of one of the quartermasters who were responsible for feeding the army and transporting it up and down the Nile. He was a servant of Bark Abdul-Jalil, the newly elected Vizier to the Sultan, and knew Abbas well.
“I cannot take all your troops with me, honored Lord. Only you and a few retainers can board that boat over there if you want to go all the way down river to Cairo.” He pointed to a large dhow that was loaded to the gunnels already with men and horses.
“Are you sure that boat can take us?” Abbas enquired skeptically.
“Oh yes, my lord, there is room for you, if you hurry and get on board within the hour.”
Abbas thought about this for a moment. He was uncomfortable without his men, but he would take with him Panhsj and that should be enough as a body guard. He would place some of his cavalry on this boat but the rest he would send north under the command of Mustapha, who had proved to be trustworthy and would ensure they would arrive in Cairo in good order. He nodded briefly and gold exchanged hands.
“May Allah go with you, my lord. I pray he will grant you a safe and comfortable journey on the river.”
“Allah protect you, Hassan, I thank you for your kindness,” Abbas said absent-mindedly.
As he turned away from the boat to issue his orders to Panhsj, he saw General Turan Shah coming towards him, riding along the narrow sand strip that bordered the river before the steep banks rose sharply to the desert beyond. Fortunately, at this time of year, the river was sluggish and not in summer flood. The general was accompanied by a large party of brightly dressed retainers and soldiers.
Abbas’s lip curled as he regarded the people who accompanied the general; he had a fighting man’s contempt for all those who were not warriors but who paraded around as though they were. While he had no quarrel with the general, whom he believed to be brave and courageous, many of the others who accompanied him were targets of his dislike.
Assassination in Al Qahira Page 11
