Six years after the troops of Emperor Heraklios reclaimed Tadmor, the troops of Khalifa Omar took it. The year after that they were in Jerusalem, and the year after that the Khalifa visited the holy city, passing triumphant through a completely subjugated Syria while couriers brought accounts of Islamic banners carried deep into the Persian heartland.
On the day he spent in Tadmor, from her rooftop Aliyat witnessed magnificence, gallant horses, richly caparisoned camels, riders whose helmets and mailcoats, lances and shields turned sunlight into flame, cloaks like windblown rainbows, trumpet and drum and deep-voiced chant. The streets surged, the oasis boiled with the conquerors. Yet she noticed that the far greater number of them were lean and roughly clad. Likewise was their garrison here, and their officials lived simple lives, five times daily humbling themselves before God when the muezzin’s call wailed across the sky.
Nor were they bad rulers. They levied tribute, but it was not unbearable. They turned a few churches into mosques, but otherwise left Christians and Jews in the peace that they sternly enforced. The qadi, then chief justice, held court beneath the arch at the east end of the Colonnade, near the agora, and even the lowliest could appeal directly to him. Then- irruption had been too swift to damage trade much, and it soon began reviving.
Aliyat was not altogether surprised when Zabdas said to her, in the tone that meant he would banish her to a rear room if she gave him any dispute: “I have reached a great decision. This household shall embrace Islam.”
Nonetheless she stood a while quiescent, amidst the shadows with which the single frugal lamp filled their bedchamber. When she spoke it was slowly, and her eyes searched him. “This is indeed a matter of the first importance. Have they compelled you?”
He shook his head. “No, no. They do not—except pagans, I am told.” He formed his thin brief smile. “They would rather most of us remain Christian, so we may own land, which believers may not, and pay tribute for it as well as the other taxes. My talks with the imam whom I approached have been difficult. But of course he may not refuse a sincere convert.”
“You’ll gain many advantages.”
He reddened. “Do you call me a hypocrite?”
“No, no, certainly not, my lord.”
Zabdas turned mild. “I understand. To you this is a terrible shock, you who have been raised to worship Christ. Think, though. The Prophet never denied that Jesus was also a prophet. He was simply not the last one, the one to whom God revealed the full truth. Islam sweeps away the superstition about countless saints, the priests who come between a man and his God, the witless commandments and restrictions. We have but to acknowledge that there is one God and Muhammad is His Prophet. We have but to live righteous lives.” He lifted a forefinger. “Think. Could the Arabs have borne everything before them as they have done, as they are doing and shall do, were theirs not the cause that is blessed, the faith that is true? I am bringing us to the truth, Aliyat.” He squinted, peering. “You welcome the truth, do you not? It cannot harm you, can it?”
Recklessly, she cast across the space between them: “I hear a man who becomes a Muslim must suffer what Jewish boys do.”
“It will not disable me,” he snapped. Curbing temper again: “I do not expect a woman to understand these deep things. Only trust in me.”
She swallowed, willed ease upon herself, moved toward him. “I do, my lord, I do,” she murmured. Maybe she could cause him to beget a third child on her, and maybe that one would survive to give meaning back to her life. He seldom took her to him, mostly when she made herself coax him in that same hope. It was almost as if, more and more, he feared her.
As for the change of religion, that mattered less than he supposed. What had the saints done to help, throughout the endless years?
9
She had not foreknown what the change meant. Islam burst upon Syria too suddenly. Zabdas studied it before he made his move. Only when the thing was done did she learn.
The Prophet had laid upon women of the faith the ancient usages of Arabia. In public they must wear the yashmak, the heavy veil hiding everything but the eyes, and likewise at home in the presence of any man but father, brother, husband, or son. Unchastity was punished by death. Quarters for men and women were separate, like an invisible wall built through the house, to whose door its master had the single key. Submission of wife to husband was not bounded by law and custom as it was among Christians and Jews; while a marriage lasted it was total, his the right to mutilate or kill the disobedient. Aside from such tasks as marketing, she had nothing to do with the outside world; he, his children by her, and his dwelling were to be her universe. For her there was no church, and whatever Paradise she might hope for would not be his.
So Zabdas explained, piecemeal as occasion arose. Aliyat was not sure the Law was quite that one-sided. She was entirely sure that in most families, practice softened it. But be that as it may, she was a prisoner.
She was even denied the solace of wine. That might be just as well, she decided once the first rage had faded. She had been resorting to it much oftener than was wise.
Oddly, however, as the Muslim months passed, she found herself less alone than hitherto. Thrust together, the females of the household—not only she and the slaves,, but the wives and girl-children of two of Zabdas’ sons who had joined him in Tadmor—at first quarreled viciously, then began to confide in each other. Her position and her freedom from aging had set her apart. Those who now saw her sharing then- helplessness discovered they could overlook these things, and if they told her their troubles she would do what little she could to aid them.
For her part, she learned bit by bit that she was not utterly isolated. In some ways, she touched more of the city than she had done since Barikai’s death. She might be confined, but lesser females must needs go out on various errands; and they had kinfolk with whom they gossiped at every opportunity; and nobody cared to be strict with the humble, nor stopped to think that they too possessed sharp ears, open eyes, and inquiring minds. As the touch of a fly quivers through the web to the spider that sits at its middle, so did flickers of information reach Aliyat.
She was not present when Zabdas sought the qadi soon after his conversion; but in view of what was overheard and passed on, and what happened later, eventually she believed she could reconstruct it almost as well as if she had been invisibly listening.
Normally the qadi heard pleas in the open. Everybody was free to come. She could have done so, had she had any real plaint. She thought of it, and concluded drearily that she did not. Zabdas was never abusive. He provided adequately. If he no longer came to her bed, what should a woman close to her ninetieth year expect—whether or not she had again borne him a child, and this one did keep on living? The very thought was obscene.
He asked for a private audience and the qadi granted it. The two sat in the house of Mitknal ibn Dirdar and sipped chilled pomegranate juice while they talked. Neither paid heed to the eunuch who waited on them; but he had acquaintances outside, who in their turn knew people.
“Yes, of course you may divorce your wife,” Mitkhal said. “It is easily done. However, under the Law she retains all property that was hers, and I gather she brought a fair amount to this marriage. In every event, you must see to it that she does not become destitute or lack for protection.” He bridged his fingers. “Moreover, do you wish to offend her kinfolk?”
“Hairan’s goodwill is worth little these days,” Zabdas clipped. “His business fares poorly. Aliyat’s other children—by her first marriage—scarcely know her any more.
But, hm, the requirements you describe, those could prove awkward.”
Mitkhal regarded him closely. “Why do you wish to put this woman from you? In what is she at fault?”
“Proud, resentful, sullen— No,” said Zabdas beneath that gaze, “I cannot in honesty call her contumacious.”
“Has she not given you a child?”
“A girl. The two before, they soon died. The girl is small
and sickly.”
“That is shabby ground for blame, my friend. Old seed gives thin fruit.”
Zabdas chose to misunderstand. “Old, yes, by ... by the Prophet! I have inquired. I should have done so at the first, but— Sir, she nears the hundred-year mark.”
The qadi’s lips formed a soundless whistle. “And yet— one hears rumors—is she not yet fair? And you tell me she remains healthy and fertile.”
Zabdas leaned forward. Sunlight fell through the grille over a window to dapple his balding head. Behind sparse whiskers, the wattles under his jaw wabbled as he cried in a high-pitched, cracking voice: “It’s unnatural! Lately she lost a tooth or two and I believed at last, at last— But new ones are growing out, as if she were a child of six or seven! She must be a witch, or an ifrit, a demon, a— That’s what I beg for. That’s what I ask for, an investigation, a—an assurance I can cast her out and—not have to fear her vengeance. Help me!”
Mitkhal raised a palm. “Hold, hold.” His words flowed soft. “Be calm. Truly we have a marvel here. Yet all things are possible to God the Omnipotent. She has not been impious or sinful in any way, has she? You may have done right to keep her as secluded as you could—since you, her husband, have had this terror brewing within you. If the tale went abroad and spread panic, she might have been set on in the streets. Beware of that.” Severely: “Ancient patriarchs lived close to a thousand years on earth. If God the Compassionate sees fit to let—Aliyat, is that her name?— linger for close to a hundred, ageless, who are we to question His will or divine His purpose?”
Zabdas stared at his lap. What teeth remained to him gritted together. “Nevertheless,” he mumbled.
“My counsel is that you keep her as long as she does no evil, for this is both justice for her and prudence for you. My decree, upholding the Law, is that you offer her no harm when she has offered none, nor make accusations that are baseless.” Mitkhal reached for his cup, sipped, smiled. “But, true, if coupling with a crone strikes you as indecent, that is a matter of your choice. Have you considered taking a second wife? You are allowed four, you know, besides concubines.”
In these latter years of his, Zabdas was quick to cool down from both his angers and his fears. He sat a moment silent, looking into a corner of the room. Then his mouth tilted upward and he murmured, “I thank my lord for his wise and merciful judgment.”
10
The day came when he summoned Aliyat to his office.
It was a chamber bare and cramped. A window opened on the inner court, but was too high up to afford sight of water or flowers. A niche gaped white where once the image of a saint stood. At the far end, a dais held a table bestrewn with letters, records, and writing materials. Behind it, he sat on a bench.
She entered. He laid aside a papyrus sheet, which crackled, and pointed downward. She went to knees and toes on the bare tiles before him. Silence stretched.
“Well?” he snapped.
She kept her eyes lowered. “What is my lord’s desire?”
“What have you to say for yourself?”
“What must your handmaiden defend?”
“Mock me not!” he shouted. “I’ve had my fill of your insolence. Now you have struck my wife in the face. It is too much.”
Aliyat looked up, caught his glance, held fast. “I thought Furja would go whimpering to you,” she said steadily. “What tale did she bear? Fetch her and let me hear.”
His fist struck the desk. “I will settle this. I am the master. I am being kind. I am giving you your chance to explain why you should escape a whipping.”
She drew breath. This had been foreseeable since the thing happened; she had had a pair of hours wherein to marshal words. “My lord must know that his new bride and I are apt to quarrel.” Stupid, weak-chinned, spiteful creature, forever seeking to squirm herself into the man’s favor and shrill herself into sovereignty over the harem. “Alas that this should be. It is wrong.” That tasted foul but had better be said. “Today she gave me an intolerable insult. I smote her once, open-handedly, across the chops. She wailed and fled—to you, who have things of importance to deal with.”
“She has often complained to me. You have been overbearing ever since she came into my house.”
“I have demanded no more than the respect due your senior wife, my lord.” I will not become a slave, a dog, a thing.
“What was this insult?” asked Zabdas.
“It was vile. Must I take it in my mouth?”
“Um-m ... describe it.”
“She shrieked that I keep my looks and strength by— means unspeakable in decent company.”
“Um! Are you certain? Women have flighty memories.”
“I suppose if you haled her in and put the question, she would deny it. Not her first lie.”
“Word against word.” Zabdas sighed loudly. “What is a man to believe? When shall he find peace to get on with his work? Women!”
“I think men, too, would grow jangle-witted, were they shut away forever with nothing to do that was worth the doing,” said Aliyat, for she felt she had little to lose.
“If I have left you ... undisturbed, it has been out of consideration for your age.”
“And yours, my lord?” she dared purr.
He paled. The brown spots on his skin stood plain to see. “Furja does not find me wanting!”
Not quite every night of the month, Aliyat thought. And, in sudden, surprising pity: He fears that his uneasiness about me would unman him; and likely that very fear would.
But they were moving toward deadly ground. She drew back: “I pray my lord’s pardon. No doubt some of the blame does fall on me, his servant. I simply hoped to explain to him why squabbles trouble his harem. If Furja will show me courtesy, I will do likewise.”
Zabdas rubbed his chin and stared beyond her. She had a brief, eerie feeling that somehow this was a chance for which he had waited. At length he regarded her and said, his tone strained, “Life was different for you in your young days. Old people find it hard to change. At the same time, this vigor you have kept makes it impossible for you to resign yourself. Am I right?”
She swallowed. “My lord speaks truth,” she answered, amazed that he showed any insight.
“And I have heard that you were helpful to your first husband in his business,” he went on.
She could only nod.
“Well, I have given you much thought, Aliyat,” he said faster. “My duty under God is to provide for your welfare, which should include your spirit’s. If time has become empty for you, if our daughter is not enough—well, perhaps we can find something more.”
Her heart sprang. Blood thundered in her ears.
Again he looked past her. “What I have hi mind is irregular,” he said, cautiously now. “No violation of the Law, understand, but it could cause gossip. I am willing to hazard this for your sake, but you must do your part, you must exercise the utmost discretion.”
“Wha-whatever my lord commands!”
“It will be a beginning, a trial. If you acquit yourself well, who knows what may follow? But hark.” He wagged his forefinger. “In Emesa is a youth, a distant kinsman of mine, who is eager to go into the business. His father will be pleased if I invite him here and train him. I, though, I lack time to teach him the ins and outs, the rules and customs and traditions peculiar to Tadmor, as well as the basic practicalities—especially where it comes to making shipments, to dealing with caravaneers. I could assign a man of mine to his instruction, but I can ill spare anyone. You, however; I suppose you remember. Of course, the utmost discretion is essential.”
Aliyat prostrated herself. “Trust me, my lord!” she sobbed.
11
Bonnur was tall, broad in the shoulders, slim in the waist. His beard was the merest overlay of silk across the smooth features, but a man’s strength rested in the hands. His movements and his eyes were like a gazelle’s. Though he was Christian, Zabdas received him cordially before sending him to find a bed among the other y
oung men who served and learned here.
A twelvemonth back, the merchant had bought a lesser building adjacent to his home. He set workers to erect walls and roof joining the pair together, then knock out what separated them and make them one. Thus he would gain added offices, storerooms, and quarters for an expanded staff; his trade was burgeoning. Lately he had ordered a halt to the construction. He declared it was better to wait and see what effect the ongoing conquest of Persia would have on the traffic with India. The addition therefore stood unfurnished, unoccupied, dusty, and silent.
When he led her into it, Aliyat was astonished to find a room at the far end had been swept and outfitted. A plain but thick wool carpet softened the floor. Hangings flanked the second-story window. A table held a water carafe, cups, papyrus, ink, pens. Two stools waited nearby. And Bonnur did. Though Aliyat had been introduced to him earlier, her pulse quickened.
He salaamed deeply. “Be at ease,” said Zabdas with unaccustomed cordiality, “at ease, my dears. If we are to be a little irregular, we may as well enjoy it.”
He took a turn around the room, talking: “For my wife to explain things to you, Bonnur, and for you to ask of her, you need freedom. I am not the dry stick people take me for. I know that the folkways, the subtleties of a city cannot be entered in a ledger or parsed like a sentence. Stares and sniggers and the constraint you would feel, did you sit conferring in plain sight of every fool, those would bind your tongues, your minds. The task would become difficult, prolonged, perhaps impossible. And, to be sure, I would be considered eccentric at best for setting you to it. Men might wonder if I was near my dotage. That would be bad for trade, oh, yes.
“Therefore this retreat. At such times as I deem right, when your services are not required elsewhere, Bonnur, I will send word. You will leave the house and enter this section by its back door, on the lane behind. And I will give you a signal, Aliyat. You will betake yourself directly here. In fact, sometimes you will come here to be alone. You have desired to help me; very well, you may look over such reports and figures as I shall lend you, undisturbed, and offer me your opinions. This will be common knowledge. At other times, unbeknownst to anyone else, you will meet Bonnur.”
The Boat of a Million Years Page 9
