Talon nodded and mounted up. “Thank you for the good advice.”
Nejem slowed his horse to ride alongside Talon and Reza as they walked their horses back to the center of the field.
“That was a good strike, Persian. But do not think this game is over yet!” he snapped. He then galloped the rest of the way to join the other players.
“He is not happy about that goal, Talon. I am impressed. That was a fantastic shot—at full gallop too!” Reza grinned. “Where have you been to play like that?” he queried.
“The syce told me that Nejem has a feud going with Allam. Be careful, brother,” Talon said, avoiding the question.
It became an unspoken agreement that Boulos’s team should look for opportunities to distract the other team and, if possible, inflict as much in the way of injuries upon them as they could by way of retaliation for the slain horse. Boulos was spoiling for a fight with Nejem, but could not catch him out.
The man was a fine rider and could anticipate most of the moves made against him. Talon shook his head with grudging admiration as Nejem evaded two of Boulos’s men as they tried to sandwich him and cause his horse to fall and perhaps crush him on the ground. Nejem slipped away from the trap and made a goal, humiliating them for their pains.
The game flowed to and fro over the field, with first one team gaining a goal and then the other. They appeared to be very evenly matched. It was now clearly a grudge match, but that didn’t worry Talon, as he had been in this kind of vicious game before.
Each player took every opportunity to ram another’s horse out of the way, using elbows and sticks whenever they could. Reza and Talon were no exception and played as a team within a team. Soon Boulos and his brother were taking advantage of this, sending the ball their way as often as possible, while they ran interference with Nejem’s men, frustrating them.
Talon and Reza were both aware that this made them targets. The other team responded to the attacks against them with equal ferocity every time there was a melee where blows could fall that did not have to be explained away and could not even be seen by the crowd, nor by the other players in the dust cloud that enveloped them all.
Talon and Reza were on the alert and warned each other whenever other players might catch up and try some foul play. To Talon it was exhilarating to be on a good horse scrambling for the ball, playing a game that he loved. Covered in a fine layer of dust, riding lathered horses that had to be changed frequently for fresh mounts, they were now playing for that last goal which would put one team or the other ahead.
An opportunity presented itself as Imaran lobbed the ball out of a melee and shouted at Talon to get going. Not needing further encouragement, Talon put spurs to his mount, which jumped away with a snort and hurtled after the bouncing ball. Right behind Talon came Reza, shouting that he was there and that Imaran was following.
Talon glanced behind him and almost laughed. Boulos was exchanging blows with Nejem with the butt of his stick, using the pretense that he was blocking him, and by the look of it he had almost knocked Nejem’s turban off. It was a good thing they didn’t have anything more dangerous in hand than a mallet, he reflected, as he and his mount hurtled down the field.
He concentrated on the ball, confident that he was protected from behind and aware that Reza was racing forward to pick up the ball, should he pass it at any time. Ripples of dust followed the flying hooves of his mount. The thunder of more hooves and shouting men drowned out the excited yelling of the crowd, who sensed that this might be the definitive goal of the game.
He came upon the ball, still bouncing wildly forward on the uneven ground, forcing him to swerve several times in order to keep his pony lined up on the ball. He realized that it would be better to try for a series of taps rather than a big hit. He tapped it forward, then, as it bounced, lifted it into the air to about the height of his horse’s shoulder and tapped it forward. As it came back down, he tapped it again and encouraged his horse to gallop even faster. By this time Reza was almost at the other team’s goal. With one long, lazy sweep of his mallet, Talon caught the ball as it descended one more time and lifted it to soar high into the air to drop it right in front of Reza, who cheekily tapped the ball through the posts. The crowd went wild, cheering madly at this impressive play. Even the people on the stands seemed to appreciate the finessed goal.
Both Talon and Reza made sure that no one from the following riders came close, for fear of another ‘accident.’ Boulos and Nejem were still engaged in a running scrap as the trumpet sounded for the goal, but then it sounded again to announce the end of the game. The crowd voiced their approval as the players walked their heaving, sweating, dust-caked horses back to the lines.
Boulos and Imaran were ecstatic. They galloped up to Reza, and both brothers embraced him and kissed him hard on either cheek in their appreciation. Talon laughed as he witness this, but then found himself subjected to the same treatment, and Reza grinned back at him, his teeth white in his dark, dirt covered face.
“You are great players, my friends!” Boulos yelled, his face flushed with glee. “We managed to get our revenge on Nejem, who has now lost to our family twice within a month. He must be ready to chew rocks, he is so angry!”
Talon wondered about that. He watched as Nejem and his team left the field in a disconsolate group. Nejem shot a look at the excited men surrounding Talon and Reza, and it was full of venom.
“You can control that ball better than anyone I have ever seen, Talon,” Imaran said, with not a little awe in his voice. “I saw you juggle the ball at a flat out gallop. How did you learn to do that?” he asked.
Reza was enthusiastic. “You will have to teach that to me someday, my Brother,” he said shaking his head with a grin.
They were greeted at the side of the field by an equally ecstatic Allam, who ran up and almost tore them off their horses, then embraced them all.
Then, just as Talon dismounted, a small boy ran out from the group of veiled women who were standing at the edge of the field. Rostam ran full tilt into Talon’s arms. “You won! You won! We saw how you and uncle Reza did it!” he piped. Talon laughed with delight, caught his son up and swung him in an arc.
“We did, my Rostam, we did! Your uncle scored the winning goal.” He tossed the laughing boy into Reza’s arms.
“Uncle Reza, Mama says that you and father were the best players on the field! Everyone did!”
“Of course we were, Rostam, and now you have seen it for yourself!” Reza laughed with the boy and then put him down. “You need to go and see if your father is all right. He fell off, you know. You need to tell him that its all right to fall off once in a while, but not for every game.”
Rostam craned his neck to look up at Reza. “Uncle, I saw what that nasty man did to father.”
Both men laughed, and then he grinned and walked over to Talon and said solemnly, “You are all right, aren’t you, Father?”
Talon twisted this way and that, holding his sides and pretended to wince with pain. “I think so, Rostam, but I shall have a talk with your uncle about this game later.” He cast a threatening look at Reza, who smirked, pretending not to hear.
They allowed their horses to be led away by the beaming syce and joined their friends, who were now clustered in a group ready to be taken back to their homes.
Boulos, his teeth showing white in his dust-caked face, lifted his arms in greeting. “We will have a celebration tomorrow evening, my friends.”
“Allam can now afford to give us all a great party,” Imaran joked, and Allam grinned back at them all and waved his hands in the air. “Oh, yes. God be praised, we have inflicted a great defeat on Nejem today, thanks to our friends. I thank you for all you did today. It was magnificent!”
Sadly, Talon realized it would not include the womenfolk, who would be excluded from the all-male celebration. There was one consolation: the five hundred dinars he’d had Yosef place on their team had now become nearly three thousand. He smiled through grit-covered teeth and s
aid, “We will be honored to attend, Boulos. Now I am ready for a drink of cool water and a bath.”
They saw the cables loosened, they saw the gangways cleared,
They heard the women weeping, they heard the men that cheered:
Far off, far off, the tumult faded and died away,
And all alone the sea wind came singing up the bay.
—“Sir Edward Grey”
Chapter Four
A Ship
A celebration feast was thrown by Allam in the gardens of his large villa situated near the sea, within the ancient walls of the city, between two low hills that were covered with palm trees. These added their rustling sound to the low roar of the surf on the beach. It had a peaceful effect which guests commented upon with pleasure as they sat on the expensive carpets, imported from Persia and further afield.
By nightfall the guests had departed, leaving only the three brothers and their father seated around a single carpet close to a small, still pond in which swam large carp. The men paid no attention to their surroundings; they were too engrossed in their discussion.
The old man who had fathered the brothers, Sheik Al Mardini, leaned over a small bowl of precious shelled pistachio nuts, picked up one of the light green kernels and popped it into his mouth to chew with obvious satisfaction, even though he no longer possessed all his teeth.
“Those two kharagi you have as guests do not seem to be the typical merchant kind to me,” he stated, and looked over at Allam, who was sipping a small porcelain cup of black khaffee.
“I agree, Father, they are not; but before God I am indebted, as I have said more than once, to the one called Talon, who took me out of that pestilential prison in Baghdad. He can call himself whatever he likes; I owe him my life.”
“He plays Chogan like a demon, as does his companion. Without those two we would have gone down to an ignominious defeat yesterday,” Boulos interjected, shaking his head with a wry chuckle.
“Both of them are superb riders, every bit the equal of Nejem,” Imaran said. “I have seldom seen such horsemanship.”
“They came from Persia, you say? So why are they here?” the old man demanded with an impatient flip of his age-marked hand. The rings on his long, dark fingers glittered in the firelight.
“I do not know for sure, but he did tell me that they were on a journey and that he had wanted to see me again.” Allam said, his round face thoughtful. “He brought with him women; two of them are young and very beautiful by the account of my servants, who are keeping me informed. There is also a boy, and a physician and his wife, who is also beautiful. The physician worked in Isfahan’s famous Bimaristan. The two younger women are the wives of our two friends, as far as I can judge. I think the boy is the son of Talon. They keep to themselves and speak Farsi, which my servants do not understand.”
“You told me that he was a trader, Allam,” Imaran said, his forehead furrowed.
“When we were in prison he claimed that he was, but he had also been a soldier, which might explain why he is so good at horsemanship and so forth. They accused him of being a spy. But then, they accused me of being a spy too, so I put little faith in that. And he is certainly interested in finding out from you, my brothers, more about the trade routes. However, I have never witnessed a man kill with the speed and efficiency of this man, and his friend seems to me to be a very dangerous man also.”
“You say he is interested in trading; so I would simply ask, does he have the money to buy what he needs?” Imaran asked.
“My servants reported that he visited the Jews in the bazaar and came away with money. I do not know how much, but I suspect that there is more where that came from,” Allam stated. “And after yesterday’s game, I know for a fact he is richer by several thousand dinars.”
The brothers chuckled at this. “We are all the richer by a few thousand dinars from that game, I’m glad he had the wits to bet on our team,” Imaran said.
“They appear to be interested in joining us in our overseas ventures, Father. We need to have your permission to allow this,” Boulos said to their father, who was ruminatively munching on another pistachio.
“Do you trust them?” he asked.
“I trust them implicitly, Father,” Allam stated. “Before God I will affirm that this man is true and would stand by his friends to the death. He has demonstrated that to me already.”
The old man looked at the other two.
Boulos spoke for them both. “You learn a lot about a man who plays Chogan with you, Father. You know that already, as you were once one of the best. There is the military skill which these two posses in large measure, and that could prove very useful, should they join with us. Furthermore, they play as a team, which even in Chogan is rare.” He chuckled. “Most of the time a game here in Muscat is a ball being chased by a cloud of dust.” Imaran laughed in agreement at that, and Boulos continued. “They are tacticians, and we have ample proof that Talon can be trusted, because your son, our brother Allam is here and not dead in some hole in the ground in Baghdad. I think we can trust them.”
The old man nodded acceptance of this reasoning. “They need to pay their way. Can they do this?”
“That I shall have to find out, Father. Do we have your consent and blessings to go forward with the planning for a journey to Lamu with them? The winds are already taking other ships south.”
“Yes, Insha’ Allah our decision will be the right one. I shall reserve judgement for the moment, but you may begin planning for your journey.”
Allam gave a quiet sigh of relief. He liked Talon, Suleiman, whatever he called himself, although he knew well enough that there was much that Suleiman was not telling him. Pointing him towards the potential riches to be had by going with his brothers to trade was the least he could do for his strange guest. The dangers inherent in trading enterprises notwithstanding, he felt that this was the right thing to do.
His father’s blessing had been an important step. Had the old man taken a disliking to either man, then it would have been incumbent upon Allam to ask them to leave. Instead his father had watched and listened in silence as the men were praised for their gamesmanship. He had noted with approval that Talon had offered a warning about the man called Nejem.
Now that that issue had been resolved, the talk moved on to the much discussed camel race, along with the rewards and the consequences of that particular event.
“Nejem is not going to let that pass without some kind of retaliation,” Imaran stated with a glance at Allam, who was now sipping another cup of kaffee just poured by a silent servant, who had materialized out of the dark to replenish it.
“The sultan has confirmed the result of the race, so there is nothing that he can do about that. You did very well, my son. You have brought much needed gold and prestige to our family,” his father told Allam, who glowed from the compliment. Their father was not known to lavish praise.
“What do you call that animal of yours?” Imaran asked with a grin.
“Jasmine,” replied Allam.
The two brothers snickered at Allam, who said defensively, “She has earned that name several times over!”
The brothers subsided as their father made to speak again.
“We need to keep an eye on our property at the stables and ensure that guards are set all day and night to ensure that no harm come to our prize-winning camel, Jasmine,” the old man said. Allam knew that his father had been through more than one feud and was simply being careful, so he nodded agreement.
“I heard that Nejem is talking about an eye for an eye,” Imaran said slowly, referring to the accident that had occurred during the race.
“Nejem comes from a family that is not noted for its trustworthiness in any form,” the old man remarked. They are of the tribes of the Yemen , and not Omani, as is ours. It would be well to keep watch on them. Nejem lost a great deal of gold in that race.”
“Not to mention the humiliation of losing the game in front of the sultan,” Boulos g
loated.
*****
Talon was informed that his presence was requested down at the Muscat harbor the very next day. He thought he knew the reason. He and Reza hastened down to the main harbor of the city, following the messenger.
The natural harbor of Muscat was well protected by two main islands that stretched across the entrance. On one of the islands was a fort that dominated the waters in the harbor.
As he and Reza arrived at the stone ramp that defined the harbor, they witnessed a boatload of black slaves being brought ashore by their Arab overseers. Amid much wailing from the prisoners and snapping of whips by their overseers, the slaves clambered clumsily out of the boat into the water, which was waist deep, holding the chains that linked them by the neck high to prevent from being entangled by them and drowned. Talon observed the pitiful sight of men and women, all naked and in woeful condition, and wondered where they would be taken to live out their lives.
He shook his head, remembering his friend Panhsj in Egypt and his proud demeanor, which he contrasted to the stricken and abject look of these poor creatures. He decided then and there that the brothers could transport slaves, but no matter how lucrative that might be, he would not. Had he not also been a slave himself, with no right to anything? It remained with him.
Upon their arrival on the beach they were met by a large black slave, who took them towards a hive of activity on the water front. They found Allam and his two brothers standing on the waterfront, looking up at a huge ship that was drawn up in a narrow channel of water cut into the beach. The only part of the ship still in the water was the edge of the keel; the bulk of the vessel was held upright by stout poles wedged into the sand on either side. Its hull was surrounded by stacks of timber, coils of rope, tools, and piles of stones.
All around the vessel were dozens of men, from Omani ship workers to black slaves doing their bidding, engaged in a wide variety of activities, all of which were focused on the ship towering over the small group of visitors.
The Dragon's Breath Page 5
