The Vine

by G. Wulfing

  The prince closed the lattice behind him, then embraced Afif and kissed him on the cheek, as was his wont. “Good evening, my friend.”

  Moonlight streamed through the lattice, barring the prince’s figure with rough-cut stripes of shadow. The prince turned from the window and, using a small candle that sat on a low table by his bed, lit a lamp that sat next to it. The lamp had panes of glass in orange, red, green and gold, surrounded by iron that was pierced in graceful patterns, and it shone brightly, turning the walls into a warm rainbow to compete with the wan, colourless moonlight.

  The prince’s chamber was spacious, beautiful, and richly appointed, with thick, elaborately patterned rugs, ornate furniture, detailed tapestries and hangings, and even a shelf of books and scrolls. The bed, which stood across the room from the window, was large and soft, with four lavishly carved wooden columns, covered with expensive textiles and many cushions, and curtained with velvet.

  Having lit the lamp, the prince turned back to Afif. He plucked a piece of straw out of the stable-boy’s hair and showed it to him, with laughter in his dark eyes. Afif smiled, and the prince stepped to the window and tossed the straw out of one of the diamond-shaped apertures in the lattice.

  “Sit,” he invited Afif, as always, and the stable-boy moved toward the silken couch with its embroidered cushions.

  The prince Zayn opened a small cupboard and drew out a tray with two small glasses on it, one blue, one green, their patterns of gold tracery gleaming in the lamplight. From a heavy clay jug, he filled the glasses with cool sherbet, then brought the tray to the couch and served his guest the stable-boy.

  ~*~*~*~

  Gazing up at the stars from the top of a dune, Afif could not remember a time when he had felt so alive. Galloping on Shadows always made him feel elated, more alive than anything else, but tonight the starlight itself seemed to have infiltrated his blood and was making it sing. Everything seemed more real: the feel of Shadows’ saddle beneath him, the way his weight rested perfectly balanced on the horse’s back, the faint cool breeze touching his skin and clothes and hair, the way the smell of hot sand succumbed to the emollient air of the night … Afif could feel every movement of Shadows’ body, he seemed to hear every creak of leather and jingle of harness almost before it happened, and his own body seemed so light that it could almost float away over the dunes below.

  Beside him, almost within arm’s reach, the silken robes of the prince whispered faintly as the breeze moved them.

  Even as Afif was thinking that it would be good to ride on some more, the prince touched his heels to Aruna’s sides and the bay moved forward eagerly. Afif and Shadows followed at once, and the four rode swiftly down the dune’s steep slope, their speed increasing on the long, long way down. The riders gave their mounts free rein, and Afif would have laughed aloud at the rushing of the sand, the way Shadows moved so freely beneath him, almost plummetting downwards, and that blazing, blazing starlight that was burning and singing in his blood; but still the night commanded quiet: the stars alone were permitted to shout this night.

  The slope seemed to continue forever. Down, down into shadow, with the stars swinging above them, the sand rushing and hissing at their hooves, the breeze rippling manes, tails, and white silk. The horses snorted and puffed, ears pricked, nostrils and eyes wide. It was almost like flying.

  At last they entered the shadow on the lowest part of the dune. The darkness seemed cold, as though they had entered a different world to that of the silver starlight above. The horses, almost galloping, slowed, until their riders drew rein. Horses and riders stood, panting somewhat.

  The prince laughed softly, patting his horse’s neck, and Afif allowed himself to do likewise. High above them the stars still sang.

  This night was magical.

  ~*~*~*~

  As the moon drifted higher, the prince and the stable-boy talked. The stable-boy Afif knew more of events inside the palace walls than the sultan’s chief groom did, and he had to remember to say nothing when he heard the other stable-boys gossip about some rumour that he knew to be untrue, or some half-truth of which he knew the whole. The prince Zayn confided in him everything.

  In the many months since the night of magical starlight when they had ridden together, the prince and the stable-boy had talked and drank, played games and read poetry. Carefully and passionately, the prince had taught Afif to read, and to play chess. They would sit on the broad stone windowsill, their backs against the sides of the window, with the lattice open, and Zayn would teach Afif the names of all the stars that they could see. Zayn’s books held many wonderful pictures and ideas, and the prince and the stable-boy would spend hours studying them and discussing them. Sometimes Zayn would smuggle up to his chamber a particular treasure that he wanted Afif to see – a sculpture, an etching, a tapestry or relic or jewel … Through the prince Zayn, the stable-boy who had never known anything other than stables discovered the vastness and depth and beauty of the world.

  “Someday I shall teach you to write,” the prince said.

  Zayn even brought food up to his chamber, so that the stable-boy could taste some of the delicacies of the palace. Fruits and vegetables that the stable-boy had never seen before, sweets and pastries that were familiar to the prince but never tasted by the servants who tended his father’s horses. Afif was introduced to wines and sweet liqueurs, antelope milk and the fermented honey drink known as mead. Zayn was eager to share his pleasures with Afif; and in doing so, he rediscovered and began to appreciate more the beauty and luxury that was natural and expected to him but strange and extravagant to Afif.

  ~*~*~*~

  The riders looked back at the slope down which they had come, seeing the long trail of hoofprints and churned sand. Then the prince turned his horse toward the next dune. Most of the slope before them lay in black shadow, but the crest of the dune was bathed in pale starlight.

  The prince urged Aruna forward, and the bay began the long, steady climb, with Afif and Shadows close behind, keeping to Aruna’s left so as to avoid the sand he kicked down.

  Climbing in the dark was sombre, but every time Afif raised his eyes to the stars he felt alive again. He felt as though hunger, thirst and weariness were all impossible; as though the only thing he needed to sustain him was the starlight.

  As the top of the dune approached, Afif saw the prince’s pale robes suddenly glow white as the starlight struck them, like the sun rising. Entering the starlight was like stepping into the dawn; suddenly the world seemed bright as day once more. The horses snorted and twitched their tails, glad that the long climb was over. Horses and riders stood once more beneath the singing stars.

  Afif wished that this night would go on and on.

  They rode further, unafraid, as though on this night there was no danger and nothing bad could happen: the stars would not permit it.

  When, at last, the horses seemed weary, the prince said softly and reluctantly, “We must return.”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Afif murmured, with equal reluctance.

  The horses sensed that they were returning to the encampment, and their riders slacked the reins, letting their mounts choose their own way through the dunes and back to the camp.

  “What is your name?” the prince asked as they rode.

  “Afif, Your Highness.”

  The prince processed this. “Hmm. It means ‘chaste’.”

  “… Oh.” Afif considered this in his turn, not knowing what else to say.

  “How old are you?” the prince asked next.

  “I think fifteen, Your Highness.”

  “I am fifteen also.”

  The prince smiled at Afif. “Thank you for accompanying us this night, Afif.”

  The stable-boy was taken aback at being thanked by one to whom his obedience should be taken for granted. “Er, you’re welcome, of course, Your Highness,” he fumbled.

  After a long pause, the prince said, “I could not sleep this night,
and I am glad.”

  Afif hesitated. “Neither could I, Your Highness,” he risked confessing.

  “Which horse was it who was unsettled?” the prince inquired.

  For a moment Afif did not understand what he meant. Then he remembered, and realised that he would have to admit that he had lied to the prince earlier, or lie again to him now.

  “Erm ––” he began, feeling sudden nervousness rise in his heart. What was the penalty for lying to a prince? Shadows, sensing his anxiety, twitched one black ear back at his rider.

  The prince laughed softly, merrily. “Do not be afraid, stable-boy.” He looked at Afif, his dark eyes full of amusement and understanding. “I know you had to give me a reason for your wandering about at night. An unsettled horse sounded far more convincing than your simply not being able to sleep. I understand that sometimes a lie is easier for people to believe than the truth.”

  Afif was silent in embarrassment, keeping his eyes on his horse’s piebald mane.

  “For my part, I did not really need to use the latrines,” the prince confided. “… As I am sure you realised.”

  Afif risked a glance up at the royal’s countenance. The prince was still smiling, and as he met Afif’s gaze his smile grew, showing those white teeth, encouraging Afif to relax.

  Afif felt most of his nervousness drain away. He had never spent any time alone with royalty, until this night, but he was well aware that he was not permitted to be friendly; yet the prince seemed to be trying to reassure him that all was well.

  At the encampment, the prince and the stable-boy dismounted. Afif held out his hand for the prince’s reins, but the prince refused. “No; I shall untack him myself.”

  Aruna had been tied further along the horse-lines than Shadows, so Afif watched speechlessly as the prince led his bay away.

  Afif unsaddled Shadows swiftly, as the horse drank eagerly from one of the water-buckets that were available to the horses at night. After giving the piebald a quick rub-down to remove saddle marks, and making sure that the horse was not so sweaty that he might catch a chill, Afif slipped away to where Aruna had been tied, intending to check that the prince, if he was not still with his horse, had not left saddle marks or other evidence on his mount. Princes could do as they pleased, but stable-boys who left the encampment without permission, or who allowed princes to ride out almost alone in desert where there might be bandits, could be punished, even if they were only doing as the prince had ordered. Indeed, stable-boys who rode out at night without permission, no matter in whose company, might be considered spies, for bandits or other enemies …

  The prince was standing with Aruna, stroking the horse’s neck as the animal drank. The prince looked up as Afif silently approached. Again, just to be safe, Afif knelt on one knee and bowed his head. The fact that he and the prince had shared a secret and a ride, even a magical one, did not mean that he could shirk formality.

  The prince beckoned Afif closer. “Check him to see that I have removed all of the saddle marks,” he ordered the stable-boy, who obeyed, running his hands over Aruna’s smooth coat to make sure that all tousled patches of hair had been brushed smooth.

  “Your Highness, I think he is free of saddle marks,” Afif reported obediently.

  “Good.” The prince gave his horse one final stroke, then stepped away. Afif noticed that he had set the saddle and bridle down correctly in their place, even rolling the embroidered saddle-blanket tightly to keep the sand out of it.

  The prince looked up at the stars. They were still brilliant, but now Afif finally felt weary. Now he could sleep.

  “Good night, Afif,” the prince said graciously. “I thank you again for your company this night.”

  “Good night, Your Highness,” Afif murmured, bowing his head.

  The prince turned and wove between the tents, heading toward the great white tent of the sultan.

  Afif heaved a sigh, and picked his way slowly back to the stable-boys’ tent. Before he entered, he took one last long look at the stars. He might never again see them quite like this.

  And that rushing, exhilarating ride through the dunes … There would most likely never be another ride like that.

  Afif closed his eyes, feeling the starlight singing against his eyelids, and thanked God for such a night and such a ride and such a horse as Shadows.

  ~*~*~*~

  Afif remembered quite clearly the time when Prince Zayn had first invited him to visit him in his chamber.

  Afif had been cleaning out one of the stables when Prince Zayn led Aruna past the doorway. The sound of hooves walking on the sunlit paved yard stopped, and a voice said quietly and clearly, “Stable-boy.”

  Afif looked up from his pitchforking.

  The prince came closer, leading his horse into the doorway of the stable, and stood just inside the doorframe, within three paces of Afif. “Are you the stable-boy Afif?” the prince asked softly, under the noise of the surrounding stable activity, dark eyes gazing intently upon Afif’s face as he sought to determine whether the face of the stable-boy before him was the same as the face of the boy in the starlight.

  “Yes, Your Highness.” Afif remembered to bow low, hoping that the prince would pardon him for not kneeling on the soiled straw.

  “Do you know where my bedchamber is?”

  Afif blinked. “Erm … no, Your Highness.”

  “The wall at the bottom of my garden is close behind this stable building. If you were to climb over the stables roof, at night, in secret, you could reach the top of that wall. There is a chinar tree that almost touches the wall, and if you were to climb down it you would find yourself in the walled garden upon which my bedchamber window looks. There is a great vine that climbs the palace wall and reaches up beyond my window. If you can climb it, you could enter my chamber through the window. I have climbed it myself; it will hold you.” The prince paused briefly, allowing Afif to absorb all this. “I would like to talk with you, as we did on that starlit night in the desert.”

  Afif was staring, astounded. He could not help it.

  Prince Zayn was looking at him somewhat hopefully. “It is an invitation, not a command. You are free to visit me, or not, as you choose. I will not be offended if you refuse.” Though Afif thought he saw a hint of disappointment in the prince’s face at the thought of his invitation being refused.

  “I am sorry that it must be in secret.” The prince began to retreat, pushing his horse’s chest in a command to move backwards, and as horse and prince left the shade of the stable doorway the prince glanced back at Afif pleadingly and whispered, “Please come, Afif!”

  Then horse and rider were again in bright sunlight, walking away.

  Though he was mystified by this strange invitation, Afif was also curious. Perhaps some of the starlight from that magical night had stayed in his veins and made him bold.

  So, although he was very much afraid, that night he found himself waiting awake until he was sure that all the other stable-boys were asleep before beginning his adventure.

  Afif had climbed trees often enough; there were many shade-trees in the horse fields. That afternoon he had calculated his safest route onto the roof of the stable building. It would not be easy, but Afif felt that he could do it, and reasonably quietly.

  Fearfully, expecting every moment to feel a tile slide away underfoot, he had crept along the gently sloping roof toward the chinar tree’s leafy head. The moon had been less than half full, making shadows murky.

  For one who was used to vaulting onto horses’ backs, it was easier to vault onto the wall that rose past the roof of the stables than it was to creep silently along the tiled rooftop. Sitting atop the wall, Afif had regarded the chinar tree’s branches, wondering if he trusted any of them.

  At last, crouching, he had dared to grasp the stoutest branch he could reach, half-falling from the wall to hang from his hands among the leaves. With a rustle that seemed nerve-wrackingly loud in the quiet of the
night, the branch sagged under his weight, but did not crack or groan.

  Swinging and scrabbling, Afif had made his way down the tree to a point wherefrom he could jump to the lawn below.

  He froze in the shadow of the chinar tree, amazed to find that he had done it: he was in the private garden of a prince. He was within the palace walls.

  Never had he expected to find himself in a royal’s private garden.

  To his surprise, no alarm was sounded. No one seemed to have noticed his gymnastics at all.

  He had rested there for a moment, daring to lean his back against the trunk of the chinar that had granted him safe passage down from the wall, placing his palms behind him on the rough, living trunk. Then, relieved, but with his heart pounding in his ears and mouth, Afif had hastened up the soft-grassed, slightly sloping lawn of the garden, past sweet-scented fruit trees and shrubs and a small, tiled fountain, toward the palace, where, as he had seen from the top of the wall, the massive vine was hugging the palace wall.

  And nervously he had begun his climb, expecting at every moment to hear an accusing shout from a palace guard, or for the vine to give way and send him crashing down to death or injury or discovery. Afif was grateful that neither stars nor moon were bright this night: there was enough light for him to see sufficiently, but no more.

  Once at the latticed window the stable-boy hesitated, reluctant to let go of the vine in order to knock on the lattice, but equally reluctant to call out and risk being overheard. At last, deciding that it was as risky to continue to cling there as it was to take one of those actions, he plucked up the courage to knock briefly on the lattice.

  He heard stirring from inside the chamber, and someone hurried to the window. Eagerly, Prince Zayn drew back the lattice. “Afif! You came!”

  The prince himself gripped the stable-boy’s linen tunic to keep him from falling as he negotiated his way fearfully and awkwardly through the window. Once standing on the soft rug, Afif had looked at the prince with a mix of perplexity, trepidation, and triumph.