“Do you not think she would be happier among her mother’s people?” she asked the vizier on their wedding night. “Why should she wish to stay here, among foreigners?”
The vizier looked his new wife up and down. That was all he needed to take her measure, though he was careful not to let her know it took so little time.
“She is my daughter also,” he replied. “My people are hers, and her place is at my side. I will hear no more talk of sending her away.”
So the vizier’s new wife had no choice but to bide her time. But she had a plan, and she was sure it was a sound one. She spoke no more to the vizier of sending his daughter away. Instead, thus she spoke to Shahrazad: “Wait till I have given your father a son. I will have done something not even the great Maju could, and then we shall see how soon a storyteller’s daughter is forgotten.”
Though the words were designed to cut deep, Shahrazad bowed low her head and made no reply. She was still a child and had fears as all children do, but she had no fear that she might lose her father’s love.
At last the day came that the vizier’s new wife had hoped for: the day she could announce she was with child. Though her stepmother did not intend it should be so, this news was pleasing to Shahrazad. For it meant the vizier’s wife spent all her time making arrangements for the birth and no longer had time to pick and poke at Shahrazad. The months went by, and in due course, the time arrived for the coming of the child.
For many hours the vizier’s wife labored to bring forth the son she so desired. But when at last the child was born, it was not a son. It was a daughter. When the vizier’s wife was informed of this, she flew into a rage so great that her heart burst, and she died.
And so it was Shahrazad’s arms that first sheltered her sister from the world. And it was she who named her Dinarzad.
The vizier and his daughters lived together quietly and joyfully. Though Dinarzad sometimes accompanied her father outside their quarters as she grew, Shahrazad did not. She kept true to her vow and always stayed within her own household. Many hours did she spend with nothing for company save her own thoughts and the contents of Maju’s ebony trunk.
As the years went by, the vizier and his daughters grew in affection, as did the king and his two sons. The vizier’s first act upon returning from his duties each day was to retire to Shahrazad’s suite of rooms. There, he would tell her all that had befallen him. In this way did Shahrazad learn what transpired in her own land. Her father also placed a special set of servants always at Shahrazad’s disposal. At any hour of the day or night, they might read to her on any subject she desired. In this way did she learn about the wide world around her.
The cleverness of her mind and the depth of her beauty grew with each passing year. And, as these things grew, so did the curiosity of the king’s courtiers. Their earlier animosity toward Shahrazad’s mother was all but forgotten, and they longed to see the storyteller’s daughter. And the greatest longing of all lived in the breast of the young prince, Shahrayar, though he kept it locked away inside himself and spoke of it to no one.
But Shahrazad still kept to her own rooms and satisfied only her own curiosity.
When Shahrazad was sixteen, another sorrow befell her and her father. For in that year, the old king died and the whole kingdom was plunged into mourning. At the end of this period, Shahrayar ascended to the throne. He divided the kingdom with his brother, Shazaman, as has already been told you. The brothers embraced. Then Shazaman took his servants and his goods and departed for the city of Samarkand. And so a year went by.
Then, on no less important a day than the anniversary of their father’s death, Shahrayar conceived a great desire to see his brother. He had missed him dearly for they had never been parted until now. Therefore, he sent for the vizier and commanded him to make the journey to Samarkand and bring Shazaman to his side.
The vizier made preparations without delay. He mustered a great caravan. On the day it was to depart, the streets of the city thronged with people, all loudly proclaiming their good wishes to the vizier, and their love for King Shahrayar. The king himself stood on the palace steps to wish his vizier godspeed. Dinarzad stood with the young queen and her ladies, waving a silk handkerchief in farewell. But of Shahrazad, there was no sign.
The vizier’s caravan traveled for many days. When it reached Samarkand, Shazaman gave the vizier a warm welcome. When he learned the reason for the journey, he was overjoyed at the prospect of being reunited with his brother. Because the city was full of traders, Shazaman bade the vizier make camp outside the city gates. Then he set about making preparations for his own departure. It took several days, but at last the evening came when he kissed his wife farewell, and she presented him with a skin of his favorite wine.
“Tonight as you sit in your tent, drink this, and think of me,” she said. “It will ease the sorrow of this parting.”
“My beloved,” Shazaman answered, “gladly will I do as you desire.”
Then Shazaman went to the caravan of the vizier. There, he would spend the night so that they could depart early the next day in the cool of the morning.
But late that night, as he sat in his tent, a cup of the wine she had given him in his hands, Shazaman’s thoughts circled back to his wife. Much as he longed to see his brother again, Shazaman’s heart was sad, for he and his wife were newly married and he loved her dearly. Deciding he did not wish to part without one more sweet farewell, Shazaman set down the wine untouched, rose from his couch, and made his way back to the palace.
When Shazaman reached his chambers, his wife was nowhere to be found! Great was his dismay and alarm! He had just opened his mouth to give a cry when he heard the barest thread of sound. This was enough for him to recognize his wife’s voice, so great was his love. Wary now, for he feared that something was amiss, Shazaman followed the sound. Soon he found himself on a balcony overlooking his wife’s favorite garden. In the light of the moon he saw her—wrapped in another man’s arms.
“What a fool is this Shazaman,” he heard his wife proclaim. “For I have played him false before he has even departed. But he will never know it, for the wine I gave him at our parting is poisoned.”
When Shazaman heard these words his blood ran cold as newly melted snow. The love he felt for his wife fled from his heart, never to return.
At Shazaman’s wife’s words, her lover pulled back. “By the love of God!” he cried. “What have you done?”
But Shazaman’s wife merely laughed, a sound like tinkling bells which, as though the feeling belonged to another life or another man, Shazaman remembered had once greatly charmed him.
“Calm yourself, my beloved,” spoke his wife to her lover. “For the poison is as a thief in the night. So cunningly made that no one will be able to detect its coming and going. Now let us go in and repose ourselves, for we must be ready to rule in Samarkand on the morrow.”
So saying, Shazaman’s wife and her lover prepared to go in. But before they could, a great rage swept Shazaman. He drew his sword and leaped down into the garden. With the first stroke, he severed his wife’s lover’s head from his body. The second stroke deprived his wife of her head as well. Thus did he dispatch those who would have destroyed him.
After these deeds were done Shazaman summoned his most trusted councilors and made known to them all that had taken place. They pronounced his actions true and just. Though they begged him to remain within the city lest there be other conspirators, Shazaman would not delay his visit to his brother. For he discovered that he had no wish to remain in Samarkand where everything he looked upon reminded him of the treachery of the woman he had loved.
And so, as silently as he had left it, Shazaman returned to the caravan and departed with the vizier the following morning without ever revealing to the vizier what had transpired. They traveled together for many miles until at last they reached Shahrayar’s palace. Ah! How joyful was the reunion of the brothers!
But it did not take long for Shahrayar
to realize that a profound melancholy had settled upon his brother. Though he would converse on any topic Shahrayar wished, Shazaman neither laughed nor smiled. Nothing seemed to delight him. But when Shahrayar pressed to know what was wrong, his brother begged him to change the subject.
In this manner many weeks went by until the time drew near for Shazaman’s departure. Still trying to shake his brother from his melancholy, Shahrayar arranged a great hunt, a thing that Shazaman had always enjoyed above all others. But when the time came for the hunt to begin, Shazaman begged his brother to go without him. No words Shahrayar could say altered his brother’s decision to stay behind, and so at last, he obeyed Shazaman’s wishes and set forth without him.
Now, since the night he had discovered his wife’s treachery, Shazaman had not slept. For it was in the night that he had discovered there was more to his life than his eyes had been able to perceive, and so he feared to close them.
And so, on a night much like the one on which Shazaman had uncovered the plot aimed at his own heart, he discovered one aimed at his brother’s. For Shahrayar’s wife, too, did conspire against him, to deprive him of his life and set another in his place—both in his bed and on his throne.
Shazaman was filled with anger when he heard his brother’s wife plotting against him, yet his heart was also strangely filled with joy. For now he understood that it was not he, alone, who could be deceived. All men could be blinded by their faith in the women they loved. Thus reasoned Shazaman. And so he cast off his melancholy and waited for his brother’s return. But he kept a close eye on Shahrayar’s wife and her lover.
Great was the rejoicing in the city at the king’s safe return! And great was the change Shahrayar beheld in his brother. Before, Shazaman’s countenance had been dull and downcast. Now it shone so brightly it dazzled all who looked upon him. At dinner that evening as they sat at their ease, Shahrayar said to his brother, “When I departed, you were as the ray of a lamp shielded by a hand—Shuttered and shrouded. Now, no brightness can outshine you. What has brought about so great a transformation? I pray you, tell me.”
At Shahrayar’s words, Shazaman’s expression dimmed. “Ask me anything but that, my brother. For my answer will bring you a grief as great as that which I have lately known—a thing I cannot wish upon you. Therefore, let us find another topic.”
But Shahrayar was not to be dissuaded. Over and over he urged his brother to unburden his heart. And so at last, Shazaman related all that had lately befallen him: How he discovered the treachery of his wife, and what he had done about it. Great was Shahrayar’s sympathy when he heard his brother’s story.
“Now I understand your unhappiness!” he cried. “But this story does not explain why you have lately set aside your grief. Surely some other tale must follow.”
“It does,” replied Shazaman. “I know you have the ears to hear it, but have you the stomach and the heart, Shahrayar?”
“As we are both the sons of our father, I do,” Shahrayar answered steadily, though the truth was that he was beginning to feel alarmed.
“Then hear me, and grieve also,” said Shazaman. At that, he related what he had lately overheard concerning Shahrayar’s own wife. How she, too, had taken a lover, and how she plotted to kill her husband and set her paramour upon his throne.
When Shahrayar heard this, he was filled with a grief and anger such as he had never known. But even in his extremity, he strove to be fair, for thus did he honor the teachings of his father.
“All that you have spoken I believe, for you have always been true to me,” he told Shazaman. “Yet before I can condemn these conspirators, I must hear their guilt from their own mouths.”
“That is easily arranged,” Shazaman replied. “I will convey you to the place where they meet. I have kept watch over them each night, for they have yet to reveal how they intend to do you harm. But I warn you, guard well your heart, Shahrayar. There may be more pain to you in this than I have yet spoken.”
“I thank you for your care,” said Shahrayar. Then the brothers embraced and went to conceal themselves.
When Shahrayar saw the place to which his brother conveyed him, he felt the first swift inklings of the pain of which Shazaman had warned. For Shahrayar himself had caused the courtyard to be built as proof of the great trust he had in his wife. None could walk there, save by her consent—not even Shahrayar.
“Come,” Shazaman murmured to his brother. “Let us conceal ourselves behind that vine.”
And so they hid themselves behind a vine whose sweet white flowers made the night so heavy with their scent that the very air was as a perfumed cloud. Yet it seemed to Shahrayar that the scent was bitter in his nostrils. Rank and putrid as dead meat. It was not long before the queen and her lover arrived.
How they enjoyed each other (which Shahrayar could not help but see), what words of affection they murmured (which Shahrayar could not help but hear), it is not seemly for me to tell. But I can say that when he beheld the man with whom his wife betrayed him, no warning Shazaman could have given would have prevented the pain that then pierced Shahrayar’s heart.
For here was one he had known since childhood, second only to his brother in Shahrayar’s love. When at last the vizier joined Shahrayar’s father in the kingdom of heaven, this was the man whom Shahrayar would have promoted above all others and placed at his right hand. There was no one he had loved or trusted more, save for Shazaman.
How many minutes he stood stricken, his senses muddled with rage and pain, Shahrayar never counted. But when at last he was himself again, he saw that, from a pocket stitched into the lining of her cloak, his wife had brought forth a dagger. Ancient symbols were etched upon its blade, and in its pommel was set a ruby red as heart’s blood.
At the sight of it, so great a fury shook Shahrayar that the vine around him trembled, and many of its flowers showered to the ground. Shazaman seized his brother by the arm to hold him still. But the queen and her lover never noticed, so intent were they upon themselves.
“See what I have brought you!” said the queen. “It is my husband’s parting gift to his brother. At my urging, he will present it to him at a great banquet the evening before Shazaman departs. But I will drug Shazaman’s food so that he sleeps like one dead. Then, in the night, we will steal this dagger and use it to slay Shahrayar.”
When he heard these words, the queen’s lover rejoiced and took her into his arms.
“Your mind, as always, is most excellent in its cunning, my beloved. For by this device we will rid ourselves of both these brothers. When his blade is found in the king’s body, all will believe that Shazaman has slain Shahrayar. Then will we seize Shazaman and put him to death. And then there will be an end to waiting, for all that was theirs will become ours.”
“Not in this lifetime,” said Shahrayar. And so saying, he stepped out from behind the vine. At the sight of the friend he had so betrayed, the queen’s lover fell to his knees.
“My gracious lord, forgive me!” he cried. “See how I have been bewitched! But now that I behold you here before me, I regain my senses once more. Tell me how I may serve you and it shall be done!”
“Be silent, fool!” Shahrayar’s wife hissed. “Do not humble yourself so before him. Rather let us be bold and make an end of things here and now.”
So saying, she raised the dagger high. But before she could strike, Shazaman stepped from his place of concealment and wrested the dagger from her, knocking her to the ground. Then with one swift stroke, Shazaman stabbed the queen’s lover through his traitor’s heart. His blood ran freely, forming a great pool around him. The queen knelt before her husband, her lover’s blood staining her fine robes.
“Two choices lie before you,” Shahrayar said as he looked upon her, and his voice was both stern and cold. “You may die by my hand, or by your own.”
But the queen was defiant, even in defeat. “Give me the dagger,” she commanded Shazaman. “I shall die by my hand and no other.” At a nod from his
brother, Shazaman placed the dagger in the queen’s hand. Then she rose and faced Shahrayar.
“My trials may end tonight, but yours are just beginning, husband. For now you know that even the most deadly of desires may be concealed in the heart you trust the most.
“Until you have found a woman whose heart you can see truly and therefore know it—one who can do the same with yours—you will find no peace by day or by night. Think well on these words, and remember me when I am gone.”
So saying, she put an end to her life.
And thus began the trials of King Shahrayar.
Four
HOW SHAHRAZAD IS BOLD
You shift a little in your chair, making yourself more comfortable. But what, you ask yourself, of Shahrazad? Is this not supposed to be her story? Yet she has been absent for many pages now. Surely it is time to see her again.
Patience. Though you have not seen her, she has not been idle, nor has she been forgotten. She has merely been waiting for the proper place to re-enter the story. If you look carefully, you can even see it approaching.
For many days following the death of his queen and her lover, Shahrayar behaved as always. So truly did he appear as he had always been that not even Shazaman, who loved him dearly and knew him well, could discover that there was anything wrong. So the time of Shazaman’s visit drew to an end, and he departed for Samarkand once more.
But, at his brother’s leaving, a change came over Shahrayar. He shut himself in the highest tower of the palace. For many days and nights, he did not come down. The sun rose and set, and rose and set again, and still Shahrayar did not come down. Some nights, the lamps burned in the tower from dusk till dawn. On still others, great bolts of lightning shot from sky to tower, and from tower to sky. And finally there came a series of nights where no lights shone forth. All within the tower was as still as death. And those were the most terrible nights of all.
The Storyteller's Daughter Page 3
