Eleven
A PLOT
And now, for a moment, we must leave Shahrayar and Shahrazad. Though they are the heart of this tale, a thing that is right and fitting for it is theirs. There are others who must be spoken of, for, without them, the tale cannot travel to its proper end.
I have told you how, in the time following his discovery of his first queen’s betrayal, Shahrayar locked himself in his highest tower and did not come down. Great was the fear and compassion his people had for him during these days—before he descended from the tower and all perceived that his heart had been turned to stone.
But what none perceived was that it was not Shahrayar alone whose heart was altered during this time. There were others whose hearts were changed as well. First among them were the former queen’s brothers, and their hearts were transformed in this way: They were turned into pillars of flame that burned with a desire for revenge. Until it was accomplished or their lives were ended, the fire could never be put out.
Now, Shahrayar had been a prince before he had become a king, for that is the way things usually go. And so it follows that his first bride had been a princess, daughter of a kingdom taken by Shahrayar’s father in one of the many wars of conquest at which he so excelled.
The land he had conquered brought Shahrayar’s father great wealth and, though he was glad he could now call it his, he did not want its people humbled too much. He wanted them to retain their pride, for they had become his people, and their pride had therefore become his.
So he married Shahrayar to the sister of the young king he had defeated. The princess was very beautiful, and this suited Shahrayar’s father’s plans well. For in this way, he hoped to secure both his son’s happiness and the allegiance of those who had been his foes.
The prince and princess had been married two years and two days when Shahrayar’s father died and Shahrayar ascended to the throne. They had been married three years and thirty days when Shahrayar stood in the garden beside his brother, Shazaman, and saw his wife embrace another. Heard them plot murder even while they murmured words of love. On that night, the marriage ended, for the queen died by her own hand, cursing Shahrayar as she did so.
When the queen’s five brothers learned what she had done, at first, they were glad that she lived no more. For, by her actions, she had brought a stain upon their honor that could never be erased. But even as Shahrayar lay upon the tower floor changing the very fabric of his heart, so did the queen’s brothers begin to change their hearts as well.
The eldest was the first to put his feelings into words. Disgraceful as they surely were, were not their sister’s actions actually all her husband’s fault? he inquired of his brothers.
King Shahrayar had allowed his wife great liberties, a thing which was not wise, as the eldest brother had cause to know, for had he not been a king himself once?
But this Shahrayar had been so foolish as to create the very garden in which his queen and her lover had plotted against him. He had even gone so far as to proclaim it a place no one, not even he, himself, could enter but by the queen’s will alone. Such dealings between men and women simply were not natural.
“Our eldest brother is right,” the second declared, a thing that caused the others to stare at him in wonder for none could remember the last time he had agreed with his elder brother.
These brothers were not like Shahrayar and Shazaman. They were so jealous and quarrelsome, they disagreed about everything save the rising and setting of the sun. For these things seemed so sure and set in their course that even the brothers could find in them no fault.
“Women are weak creatures,” the third brother said, now picking up the refrain. “They require great guidance and careful watching.”
Surely “freedom” was a word that had no place in a woman’s vocabulary, he went on. In fact, her vocabulary should contain as few words as possible: Husband. Obedience. Duty. Hearth. Home. These were words a woman should learn well. If she knew these, she need know little else.
“That is so.” The fourth brother nodded wisely, though he did not yet have a wife of his own. “And to that end, women should be kept indoors, within their own households.” This was not cruelty, but a kindness, he reasoned, for it was better for them so. Life inside the home was the only kind of life that women understood, the only kind they were capable of understanding.
At this, the brothers clasped hands across the brazier around which they were gathered, congratulating themselves on the fact that for once in their lives, they were in accord. Why all men did not think as they did, they could not tell. But this much, they did know: If women were allowed too much liberty, either of mind or of body, trouble was bound to be the inevitable result.
And so, by these degrees did the brothers convince themselves that the deeds of their sister had, in truth, been her husband’s fault. And no sooner had they convinced themselves of this, than the desire to be revenged against him—and so remove the stain upon their honor—sparked up and began to glow red-hot. For at Shahrayar’s feet could be laid the true source of their shame: He had failed to govern his wife.
If a man could not govern his own wife, how could he be expected to govern a country? the brothers asked themselves. And so, at last, they convinced themselves of one final thing more: Removing Shahrayar would not simply be revenge. It would be justice, also.
And so they began to plot to remove Shahrayar and place the eldest brother upon the throne. But bringing down a king is no easy matter, as many who have tried it have discovered to their cost.
The eldest brother was all for action. “Let us raise an army and storm the palace!” he shouted, leaping to his feet.
The second brother pulled him back down with one quick yank on his arm. “Get a hold of yourself,” he ordered sternly. “And keep your voice down. This we certainly shall do, but in secret and slowly. To raise an army takes money and time. Is there nothing that can be done till then?”
“What about poison?” the third brother inquired.
“Impossible,” the fourth instantly scoffed. “We could never get close enough to Shahrayar. We’re too well known.”
“All right, then, we’ll hire an assassin,” the third brother countered, not yet ready to give up his idea.
But this suggestion only increased the fourth brother’s scorn. “And pay him what? Have you forgotten that we’ve no money? Besides, paying someone else to do our dirty work is a risky business. They can always be bought again by someone else for a higher price. It’s our honor that has been sullied. We should handle this ourselves.”
“How?” the first brother spoke up again, glaring at the second and fourth brothers in turn. “You don’t like our ideas, fine. At least we came up with something. That’s more than I’ve heard from you two so far.”
“You didn’t come up with something, you came up with the most obvious thing,” the second brother replied. And so the argument was off and running.
They quarreled for hours until their eyes grew scratchy with smoke from the brazier, and their voices grew hoarse. And at the end of this time, they still knew two things only: They must discover who could be found to bear arms to support them, for they could not hope to completely overcome Shahrayar on their own. In the meantime, the best way to keep an eye on him was from inside the palace. But who could be trusted to do this, they did not know. The brothers were about to retire to their separate chambers in frustration when the fifth and youngest brother spoke for the very first time.
“Let me go.”
At this, his elder brothers jumped like the guilty conspirators they were, for the truth was that they had entirely forgotten the presence of their youngest brother. They often did this, for he was but a youth of fourteen years old. More than old enough to join in their councils, according to their customs. But the youngest was unlike his older brothers in almost every regard. He was quiet and studious, slim and slight of build; not sturdy, boisterous and warlike as the others had been when they were you
ng. The truth was that they did not understand him, mistaking his quiet air for inattention at best, and cowardice at worst. What they did not understand, they had chosen to ignore.
All the while as the others had been scheming and plotting, bickering and arguing, the fifth brother had been curled up like a mouse in the rooms farthest corner. He had watched, and he had listened, but he had made no sound at all. Now his voice fell upon the ears of his brothers like a plunge into icy water, shocking them speechless.
The eldest was the first to recover. He strode to where his youngest brother was now sitting up straight and raised his hand to strike him. But the second brother grabbed his arm and held it motionless.
“What are you doing?” the third brother demanded angrily of the second brother, taking the first brother’s side as always. He thought striking their youngest brother was a fine idea. It was the best way to impress the need for secrecy and silence upon him.
“Wait,” the fourth brother counseled, stepping between his second and third brothers. He always took the second brother‘s side. In this way, the brothers were always balanced in their quarrels.
“We have discussed this matter fruitlessly for hours,” the fourth brother reminded the others. “It is too late to prevent him from overhearing, for he has been here all along. Therefore, let us listen to what our youngest brother has to say.”
“What he has to say?” the eldest brother mocked as he yanked his arm away from the second, “What can he have to say? He is just a boy.”
“Exactly,” his youngest brother piped up, unimpressed and unoffended by his eldest brothers show of temper. He had big fists, it was true, but his brain was small. Had he not allowed them to be conquered?
“Who pays attention to a mere boy? Not even you, my brothers. But those whom others do not notice may still see much, and they may do even more.”
At his words, a sudden silence filled the room. It was broken when the second brother laughed suddenly. He leaned down and pulled his youngest brother to his feet.
“Are you not cold in this corner, small one? Come sit by the fire and tell us what it is you think you can accomplish that we cannot.”
“Just this,” his youngest brother said when all were seated around the brazier once more. “I can get into the palace. Once there, I can find a way to get close to King Shahrayar.”
The first and third brothers both gave barks of derisive laughter, but the second and fourth leaned closer.
“How?”
“Many inside the palace know your faces, as you have already noted,” the youngest brother said, “for they fought against you when our country was lost. But they do not know my face, for I was too young to fight, I have been inside the palace only once, on the day our sister was married to Shahrayar. Few had reason to notice me then. All eyes were on the prince and his bride.”
“But you can’t be sure,” the eldest brother objected, more for form’s sake than that he disagreed with what his youngest brother had said. There were principles and hierarchies to be maintained. Elder brothers deserved respect, not to be contradicted by those who were younger than they. “Someone may have noticed you.”
“Why should they?” the youngest brother asked with a smile as sweet as a honey cake. “I am just a boy.”
The second brother chuckled, causing his older brother’s face to turn the color of sour wine.
“Suppose we get you a place in the palace,” the third brother said. “What then? How will you accomplish what must be done?”
“I don’t know yet,” his youngest brother answered honestly. “How can I know ahead of time? I will keep my eyes and ears open as I always do. When the time comes, I will know, and I will seize it. I will cleanse the stain from our honor and be revenged upon King Shahrayar.”
“Oh, this is nonsense!” the eldest brother exploded, leaping to his feet. “I will not trust something so important to one so young, this one least of all.”
“Shut up and sit down!” the second and fourth brothers roared.
At this, all eyes turned to the third brother, the only one who had not yet indicated what he thought.
“For once, I must agree with the others,” he said, a thing that caused the eldest brother’s mouth to open and close like a fish out of water, for the third brother had never disagreed with him before.
“We have talked all night and come up with nothing,” the third brother went on. “Perhaps a boy may accomplish what we may not. Why should he not have a chance? His dishonor is as great as ours.”
And so it was decided. The very next day the second brother, whose brain was the most devious, found a way to send his youngest brother to the palace as kitchen help. It was below his station to be sure, but there was an advantage in this that could not be ignored: If others overlooked children, they overlooked servants even more. One who was both a servant and a child would therefore be all but invisible. So the second brother reasoned as he made his choice.
And so the youngest brother settled into life at the palace not long after Shahrayar came down from the tower. He was there when the vizier proclaimed Shahrayar’s intent to take a wife again. He was there when the king wed Shahrazad. He even managed to have a hand in preparing the wedding feast, helping to carry it to Shahrayar’s private quarters himself.
And, through it all, the youngest brother did what he did best: He watched. He waited. And he kept his eyes and ears open, never doubting that one day, his time would come.
Twelve
SHAHRAZAD IS JOYFUL, AND THE CONSPIRATORS MAKE A DISCOVERY
And so it came to pass that on the same bright morning that Shahrayar decided to spare Shahrazad’s life for at least one more day, his first queen’s youngest brother labored in the palace kitchens, keeping his ears open in between mopping his brow. Dinarzad was put to bed, having fallen asleep somewhere in the middle of her sister’s story. And Shahrazad herself was reunited with the vizier, her father.
Their reunion was a joyful one, but it did not last long. For no sooner had Shahrazad returned to her old rooms and told her father what had come to pass than they were interrupted by a frantic pounding at the door. It was opened to reveal the chamberlain, his face bright red and his breath huffing in and out.
“My lord vizier, my lady Shahrazad—that is—I mean to say—Your Highness—,” he panted.
“For heaven’s sake,” Nur al-Din cried out, genuinely alarmed. Never had he seen the chamberlain look like this, and he knew how important the other man’s dignity was to him. Next to his love for the king, it was the thing he kept closest to his heart. “Stop worrying about getting our titles right and get to the point.”
“The King,” the chamberlain gasped out. “You must go to the king at once.”
He was in his private audience chamber. Not the room he used for show, the one in which he and Shahrazad were wed, but the one from which he conducted the true business of running the country. It was simply furnished. At one end, tall windows looked out over the largest of the palace courtyards.
Though she could not see it, Shahrazad knew the room well, for her father had described it to her many times. She could tell at once that the windows were open, for into the room there came a sound like the movement of the sea, a sound that both swelled and swallowed itself up all in the same moment.
“I am glad you have come, Nur al-Din,” Shahrayar said as the chamberlain ushered the vizier and his daughter into the room, then, at a wave of the king’s hand, bowed himself back out again. No one hearing Shahrayar would have guessed at the bitterness which had so recently passed between him and his vizier.
“Let your daughter stand back from the windows, but come here yourself, and tell me what you make of what you see.”
Shahrazad’s father gave her arm a quick squeeze, then moved to do the king’s bidding. After a moment he said, “It is a crowd, my lord.”
“I can see that for myself, thank you,” Shahrayar replied, his voice sharp. “It is their purpose that I cannot fathom
. The captain of the guard said they began to gather before sunrise. I had him command them to disperse, but they refused. I fear this may be an uprising.”
“They do not appear to be armed,” Nur al-Din observed, though he had to admit Shahrayar might have good cause to be alarmed even so. Never had he seen so large a crowd assemble in the courtyard, save for the funeral procession honoring Shahrayar’s father.
“Did your captain ask them why they had come?”
“I am the king,” Shahrayar said. “Would you have me inquire of my own subjects?”
“Well, it does seem to be the most straightforward way of learning their intentions,” the vizier said.
“I know why they have come,” Shahrazad spoke up from behind them.
She heard the scrape of Shahrayar’s sandals as he turned around.
“You what?”
“I know why they have come,” she said again. “And why they have refused to leave. Are these things not plain to you also?”
Shahrayar made an exasperated sound. “If they were plain to me, I would hardly have had the chamberlain summon you and your father at a dead run. Stop talking in riddles, and tell me what you think you perceive that I do not.”
The vizier’s head swiveled back and forth as he watched the exchange. They speak to each other as if they have been married for years, he thought.
“They came to see an execution,” Shahrazad said simply, “And they have refused to leave because they do not understand why there has not yet been one.”
There was a beat of silence. In it, though Shahrazad could hear her own breath and—she thought—her father’s, it seemed to her that Shahrayar breathed not at all and that even the voices in the courtyard below had fallen silent.
“You mean they came to see your execution,” Shahrayar said at last. “Merciful God, What kind of a king am I that my people are so bloodthirsty?”
“It may not be that,” Nur al-Din put in swiftly. “My first thought when I beheld this crowd is that I had not seen so many assembled since the passing of your father. Perhaps they do not come because they think my daughter’s death will be a sport, but to pay witness and to honor her. By her death, many will live.”
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