Wilbur Smith - C11 Blue Horizon

by C11 Blue Horizon(Lit)

  "And yet I cannot stop him. This is between Dorian and his God."

  Batula packed fresh tobacco in the bowl of the hookah, and it was almost consumed to ash before Dorian came back to the fire. He sat cross-legged with his elbows on his knees and his chin cupped in both hands, staring into the leaping flames.

  "My lord," Kadem whispered, 'give me your answer. With the trade winds standing fair, if you sail at once you can mount the Elephant Throne in Muscat at the beginning of the Feast of Lights. There can be no more propitious day than that to begin your reign as Caliph."

  Dorian was silent still, and Kadem went on his tone was not wheedling, but strong and sure of his purpose: "Your Highness, if you return to Muscat, the mullahs will declare jihad, a holy war, against the tyrant. God and all of Oman will be at your back. You cannot turn aside from your destiny."

  Dorian raised his head slowly. Yasmini drew a long slow breath and held it. Her nails sank into the hard muscles of his forearm.

  "Kadem al-Juri," Dorian replied, 'this is a terrible decision. I cannot make it alone. I must pray for guidance."

  Kadem fell forward, prostrating himself on the sand before Dorian. His arms and legs were spread wide. "God is great!" he said. "There can be no victory without His benevolence. I shall wait for your answer."

  "I will give it to you tomorrow night at this same time and place."

  Yasmini let out her breath slowly. She knew that this was only a reprieve, and not a pardon.

  Early the next day Tom and Sarah climbed to the top of the grey rocks that guarded the entrance to the lagoon, and found a sheltered nook out of the wind but full in the sun. The Ocean of the Indies was spread beneath them, raked with creamy furrows. A sea bird used the wind to hang like a kite above the green waters. Suddenly it folded its wings and plunged from on high, hitting the surface with a tiny splash, rising again almost immediately with a silver fish wriggling in its beak. On the rocks above where they lay, the

  hvrax sat in the sun, rabbity brown balls of fluff watching them with huge, curious eyes.

  "I want to have serious speech with you," Sarah said.

  Tom rolled on to his back and locked his fingers behind his head, grinning at her. "Fool that I am, I thought you had brought me here to have your wicked way with me, to ravish my tender flesh."

  Tom Courtney, will you never be serious?"

  "Aye, lass, that I will, and I thank you for the invitation." He reached for her, but she struck away his hand.

  "I warn you, I shall scream."

  "I will cease and desist, for the moment at least. What is it that you wanted to discuss with me?"

  "Tis Dorry and Yassie."

  "Why does this not come as any great surprise to me?"

  "Yassie is sure that he will sail to Muscat to take up the offer of the throne."

  "I am sure she would not hate the thought of becoming a queen. What woman would?"

  "It will destroy her life. She explained it all to me. You can have no conception of the intrigues and conspiracies that surround an Oriental court."

  "Can I not?" He raised an eyebrow. "I have lived twenty years with you, my heart, which has given me good training."

  She went on as though he had not spoken: "You are the elder brother. You must forbid him to leave. This offer of the Elephant Throne is a poisoned gift, which will destroy them and us also."

  "Sarah Courtney, you do not truly believe that I would forbid Dorian anything? It is a decision that only he can make."

  "You will lose him again, Tom. Do you not remember how it was when he was sold into slavery? How you thought he was dead, and part of you died with him?"

  "I remember it well. But this is not slavery and death. It's a crown and power unbounded."

  "I think you begin to relish the thought of him going," she accused him.

  Tom sat up quickly. "No, woman! He is blood of my blood. I want only what is best for him."

  "You think this may be best?"

  It was the life and the destiny for which he was trained. He has become a trader with me, but I have known all along that his heart is not truly in our enterprise. For me it is meat and wine, but Dorry hankers after more than we have here. Have you not heard him speak

  of his adoptive father and the days when he commanded the army of Oman? Do you not sometimes see the regret and longing in his eyes?"

  "Tom, you look for signs that are not there," Sarah protested.

  "You know me well, my love." He paused, then went on, "It is my nature to dominate those around me. Even you."

  She laughed, a gay pretty sound. "You do try, I grant you that."

  "I try with Dorry too, and with him I succeed better than I do with you. He is my dutiful younger brother, and over all these years I have treated him like that. Perhaps this summons to Muscat is what he has been waiting for."

  "You will lose him again," she repeated.

  "No, there will be only a little water between us, and I have a fast ship." He lay back in the grass and pulled his hat down over his eyes to shield them from the sun. "Besides, it will not be bad for business to have a brother able to issue licences for my ships to trade in all the forbidden ports of the Orient."

  "Tom Courtney, you mercenary monster. I do truly hate you." She leaped on him and pummelled his chest with clenched fists. He rolled her easily on to her back in the grass and lifted her skirts away from her legs. They were still strong and shapely as those of a girl. She crossed them firmly.

  "Sarah Courtney, show me how much you really hate me." He held her down with one hand while he unbuckled his belt.

  "Stop this at once, you lecherous knave. They're watching us." She struggled but not too hard.

  "Who?" he asked.

  "Them!" She pointed at the ring of staring rock rabbits.

  "Boo!" Tom shouted at them, and they shot down the entrances to | their burrows. "They aren't watching now!" said he.

  Sarah uncrossed her legs.

  The gathering at the campfire that night was solemn and fraught with uncertainty and anxiety. No one in the family knew what Dorian had decided. Yasmini, sitting beside her husband, answered the silent question that Sarah flashed to her across the fire lit circle with a resigned lift of her shoulders.

  Tom alone was determinedly cheerful. While they ate grilled fish with chunks of new baked bread, he retold the story of their grandfather Francis Courtney, and the capture of the Dutch East India galleon off

  Cape Agulhas nearly sixty years before. He explained to them where Francis had hidden his booty, in a cave up at the head waters of the stream that ran into the lagoon, near where Mansur had shot the buffalo the previous day. Then he laughed as he pointed out the trenches and overgrown excavations all around their encampment that the Dutch had dug in their efforts to find and retrieve the plundered treasure. "While they sweated and swore, our own father, Hal Courtney, had spirited away the booty long before," he told them, but they had heard the story often enough not to be amazed by it. In the end even Tom was defeated by the silence, and instead of regaling them further he addressed himself to the bowl of spiced buffalo stew that the women had served after the fish.

  Dorian ate little. Before the silver coffee-pot was brought from its cradle over the coals he told Tom, "If you agree, brother, I will speak to Kadem now and give him my decision."

  "Aye, Dorry," Tom agreed. "Twould be best to have done with the whole business. The ladies have been sitting on a nest of ants since yesterday." He shouted for Batula. "Tell Kadem he might join our council, if he has a mind."

  Kadem came striding down the beach. He walked like a desert warrior, lithe and long-limbed, and prostrated himself before Dorian.

  Mansur leaned forward eagerly. He and Dorian had left the camp earlier that day and passed many hours alone together in the forest. Only they knew what they had discussed. Yasmini looked at her son's shining face and her heart sank. He is so young and beautiful, she thought, so bright and strong. Of course he pines for such an adventure as
he sees here. He knows only the ballad singers' romantic vision of battle. He dreams of glory, power and a throne. For, depending on the choice Dorian makes this evening, the Elephant Throne of Oman might one day be his.

  She drew the veil over her face to hide her fears. My son does not understand what pain and suffering the crown will bring him all the days of his life. He knows nothing of the poison cup and the assassin's blade. He does not understand that the caliphate is a slavery more oppressive than the chains of the galley slave or those of the worker in the copper mines of Monomatapa.

  Her thoughts were interrupted when Kadem greeted Dorian. The rrophet's blessing upon you, Majesty, and the peace of God. May he bless our undertakings."

  It: 1S eary to sPeak of Majesty, Kadem al-Juri," Dorian cautioned him. Wait rather until you have heard my decision."

  Your decision has already been made for you by the prophet and

  saint Mullah al-Allama. He died in his ninety-ninth year, in the mosque on Lamu island, praising God with his last breath."

  "I did not know he was dead," Dorian said sadly, 'though, in all truth, at that venerable age it could not have been otherwise. He was a holy man indeed. I knew him well. It was his hand that circumcised me. He was my wise councillor, and a second father to me."

  "In his last days he thought of you, and made a prophecy."

  Dorian inclined his head. "You may recite the words of the holy mullah."

  Kadem had the gift of rhetoric, and his voice was strong but pleasing. "The orphan from the sea, he who won the Elephant for his father, shall sit upon its back when the father has passed, and he shall wear a crown of red gold." Kadem spread his arms. "Majesty, the orphan of the prophecy can mean no other than you. For you are crowned now in red gold, and you were the victor of the battle that gave the Elephant Throne to your adoptive father, Caliph Abd Muhammad al-Malik."

  A long silence followed his ringing speech, and Kadem stood with arms outspread like the Prophet himself.

  Dorian broke the silence at last. "I have heard your pleas, and I will give you my decision that you must take back to the sheikhs of Oman. But first I must tell you how I have reached it."

  Dorian placed his hand upon Mansur's shoulder. "This is my son, my only son. My decision touches him deeply. He and I have discussed it in every detail. His fierce young heart is hot for the enterprise, just as mine was at the same age. He has urged me to accept the invitation of the sheikhs."

  "Your son is wise far beyond his years," said Kadem. "If it please Allah, he shall rule in Muscat after you."

  "BismalWi!" cried Batula and Kumrah together.

  "If God pleases!" cried Mansur in Arabic, his expression rapt with joy.

  Dorian held up his right hand, and they fell silent again. There is another who is touched deeply by my decision." He took Yasmini's hand. "The Princess Yasmini has been my companion and my wife all these years, from childhood to this day. I swore an oath to her long ago, a blood oath." He turned to her. "Do you remember my marriage vows to you?"

  "I remember, my lord husband," she said softly, 'but I thought you might have forgotten."

  "I swore two vows to you. The first was that, even though the law ana the prophets allow it, I would take no other wife than you. I have kept that vow."

  Yasmini was not able to speak, but she nodded. At the movement a

  tear that trembled on her long eyelashes detached itself and splashed upon the silk that covered her bosom, leaving a wet stain.

  The second oath I swore that day was that I would not cause you pain if it was in my power to prevent it." Yasmini nodded again.

  "Let all of you here present know that if I were to take up the invitation of the sheikhs to the Elephant Throne, it would cause the Princess Yasmini pain more poignant than the pain of death itself."

  The silence drew out, tingling, in the night, like the threat of summer thunder. Dorian stood up and spread his arms. This is my reply. May God hear my words. May the holy prophets of Islam bear witness to my oath."

  Tom was amazed by the transformation that had overtaken his younger brother. Now he looked like a king indeed. But Dorian's next words shattered that illusion. Tell them that my love and admiration is with them still, as it was at the battle of Muscat and every day since then. Despite this, the burden they would place upon me is too heavy for my heart and my shoulders. They must find another for the Elephant Throne. I cannot take up the caliphate and keep true to my oath to the Princess Yasmini."

  Mansur gave a small involuntary cry of distress. He leaped to his feet and ran into the night. Tom jumped up and might have chased after him had not Dorian shaken his head. "Let him go, brother. His disappointment is sharp, but it will pass." He sat down again and turned to smile at Yasmini. An expression of adoration shone upon her lovely face. "I have kept both my oaths to you," Dorian said.

  "My lord!" she whispered. "My own heart."

  Kadem stood up again, his face expressionless. He bowed deeply to Dorian. "As my prince commands," he agreed softly. "Would that I could call you "Majesty". It saddens me, but that is not to be. God's will be done." He turned and strode away into the darkness, heading in the opposite direction to that taken by Mansur.

  It was the time of the evening prayers and the man who called himself Kadem al-Juri performed his ritual ablutions in the salt waters of the lagoon. Once he was cleansed, he climbed to a high place on the rocks above the ocean. He spread his prayer mat, recited the first prayer and made the first prostration.

  For once neither the act of worship nor submission to the will of God could calm the anger that seethed within him. It required all his self iscipline and dedication to complete the prayers without letting his

  unruly emotions mar them. When he had finished, he built a small fire from the faggot of wood he had gathered on the way up the hill. When it was burning brightly Kadem sat cross-legged on the mat in front of it and gazed through the curtain of shimmering heat at the glowing wood.

  Rocking slightly, as though he were riding a racing camel across the desert, he recited the twelve mystical sura of the Qur'an, and waited for the voices. They had been with him since childhood, since the day of his circumcision. Always they came to him clearly after praying or fasting. He knew they were the voices of God's angels and of his prophets. The first to speak was the one he dreaded most.

  "You have failed in your task." He recognized the voice of Gabriel, the avenging archangel, and quailed before the accusation.

  "Highest of the high, it was not possible that al-Salil could spurn the bait that was so carefully prepared for him," he murmured.

  "Hear me, Kadem ibn Abubaker," said the angel. "It was your overweening pride that led you into failure. You were too certain of your own powers."

  The angel used his true name, for Kadem was the son of Pasha Abubaker, the general Dorian had slain in the battle on the banks of the river Lunga twenty years before.

  Pasha Abubaker had been the half-brother and boon companion of Zayn al-Din, the Caliph of Oman. They had grown up together in the zenana on Lamu island, and it was there that their destinies had first become entangled with those of Dorian and Yasmini.

  Much later, in the palace at Muscat, when their royal father was dead and Zayn al-Din was caliph, he had appointed Abubaker supreme military commander and a Pasha in the service of the caliphate. Then he had sent Abubaker with his army to Africa to hunt down and capture Dorian and Yasmini, the incestuous runaway couple.

  At the head of his cavalry squadrons Abubaker had caught up with them as they were trying to escape down the river Lunga and reach the open sea in Tom's tiny ship, the Swallow. Abubaker had attacked them while they were stranded on the sandbar at the mouth of the river. The battle was fierce and bloody, with Abubaker's cavalry squadrons charging through the shallows. But the ship had been armed with cannon and Dorian had touched off the blast of grape-shot that blew off Pasha Abubaker's head and drove off his troops in disarray.

  Although Kadem had been an in
fant at the time of his father's death, Zayn al-Din had taken him under his protection and shown him the favour and preference he offered his own sons rather than treating him as a nephew. In doing so he made Kadem his liege man, his blood bondsman. He fettered him with chains of steel that could never be

  broken. Despite what Kadem had told Dorian at the campfire, the strength of his oath to Zayn al-Din was matched only by his awareness of his duty to take vengeance on the man who had slain his father. This was a holy duty, a blood feud imposed on him by God and his own conscience.

  Zayn al-Din, who loved few men, loved Kadem, his nephew. He kept him close, and when he became a true warrior he made him the commander of the royal bodyguard. Only Kadem, of the possible heirs to the caliphate, was spared from the Ramadan massacre. During the uprising that followed, Kadem had fought like a lion to protect his caliph, and in the end it was Kadem who had led Zayn al-Din through the maze of underground passages, under the palace walls to the ship waiting in the harbour of Muscat. He had carried his master safely to the palace on Lamu island off the Fever Coast.