Undeterred, they took their business to another goldsmith across the street, who welcomed them with small glasses of spiced wine, sat them down, and proceeded to spend a considerable time examining the items they had for sale. They were fine pieces, exceptional pieces, he told them. The finest materials and craftsmanship, beyond the shadow of a doubt. 'Why are you parting with them?' he asked, and was told, as before, that the money was needed to ransom captives of war. 'Fourteen thousand,' replied the gold dealer. 'Each?' asked Abu Sharma. 'For both,' sniffed the dealer. 'And I am doing you a favour at that.'
Nor would he improve the offer. 'A rock in the sea would have more compassion,' Haemur asserted with a sorry shake of his head.
The next goldsmith they visited offered a slightly improved sixteen thousand – but only when told they had already received an offer of fifteen from a nearby competitor. This is when Abu grew angry. They went out and walked along the street for a while to give Abu time to consider the situation. Haemur was all for going back and letting Cait decide what should be done, but the young Syrian had the bit between his teeth now, and he was determined not to be bested.
They walked to the end of the street, and then down another street, and yet another, coming to the less respectable dealers of gold, gems, and precious objects-places where formerly wealthy people often found buyers for treasures acquired in more prosperous times. Abu chose one of the most disreputable-looking of these, and told Otti to stand across the street and stare very hard at the shabby little shack and not to move. Next he instructed Haemur to accompany him, but to stand by the door and say nothing. It was agreed. Abu drew a deep breath and held it until Haemur feared he would burst, and then, gathering up the box, he darted across the street and into the dealer's dwelling.
'This fellow looks up to see Abu rushing in all red-faced and out of breath,' said the young Syrian, 'and it is "Allah help you, my friend, what has happened?"' So, Abu explained that he had something to sell, but was concerned that nothing should be known of his visit-not to anyone, not ever. The dealer said that he himself could not imagine any reason why anyone should learn of any transactions they might undertake. He took special pains to point out that his customers often required sympathy and understanding. Ask anyone, he said, they would tell you that Faraq Irbil is the soul of discretion and silent as the tomb.
Apparently satisfied, Abu opened the sack and agreed to allow the dealer to examine the goods-but first would he mind going to the door and looking outside, please? 'This he does,' said Abu, 'and as the fellow peers out he sees Otti standing across the street glaring at the door of his hovel. "Oh, no!" I cry. "We must vanish at once!" I close the sack and jump up to leave.
'The dealer is not content to allow his opportunity to disappear so abruptly. "Wait a moment," pleaded Faraq, "there is nothing to fear. Let me see what you have. Maybe I can help." "But no," I said, "It is too late! Too late! I am sorry. I had hoped to raise a little money, but now… Allah help us, it is too late! Forgive me for troubling you."'
Abu chuckled at his own shrewdness. 'I close up the sack and rush to the door. "Please do not leave," the dealer cries, clutching at my sleeve. He has glimpsed the golden bowl with the gem-edged rim, and is loath to let it vanish as quickly as it has appeared. "I can see you are troubled," Faraq says to me. "Perhaps events have overtaken you, eh? Yes, I thought so. But there is nothing to fear. You are safe here. Come, sit down. You say you wish to raise money. You have come to the right place. I am a dealer in fine gold, jewellery, and precious stones. Let me see what you have brought."
'"Very well," says Abu, "I may as well show you-but remember: no one must ever know I was here. A woman's honour is involved. She is a wealthy woman, you see? The fault is not hers. Forgive me, I wish I could say more." So, Abu brings out the sapphire-and-ruby rimmed bowl, and says, "It is worth sixty thousand. You know it. I know it. Alas, the time for bartering is past. I will take forty."
'"Forty!" Faraq pretends to be shocked. "If only that was possible. Alas, my purse is not so capacious as those in the upper street. I am a man of more slender means. Twenty is the best I can offer. You think it over while I go and see if that belligerent fellow is still waiting for you across the street. Oh, yes, he is still there. It seems you must choose between us now."
'But, Abu Sharma, slayer of demons, is not finished yet. He brings out the crystal dagger, withdraws it from its sheath of gilded leather, and lays the pearl-studded hilt beside the golden bowl. "I see that sacrifices must be made," says Abu. "But it is forty thousand I must have. So: twenty for the bowl, and twenty for the knife."
'The dealer's eyes grow round. This is a most auspicious day, he is thinking. "Truly, my friend, these are exquisite pieces. Therefore, against my better judgement, I will give you fifteen apiece. More I cannot do."
'"O, woe, woe! Doom and woe! Why did I ever stray from the paths of righteousness? Alas, I am undone! Cursed was the day of my birth. I must have been fathered by a scorpion!"
'Abu wails and moans, he throws himself about the room, tearing his hair and gnashing his teeth. He scoops up the precious objects and throws them into the bag once more and points accusingly at the silent Haemur. "You see? You see? You see how I am destroyed? Now we must make haste and flee the city! Our last hope must be in flight."
'The dealer, deeply impressed and alarmed by these words, puts up his hands and says, "Wait! Wait! I have a brother who might be willing to help us. From him I can get three thousand more. I will add that to the sum already offered, yes? Let us agree and put your troubles to flight, my friend."
'Under the gold dealer's ministrations, Abu allows himself to be calmed. Thirty-three thousand dirhams it is. The dealer goes out and returns but a few moments later with the gold and silver in a chest. Together he and Abu count out coins amounting to thirty-three thousand dirhams and, with much praising and blessing Haemur and Abu depart, carrying the chest between them.' The young Syrian smiled broadly. 'And the rest, sharifah, you have seen.'
'It is a remarkable tale, Abu,' Cait declared. 'If even half of it is true, you have earned your reward. I will pay you as soon as we have redeemed the captives and returned to the inn.'
At the palace, however, they found the courtyard deserted and the wazir's secretary less than pleased at having been kept waiting half the day to complete the arrangements he had begun for the release of the war captives. 'Thirty-five thousand dirhams,' he informed Cait when she and the others had been brought into the hall where Wazir Muqharik received his visitors.
'I beg your pardon, katib,' answered Cait, speaking through Abu, 'but twenty-five thousand was the amount we agreed upon.'
' That was before you kept the prince's chief official waiting,' he replied imperiously. 'Thirty-five thousand. Pay it, or go.'
Caitriona motioned for Otti and Abu to bring the chest forward and place it on the table. This they did, and Cait threw open the lid and upended the box, spilling the coins in a glimmering rush over the table. 'Twenty-five thousand,' Cait declared. 'That, along with my most sincere and profound apologies for the inconvenience you have suffered, should be more than sufficient. I pray you will accept both.'
Having made his point, the katib accepted the money and the apology. 'The captives have been washed, and clothed. They also have been waiting,' he said, speaking through Abu. 'If you would please proceed to the gate, they will be brought out to you.'
Cait thanked the katib and returned to the palace gate where, a few moments later, the five knights were escorted from the guardhouse by a company of spear-bearing Saracens led by the jailer. They were delivered without ceremony in simple Arabic garb of long, belted tunics and sandals-cast-off clothing and well worn, but clean. They were still unshaven, but they had been scrubbed to a glowing lustre, and had made a gallant, if only partially successful, attempt to comb the tangles from their long hair and beards. They hobbled from the courtyard and out through the palace gates without looking back.
Their long imprisonment made walk
ing difficult-to a man they moved with an odd lolloping gait as if their legs were made of wood, ill-fashioned and poorly hinged. Their muscles were unequal to the exertion and after only a few hundred paces they had to rest to catch their breath. Cait sent Abu ahead to a nearby market square to hire two carriages; when he returned, the knights eagerly, if painfully, clambered aboard. When the carriages began to roll, leaving the palace walls behind, the former captives overcame their infirmities sufficiently to revel in their freedom by giving vent to enthusiastic whoops and battle cries. Their exuberance drew stares from the people in the streets, many of whom muttered imprecations against ill-mannered foreigners, and fools who could not hold their wine.
Blissfully ignorant of the disapproval swirling around them, the jubilant company drove like conquering heroes through a city they had never thought to see again.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Upon arriving at the inn, Cait discovered that the rooms she had bespoken for her enlarged retinue were now occupied by the merchants who had arrived earlier in the day. The innkeeper was vaguely apologetic, but unwilling to turn his guests out; moreover, the special meal Cait had arranged was now being prepared for the merchants. 'I begged to be excused, but they insisted,' he said, spreading his hands in a gesture of abject helplessness. 'They paid in gold dinars. What could I do?'
'I suppose honouring your promise to me never occurred to you?' enquired Cait tartly.
'Exalted lady, you must try to be reasonable,' protested the innkeeper in his rough, marketplace Latin. 'These are very important men from the East. It is said that one is the supplier of pepper and saffron to the Sultan of Rhum, and the others are the owners of caravans that carry silk and spices from Kush to Samarkand. They are celebrating a royal commission to provide the court at Baghdad with damasc cloth and cinnamon.'
'Spare me your mealy mouthed excuses,' snapped Cait. 'These merchants who cannot be denied-where are they?'
'Cait, no,' murmured Alethea; she had been watching for her sister's return and hurried out to meet the knights, who, having eased themselves from the carriages, stood gazing at the evening sky with the transparent delight of children.
'The merchants, my lady? But -' He looked to Alethea for help.
'Cait, please…' Thea tugged anxiously on her sleeve.
Ignoring her sister, Cait demanded, 'Where are they?'
'Why, they are resting in the inner court. But -' began the innkeeper.
'As it is our meal they propose to eat, they will not mind if we share the celebration.' Turning to Abu, Cait said, 'Come with me, we will secure our invitation to the feast.'
The horrified innkeeper started after her. 'My lady, this you cannot do. It is -'
Cait turned on him, and let fly. 'You will not presume to tell me what I can and cannot do! I have five noblemen who require beds tonight. Not merchants: noblemen. Knights! They are newly released from captivity and are not of a mind to sleep in your stinking stable. So, if I were you, my oily friend,' she jabbed a finger into his flabby chest, 'I would not waste another moment worrying about my precious propriety, but would start trying to save my worthless skin. For unless you find rooms where my men will be comfortable, I will give them leave to peel you like a grape.'
With that, Cait turned and marched directly into the inner courtyard to a flurry of protestation from a red-faced, horrified innkeeper. The courtyard had been spread with rugs and cushions for the comfort of the merchants and their guests, who were reclining around large brass trays filled with cups and jars, and bowls of olives and roasted pine nuts.
At her sudden appearance, all conversation ceased. The merchants looked up to see a woman livid with rage sweeping into their midst. For a moment they merely stared, and when it appeared that she was not about to leave, one of them rose to his feet and addressed her courteously. Abu translated.
'Most gracious lady,' he said, 'you honour us with your radiant presence.' A swarthy man of middle years, his ample form swathed in costly robes of glistening blue and black and crimson, he touched his fingertips to his forehead and made an elaborate flourish with his hand-a flash of gold from the rings on every finger. 'I am Ibn Umar al-Farabi, purveyor of rare spices from the Orient. How may I be of service to you?'
'It seems the rooms which I have engaged for my party have been given to you and your friends.'
'Indeed?' remarked the merchant with mild surprise when Abu had relayed her words. 'Nothing was said of this to me. I am sorry, but I fear there is little to be done about it now. We have already paid for the rooms, you see.'
'Also, the meal which you will be served was bespoken by me,' she told him bluntly.
'Again,' replied the trader, 'it is unfortunate, but we were not told of this – otherwise we would certainly have made other arrangements. As it is, we have paid for the meal and it is even now being prepared. There is no remedy, I fear.' He inclined his head sympathetically. 'Please accept my deepest regrets.'
The other merchants were listening now; she saw one of them smile with a smugness that brought her already seething rage to a roaring boil.
'You may keep your regrets. I have no use for them,' Cait snapped. 'However, I may be persuaded to accept an invitation to join you at table tonight – sharing the cost, of course.'
The Arab twisted a gold ring on his finger. 'Truly, you are as astute as you are determined. Therefore, it pains me to confess that we cannot offer you the invitation you suggest. For, according to our faith, it is a sin for a follower of Muhammed, peace be upon him for ever, to entertain an infidel beneath the roof of his house.'
Abu relayed the merchant's words, and added for Cait's benefit: 'This is not strictly accurate. I believe he is testing you, sharifah.'
Cait considered this observation, and countered, 'If this is all that prevents you, allow me to put your pious soul at ease. We are not infidels, as you conveniently suppose, but Ahl al-Kitab, People of the Book.' Indicating the dusky red sky overhead, she said, 'Also, the roof you see above you was created by God himself, and it is his good pleasure that all his many children might sit with one another beneath it so that harmony and understanding may increase.'
A shrewd smile spread slowly across the Arab's smooth face. 'I perceive that you are a most formidable advocate,' said Ibn Farabi, bowing low. 'I yield to your superior judgement. Therefore, let it be as you say.' Spreading his jewelled hands wide in welcome, he said, 'Please join us, and what was to have been a simple meal among friends will become a banquet.'
Cait thanked the merchant for his liberality and sent Abu to bring the knights. They trooped noisily into the courtyard, still reeling with the heady intoxication of freedom. Haemur and Otti came next with a mortified Alethea trying to remain invisible behind them.
Upon seeing their dinner companions, however, the Norsemen's jubilant expressions faded abruptly. Cait heard the ugly growl of muttered oaths. 'It is not what I planned,' she told them sternly, 'but it comes to this: dine with them, or go hungry. You decide.'
As they stood staring dully at their reluctant Arab hosts, the first platters arrived-two large brass trays bearing a veritable mound of apricot-stuffed partridges, and a wicker basket heaped with bread in flat round loaves. The trays were served by the innkeeper's wife and daughters, dressed for the evening in shimmering green satin with strands of gold coins on their brows and in their hair.
'Well?' demanded Cait. The aroma of the roast fowls filled the courtyard, and the knights' gaze shifted from the Arabs to the mounded platters. 'What is it to be?'
'Lady,' Rognvald answered, recovering something of his former exuberance, 'tonight I would sup with the Devil himself for a taste of this feast.' Turning to the others, he said, 'Not so?'
They all agreed, so Cait bade her band of prison-haunted knights, land-locked sailors, and mortified sister to follow her and, with Abu's help, presented each in turn to al-Farabi, who welcomed them and introduced them to his four fellow merchants and their companions. The two parties sat down uneasily togethe
r. One of the knights reached straight for a roast fowl, and would have gulped it down, but for Cait's sharp tap on his wrist. 'This is not prison slops in a trough, it is a banquet. We are guests, not prisoners. Therefore, you will behave as if you have dined in civilized company before.' She turned her withering gaze on the rest of them. 'You may look like denizens of the dung heap, but try to remember you are noblemen, and let us refrain from giving these Arabs the satisfaction of slandering us when we leave.'
Alethea, blushing crimson, lowered her eyes and shrank even further into herself. But the knights accepted the reproach with good grace. Duly chastised, they assumed a more courtly demeanour and began to imitate their Muhammedan hosts. They washed their hands in the basins provided, and proceeded to dip from the platter with their right hand, placing the food on a flat of bread balanced on their left.
More platters and bowls were brought-herbed vegetables soaked in olive oil and grilled over coals, fish and olives in mustard sauce, and slivered cucumbers in salted cream and vinegar. A careful, if not altogether convivial, silence descended over the meal as the hungry Norwegians filled empty stomachs with food they would have gladly given sight and sanity to eat only half a day ago. The merchants, not to be outdone at their own feast, kept pace with their ravenous guests, and the food rapidly disappeared. Indeed, the hungry company was just finishing the platter of partridges when the centrepiece of the meal arrived: a whole roast lamb stuffed with rice, leeks, pistachios, and spiced sausage surrounded by a sunburst of spit-roasted doves glazed with sweet mulberry jelly.
As this grand dish was laid before the delighted company, the innkeeper appeared, and meekly enquired if the meal was satisfactory. 'Is all to your liking?' he asked, tugging at his moustache with apprehension.
'Bring us wine,' Cait told him, 'and, God willing, all shall yet be well.'
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