by Noah Gordon
Why all this fuss about piss? Rob asked himself wearily. “Why is the urine so important?” he asked.
Ibn Sina smiled. “It comes from within, where important things happen.” The master physician read them a selection from Galen which indicated that the kidneys were the organs for separating out the urine:
Any butcher knows this from the fact that he sees every day the position of the kidneys and the duct (called the ureter) which runs from each kidney into the bladder and by studying this anatomy he reasons what their use is and the nature of their functions.
The lecture left Rob enraged. Physicians shouldn’t need to consult with butchers, or learn from dead sheep and pigs how humans were constructed. If it was so bloody important to know what was happening within men and women, why didn’t they look within men and women? If Qandrasseh’s mullahs could be blithely evaded for coupling or a drunken binge, why didn’t physicians dare to ignore the holy men to gain knowledge? No one spoke of eternal mutilation or the quickening of the dead when a religious court cut off a prisoner’s head or hand or tongue or slit his belly.
Early next morning two of Khuff’s palace guardsmen, driving a mule cart laden with food supplies, stopped in Yehuddiyyeh to fetch Rob.
“His Majesty will go visiting today, master, and commands your company,” one of the soldiers said.
What now? Rob asked himself.
“The Captain of the Gates urges you to hurry.” The soldier cleared his throat discreetly. “Perhaps it would be best if the master were to change into his best clothing.”
“I am wearing my best clothing,” Rob said, and they sat him in the back of the cart atop some sacks of rice and hurried him away.
They traveled out of the city in a line of traffic consisting of courtiers on horseback and in sedan chairs, mingled with all manner of wagons transporting equipment and supplies. Despite his homely perch Rob felt regal, for he had never before been conveyed over roads newly graveled and freshly watered. One side of the road, where the soldiers said only the Shah would travel, was strewn with flowers.
The journey ended at the home of Rotun bin Nasr, general of the army, distant cousin to Alā Shah and honorary governor of the madrassa. “That is he,” one of the soldiers told Rob, pointing out a beaming fat man, voluble and posturing.
The handsome estate had extensive grounds. The party would begin in a commodious groomed garden, in the center of which a great marble fountain splashed. All around the pool tapestries of silk and gold had been spread, strewn with cushions of rich embroidery. Servants hurried everywhere, carrying trays of sweetmeats, pastries, perfumed wines, and scented waters. Outside a gate at one side of the garden, a eunuch bearing an unsheathed sword guarded the Third Gate, leading to the haram. Under Muslim law only the master of a house was allowed in the women’s apartment and any male transgressor could have his belly ripped, so Rob was happy to move away from the Third Gate. The soldiers had made it clear that he wasn’t expected to unload the cart or otherwise work, and he meandered outside the garden into an adjacent open area crowded with beasts, noblemen, slaves, servants, and an army of entertainers who appeared all to be rehearsing at the same time.
A nobility of four-legged creatures had been assembled. Tethered twenty paces apart were a dozen of the finest white Arabian stallions he had ever seen, nervous and proud, with brave dark eyes. Their trappings were worthy of close inspection, for four of the bridles were adorned with emeralds, two with rubies, three with diamonds, and three with a mixture of colored stones he couldn’t identify. The horses were clad in low-hanging, blanketlike garments of gold brocade set with pearls, and tethered with tresses of silk and gold to rings atop thick gold nails that had been driven into the ground.
Thirty paces from the horses were wild beasts: two lions, a tiger, and a leopard, all magnificent specimens, each on its own large piece of scarlet tapestry, tethered in the same manner as the horses and with a golden water bowl.
In a pen beyond, half a dozen white antelopes with long horns straight as arrows—unlike any deer in England!—stood together and nervously eyed the cats, which blinked at them sleepily.
But Rob spent little time with these animals and disregarded gladiators, wrestlers, bowmen, and the like, pushing past them toward a huge object that immediately captured his attention, until finally he stood within touching distance of his first live elephant.
It was even more massive than he had expected, far larger than the brazen elephant statues he had seen in Constantinople. The beast stood half again higher than a tall man. Each of its four legs was a stout column ending in a perfectly round foot. Its wrinkled hide seemed too large for its body and was gray, with large pink splotches like patches of lichen on a rock. Its arched back was higher than the shoulder or the rump, from which dangled a thick rope of tail with a frazzled end. The enormous head caused its pink eyes to seem tiny in comparison, although they weren’t smaller than a horse’s eyes. On the sloping forehead were two little humps, as if horns were unsuccessfully striving to break through. Each gently waving ear was almost as large as a warrior’s shield, but the most extraordinary feature of this extraordinary creature was its nose, which was longer and thicker by far than its tail.
The elephant was cared for by a small-boned Indian in a gray tunic and white turban, sash, and trousers, who told Rob upon questioning that he was Harsha, a mahout or elephant tender. The elephant was Alā Shah’s personal combat mount and was named Zi, short for Zi-ul-Quarnayn or “Two-Horned One,” in honor of the wicked bone protuberances, curved and as long as Rob was tall, that extended from the monster’s upper jaw.
“When we go into battle,” the Indian said proudly, “Zi wears his own mail and long, sharp swords are fixed on his tusks. He is trained to the onslaught, so that the charge of His Excellency on his trumpeting war elephant is sight and sound to chill any enemy’s blood.”
The mahout kept servants busy carrying buckets of water. These were emptied into a large gold vessel from which the animal sucked water into its nose and then sprayed it into its mouth!
Rob stayed near the elephant until a flourish of drums and cymbals announced the arrival of the Shah, then he returned to the garden with the other guests.
Alā Shah wore simple white clothing, in contrast to the guests, who might have been costumed for an affair of state. He acknowledged the ravi zemin with a nod and took his place on a sumptuous chair above the cushions near the pool.
The entertainment began with a demonstration by swordsmen wielding scimitars with such strength and grace that the assemblage fell quiet and gave their attention to the clash of steel on steel, the stylized circling of a combat exercise as ritualized as a dance. Rob noted that the scimitar was lighter than the English sword and heavier than the French; it required both a duelist’s skill at the thrust and strong wrists and arms for hacking. He was sorry when the display came to an end.
Acrobat-magicians made a great and busy show of planting a seed in the earth, watering it, and covering it with a cloth. Behind a screen of tumbling bodies, just at the climax of their acrobatics, one of them swept off the cloth, jabbed a leafy twig into the ground, and covered it again. Both the diversion and the deception were nakedly apparent to Rob, who had been watching for them, and he was amused when finally the cloth was removed and people applauded “the magical growing tree.”
Alā Shah was visibly restless as wrestling began. “My longbow,” he called.
When it arrived he strung and unstrung it, showing his courtiers how easily he bent the heavy weapon. Those nearest him murmured their admiration at his strength, while others took advantage of the relaxed mood to converse, and now Rob learned the reason for his invitation; as a European, he was as much a displayed oddity as any of the animals or the entertainers, and the Persians regaled him with questions.
“Do you have a Shah in your country, that place …?”
“England. Yes, a king. His name is Canute.”
“Are the men of your country warri
ors and horsemen?” an old man with wise eyes asked curiously.
“Yes, yes, great warriors, fine horsemen.”
“What of the weather and climate?”
Colder and wetter than here, he told them.
“What of the food?”
“It is different from yours, not so many spices. We do not have pilah.”
It shocked them. “No pilah,” the old man said with contempt.
They surrounded him, but out of inquisitiveness rather than friendship, and he felt an isolation in their midst.
Alā Shah rose from his chair. “Let us to the horses!” he exclaimed impatiently, and the crowd streamed after him to a nearby field, leaving the wrestlers still grunting and tugging at one another.
“Ball-and-stick, ball-and-stick!” someone called, and there was immediate applause.
“So, let us play,” the Shah agreed, and chose three men to be his teammates and four men to oppose them.
The horses that were led onto the field by grooms were tough little ponies at least a hand smaller than the pampered white stallions. When all were mounted, each player was given a long, limber stick that ended in a crook.
At each end of the long field were two stone columns, about eight paces apart. Each team cantered its horses to these goals and lined up in front of them, the riders facing one another like opposing armies. An army officer who would serve as judge stood off to the side and rolled a wooden ball, about the size of an Exmouth apple, into the center of the field.
The people began to shout. The horses hurtled toward one another at a dead gallop, the riders screaming and brandishing their sticks.
God, Rob J. thought in terror. Look out, look out! Three of the horses came together with a sickening sound and one of them went down and rolled over, sending its rider flying. The Shah brought his stick around and stroked the wooden ball soundly, and the horses plunged after it with flying sward and a pounding of hooves.
The fallen horse was neighing shrilly as it struggled to stand on a broken hock. A dozen grooms came and cut its throat and dragged it from the field before its rider had gained his feet. He was holding his left arm and grinning through clenched teeth.
Rob thought the arm might be broken, and approached the injured man. “Shall I help you?”
“You are a physician?”
“A barber-surgeon and a student at the maristan.”
The noble grimaced at him in amazed disgust. “No, no. We must summon al-Juzjani,” he said, and they led him away.
Another horse and man had joined the game at once. The eight riders apparently had forgotten they were playing and not fighting a battle. They battered their mounts against one another, and in their attempts to flail at the ball and drive it between the goalposts, they struck dangerously close to their opponents and the horses. Even their own mounts weren’t safe from their sticks, for the Shah often stroked at the ball close behind his horse’s flying hooves and beneath the beast’s belly.
The Shah was given no quarter. Men who undoubtedly would have been slain if they had directed a cross look at their sovereign lord now apparently were doing their best to maim him, and from the grunts and whispers of the spectators, Rob J. judged that they wouldn’t have been displeased if Alā Shah were struck or thrown.
He was not. Like the others, the Shah rode recklessly, but with a skill numbing to watch, directing his pony without using his hands, which held the stick, and with little apparent gripping of his legs. Instead, Alā maintained a strong, confident seat and rode as if he were an extension of his horse. It was a standard of horseback riding Rob had never met, and he thought with hot embarrassment of the old man who had asked about English horsemanship and had been assured of its excellence.
The horses were a wonder, for they followed after the ball without slackening speed but could wheel instantly and gallop in the opposite direction, and time and again only this fine control prevented horses and riders from careening into the stone goalposts.
The air became choked with dust and the spectators screamed themselves hoarse. Drums were pounded and cymbals jangled ecstatically when someone scored, and presently the Shah’s team had driven the ball between the posts five times to their opponents’ three, and the game was over. Alā’s eyes glistened with satisfaction as he dismounted, for he had scored twice himself. In celebration, as the ponies were led away two young bulls were staked in the center of the field and two lions were turned loose upon them. The contest was puzzlingly unfair, for no sooner had the great cats been released than the bulls were pulled down by their handlers and brained with axes, the felines then being allowed to tear the still-quivering flesh.
Realization came to Rob that this human assistance was given because Alā Shah was the Lion of Persia. It would have been unseemly and the most evil of portents if, by mischance during his own entertainment, a mere bull had gained victory over the symbol of the stalwart might of the King of Kings.
In the garden, four veiled females swayed and danced to the music of pipers while a poet sang of the houri, the fresh and sensuous virgin women of Paradise.
The Imam Qandrasseh could have had no objection; though occasionally the curve of a buttock or a thrusting of breast could be seen in the loose stuff of their voluminous black dresses, only the gesturing hands were uncovered, and the feet, rubbed red with henna at which the assembled nobles stared hungrily, reminded of other hennaed places hidden by the black cloth.
Alā Shah rose from his chair and walked away from those around the pool, past the eunuch holding his naked sword, and into the haram.
Rob seemed to be the only one staring after the king as Khuff, the Captain of the Gates, came up and began to guard the Third Gate with the eunuch. The level of bright conversation rose; nearby, General Rotun bin Nasr, the host of the king’s entertainment and the master of the house, laughed too loudly at his own joke, as if Alā had not just gone in to his wives in full view of half the court.
Is this, then, what may be expected of the Most Powerful Master of the Universe? Rob asked himself.
In an hour the Shah was back, looking benign. Khuff slipped away from the Third Gate and gave an imperceptible sign, and the feasting began.
The finest white plate was set on cloths of Qum brocade. Bread of four sorts was brought, and eleven kinds of pilah in silver basins so large a single dish would have served the assemblage. The rice in each basin was of a different color and flavor, having respectively been prepared with saffron, or sugar, or peppers, or cinnamon, or cloves, or rhubarb, or pomegranate juice, or the juice of citrons. Four of the enormous trenchers each contained twelve fowl, two contained braised haunches of antelope, one was heaped high with broiled mutton, and four contained whole lambs that had been cooked on a spit to a tender, juicy crackliness.
Barber, Barber, a pity you are not here!
For one who had been taught the appreciation of savory food by such a master, in recent months Rob had had more than his share of hurried, spartan meals in order to devote himself to the scholar’s life. Now he sighed and tasted everything with a will.
As the long shadows turned to dusk, slaves fixed great tapers to the horny carapaces of living tortoises and lighted them. Four oversized kettles were carried in, each hauled from the kitchen on poles; one was full of hens’ eggs made into a cream pudding, one held a rich clear soup with herbs, another was filled with hashed meat made pungent with spices, and the last with slabs of fried fish of a type unfamiliar to Rob, the meat white and flaky like plaice but with the delicacy of trout.
Shadows turned to darkness. Night birds cried; otherwise the only sounds were soft murmurings, belches, the tearing and crunching of food. Once in a while a tortoise sighed and moved, and the light cast by its candle shifted and flickered, like the moon’s glow shivering on water.
And still they ate.
There was a plate of winter salad, root herbs preserved in brine. And a bowl of summer salad, including Roman lettuce and bitter, peppery greens he had never tasted be
fore.
A deep porringer was set before each person and filled with a sweet-and-sour sherbet. And now servants bore in goatskins of wine, and cups, and dishes of pastries and honeyed nuts and salted seeds.
Rob sat alone and sipped the good wine, neither speaking nor addressed, watching and listening to everything with the same curiosity with which he had tasted the food.
The goatskins were emptied of wine and full ones were brought, an inexhaustible supply from the Shah’s own storehouse. People rose and went off to relieve themselves or to vomit. Some were sodden and inert from drink.
The tortoises moved together, perhaps out of nervousness, pooling the light in a corner and leaving the rest of the garden in darkness. Accompanied by a lyre, a boy eunuch with a high, sweet voice sang of warriors and love, ignoring the fact that near him two men were fighting.
“Slit of a whore,” one of them snarled drunkenly.
“Face of a Jew!” the other spat.
They grappled and rolled, till they were separated and dragged off.
Eventually the Shah became nauseated and then unconscious, and was carried to his carriage.
After that Rob slipped away. There was no moon and the way from Rotun bin Nasr’s estate was hard to follow. Out of a deep and bitter urge, he walked on the Shah’s side of the road and once stopped to piss long and satisfyingly on the strewn flowers.
Horsemen and driven conveyances passed him but no one offered a ride, and it took him hours to return to Ispahan. The sentry had grown accustomed to stragglers returning from the Shah’s entertainment, and the soldier waved him wearily through the gate.
Halfway across Ispahan Rob stopped and sat on a low wall and contemplated this strangest of cities, where everything was forbidden by the Qu’ran and committed by the people. A man was allowed four wives but most men seemed willing to risk death to sleep with other women, while Alā Shah openly fucked whomever he pleased. Taking wine was proscribed by the Prophet as a sin, yet there was a national craving for wine and a large percentage of the populace drank to excess, and the Shah owned a vast storehouse of fine vintages.
