Byzantium

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  “When word of the ambush reached me, I began searching for any survivors, hoping to find at least one who could tell me what had taken place. You must forgive me for not finding you sooner; the khalifa’s slaves are many, and it was not known to which master the survivors, if any, might have been sold. You can be sure that I was as pitiless in my search as the blazing noonday sun. Not even the shadows remained where I had passed!

  “The treachery, about which the governor’s letter warned, truly exists I fear. But it is not on the part of the khalifa. This I can demonstrate most convincingly, but for now please accept my assurance that it is so. From what you have told me, added to what I have already learned, it seems likely, if not completely undisputed, that the Komes Nikos is acting in alliance with an Armenian faction within Arab borders. As to the attack, I am persuaded that no Sarazens were involved. Those who attacked you were Armenians.”

  I suppose my dull-witted incomprehension was obvious; Sadiq, studying my reaction, nodded slowly, and then said something very fast to Farouk, who said, “The amir asks you to accept this supposition—for the present at least.”

  “As you will, Lord Sadiq,” I said, “but why should these Armenians wish to do this? I cannot see the benefit of such betrayal.”

  “The answer remains unclear,” conceded the amir. “Even so, I have no doubt that we shall soon discover their purposes: deeds worked in darkness cannot remain hidden in the light. In the meantime, know that I am taking steps to alert both the khalifa and the emperor to this treachery. It is to be hoped that my warning does not come too late.

  “And now, my friend,” he concluded amiably, “your estimable physician has cautioned me against overtiring you. We will speak again very soon.”

  Farouk made to rise, but I remained seated. “If you please, Lord Sadiq,” I said firmly, “I was not the only one to survive the ambush. There are others, good friends, still enslaved at the mines.”

  “Their fate, like the fate of all men, remains in Allah’s hands,” replied the amir when Farouk had conveyed my concern. “But from what Faysal has told me, I think I can tell you that there will be no more killing or torture at the mine. The overseer was a coward and a fool; no doubt he deserved the fate which befell him. The new overseer will not soon forget the example of his predecessor.”

  “When can they be released?” I asked, apologizing for the bluntness of my question. Farouk frowned, but passed my question along regardless.

  “As to their release,” Sadiq said, “I would ask you to appreciate that it is a most complicated matter. It may take some time, but I will see what may be done. Be patient, my friend. All is as Allah wills it to be.”

  Thus, my audience with Sadiq was ended. I wanted to question the amir further, but Farouk warned me off with a glance; rising quickly, he claimed the blessings of the day on behalf of Lord Sadiq, and we departed. Once in the great hall outside, the physician led me from the amir’s apartments. When we had passed well beyond the doors, he said, “Let us walk outside a little. The sun is not yet hot, and it will do you good to have fresh air in your lungs.”

  “Thank you, Farouk,” I replied, irritably, “but I would rather return to my room if you do not mind. I am tired.” In truth, I wished to think about all I had learned.

  “Please,” the physician insisted. “It may be that I can tell you something to your benefit.” He nodded slowly as I relented, then taking my arm, led me away, saying, “Come, I will show you the jewel of the palace—a delight to the ear as well as the eye!”

  50

  We crossed the spacious hall and passed through a high-curved doorway and out into another world. Green and deep-shaded, shadows abounding, the garden of the amir was a cool haven amidst the oppression of heat and dust of the land beyond the high walls. Monkeys and parrots flitted here and there among the upper branches of the leafy canopy above. Water glinted and sang among the shadows, trickling through brook-like channels, gathering in darkling pools hidden beneath saw-toothed palms and splay-leafed flowered creepers. The liquid song of rippled run-and-trickle played lightly on the ear, murmuring reminders of peace and calm. The paths were many and interlacing, marked out with flat stones to pursue an idly wandering course around a large pond where imperious swans held sway, gliding serenely over the breeze-ruffled water.

  Farouk led us along one path and then another, taking turns at random, until we were well beyond the palace precinct and any listening ears. Turning aside into a shady bower, he settled himself on a stone bench and offered me the place beside him. “Let us talk a little,” he suggested, “before continuing our stroll.”

  The small exertion of the morning had all but exhausted me, and I was grateful for the rest. “This is magnificent,” I remarked as I settled myself on the low bench.

  “The amir is a man of many talents;” Farouk said, “architecture is not the least of them. This palace was built to the plans he drew with his own hand—the garden as well. Plants and trees from every corner of the Persian empire find their home here. It is a living work of art.”

  He looked around him, appreciating qualities of the garden which were, no doubt, veiled to my untutored eye. After a moment, his mouth framed a word, hesitated, and let it go. We sat for a while in silence before he said, “The path of life is rarely straight, I find. It twists and turns always unexpectedly.”

  This did not seem to require any comment from me, so I made none. The balm of the garden seeped slowly into me as I sat in the dappled shade. After a time Farouk continued. “We live in difficult times, my friend.”

  “Truly,” I replied.

  “As the amir rightly suggests, you have borne much for a cause of which you know next to nothing. You desire an explanation, and no doubt deserve one.” He did not allow me an opportunity to comment on his observation, but proceeded straightaway. “However, you must understand that Lord Sadiq cannot, at the present time, offer you the accounting you desire. I am certain that he will attend to this matter once he is free to do so. Until then, perhaps you will allow me to be of some small service in this regard?”

  His words were carefully chosen, if somewhat circuitous, but pricked my curiosity nonetheless. “By all means,” I replied magnanimously. “Please, continue.”

  “As it happens, our Great Khalifa al’Mutamid, like the amir, is a many-talented fellow. His achievements are legend, believe me. Still, he is human, after all. Thus, I think you must agree that it is difficult for a man of several occupations to excel in them all equally.”

  “Such a man is very rare,” I allowed, as Farouk seemed to want assurance that I followed his meaning—though why he persisted in speaking as if he were giving a formal oration, puzzled me.

  “Unfortunately, al’Mutamid is perhaps not so rare as his people believe him to be.”

  “I see. Some people, I suppose, might have difficulty accepting these human limitations,” I ventured, adopting Farouk’s tone. “Such men might confuse the mere mention of weakness with treason, for example.”

  “Or worse!” he quickly put in. “Like an arrow, your intellect has penetrated straight to the heart of the matter, and just as swiftly.”

  “Such things are not unknown in the land where I was born,” I told him. “Where kings rule, lesser men must always take heed for themselves. The truly benevolent lord is a wonder of the world.”

  “Precisely!” Farouk rushed on, “al’Mutamid is a gifted poet, and his calligraphy far surpasses any seen in a hundred years! Two hundred! And his disputation on theological subjects is rightly renowned far and wide.” He paused, willing me to understand.

  “Naturally,” I allowed, “with so many interests it must be difficult to treat more mundane matters with equal consideration. By necessity, some pursuits will prosper while others languish.”

  “Sadly, that is the way of things completely,” agreed Farouk. “Still, God is good. Our khalifa is blessed with a brother who has made it his duty to shoulder the affairs of state to which, by necessity, the bus
y khalifa cannot address himself.”

  “It seems a splendid arrangement,” I observed, “and one which allows both men to fully devote themselves to the pursuits for which they are best suited.”

  “By Allah!” cried Farouk. “You have grasped the truth entirely.”

  “Even so, I do not see why this should cause Amir Sadiq undue concern. It seems to me he could direct to either man those matters which concern him, sparing the other needless worry.”

  “Alas,” replied Farouk sadly, “it is not so simple as that. You see, although he is the khalifa’s brother, Abu Ahmad is not entitled to wield the authority he, from time to time, must necessarily assume.

  “I see how that would make Abu’s position somewhat delicate.”

  “Amir Sadiq is the last in a long and illustrious line of Sarazen princes and is pledged at birth to serve only the khalifa, and him alone. His loyalty must remain forever beyond the taint of suspicion.”

  “Of course.”

  “If even the most insignificant breath of a word hinting that the amir entertained a divided loyalty were to reach the khalifa, Sadiq’s death would follow as the night does the day.”

  “That swiftly?” I mused.

  “That swiftly,” agreed Farouk, “yet not so rapidly that he would not have leisure to witness the bloody executions of his wives and children, and all his household before his own eyes were put out and he himself was impaled and his head carved off with a dull blade.”

  “Loyalty is a virtue ever in short supply,” I agreed.

  “As you are a foreigner,” Farouk remarked, “you cannot know how we have suffered under the mad khalifas of recent years. I could tell you tales to induce nightmares. Believe me, it is in everyone’s best interest that al’Mutamid is allowed to pursue his poetry in peace.”

  “I believe you, Farouk.”

  “As you are a foreigner,” the physician repeated, “you cannot know that an ugly rebellion has shaken the khalifa’s domain to its very foundations. Abu Ahmad and the khalifa’s army are even now engaged in vicious warfare in Basrah—that is in the far south. I believe Prince Abu will eventually quench the flames of rebellion, but for now the rebel forces grow ever stronger, more brazen and brutal; their attacks are increasingly bothersome. In one incident alone more than thirty thousand died. The rebels rushed into the city at midday and slaughtered people at their prayers; the blood of the faithful flowed knee deep in the mosqs.” Farouk paused, his head weaving back and forth sorrowfully. “A most shocking tragedy, and merely one of many. This war is a disease that must run its course; I fear it will get worse before it gets better.”

  “I see,” I replied slowly. Indeed, I perceived full well what Farouk was telling me. The caliph was little more than an impotent idler, content to spend his time writing poems and disputing theology, leaving brother Abu to rule in his stead. The southern rebellion now occupied the caliph’s army—which is why peace with the emperor of Byzantium was so important to the Sarazens just now. If these facts were known to the Byzantines, I wondered, would Basil remain content with his peace treaty?

  “Perhaps,” I suggested, turning to another subject on my mind, “you might offer me your thoughts on the Armenians. I know nothing of them, and my views may well be clouded by recent events.”

  “Ah,” replied Farouk, glancing around quickly, “for that I would need to gather my thoughts. Come, I will take you back to your room.” He rose and we began following another pathway. “It is no secret,” he began once we were moving again, “that the Armenians came to us seeking refuge from the wicked persecutions practised upon them by unenlightened emperors in the west—refuge which the Arab lords were happy to grant as the Armenians asked nothing save to be left alone to practise their peculiar religion. In return for safety and tolerance, they vowed to regard the enemies of the khalifa as their own, and to fight shoulder-to-shoulder with their Sarazen brothers. This they have done ever since.

  “But in recent years, they have grown, shall we say, discontented?” Farouk’s glance searched the nearby shadows. “It has been suggested that they no longer feel the protection of the khalifa adequate reparation for their travails.”

  “Perhaps they believe peace between the Sarazens and the Byzantines threatens the safety they have previously enjoyed.”

  “Again, my friend,” Farouk said, smiling and nodding, “you have captured the matter with admirable brevity and concision. Yes, they fear the peace will bring the renewal of hostilities against them.”

  Despite the physician’s smiles, a sense of dread settled over me. I could see that anyone seeking to thwart the plans of both emperor and caliph could not have contrived a more masterful stroke: an attack on the emperor’s envoy together with the rumour that the Sarazens would not abide the peace treaty effectively crushed any hope of peace between the two long-warring empires. If, however, the true source of the treachery could be revealed—and I was certain Nikos was deeply involved—the fragile peace plan might yet be salvaged.

  But who held the power to accomplish this feat? The caliph, of course, and perhaps the amir—armed with the information I had provided—could effectively expose the treachery. Anyway, I thought with some small comfort, it was well out of my hands.

  “I thank you,” I said, “for speaking so forthrightly about these matters. But, forgive me if I speak bluntly, why have you told me these things?”

  “Men in positions of influence must often make important decisions,” he observed blandly. “The best decisions are those which flow from true understanding. And, as I said before, you deserve a proper accounting.”

  “Once again, you have rendered your patient valuable service. Now, I think, I must concentrate whatever small abilities and resources I possess in helping free my friends and brothers who remain slaves in the mines.”

  “A worthy ambition, to be sure,” confirmed Farouk. “I commend you to your task. Still,” he stopped walking and turned to me, “I feel I must warn you, that path, should you choose it, is fraught with difficulty. Amir Sadiq has implied as much, and he is right. Nevertheless, he has given you his promise and a more valuable commodity would be difficult to imagine.”

  “Please, do not think me ungracious,” I replied, “but my ignorance prevents me from grasping the nature of the difficulty you describe.”

  “The principal obstacle, I believe, lies in the manner which Faysal employed to free you.”

  “He killed the overseer.”

  “So I understand.” We turned then, and I found that we were moving towards the palace once more. “Naturally, such extreme methods, however warranted, often have the effect of complicating matters far beyond our abilities to appreciate at the time.”

  I accepted what Farouk said, although I was beginning to grow weary of everyone telling me what difficult times we lived in and how I must be patient. I seemed always on the receiving end of such advice, but never in a position to give it. That, I thought, would have to change before I began to get my way.

  My kindly physician returned me to my room then, and I rested through the heat of the day, rising when I heard footsteps in the corridor. Kazimain came into my room expecting me to be asleep. She started when, raising her eyes from the tray in her hands, she saw me standing beside the bed. Curiously, she blushed; colour seeped into her cheeks and throat and she hastened to place the tray on the low wooden tripod. She then turned and departed abruptly, leaving me with the distinct impression that I had spoiled a surprise.

  I called after her to wait, knowing she would understand nothing of what I said. As expected, she paid no heed; I listened until her footsteps could no longer be heard, and then went to the door and looked out. Though I could easily be mistaken, I believe I saw her face at the far end of the corridor—just the side of her face, peering around the corner…she disappeared the instant I stepped from the room.

  I ate some fruit from the tray, and drank the sweet drink from the golden cup, and sat upon my bed pondering what such odd behaviou
r could mean. I was thus occupied when I heard footsteps in the corridor. This time, I remained seated, waiting for Kazimain to enter when she would. It was not Kazimain who came to me, however, but Faysal, and he brought with him a slender young man with short curly hair and large sad eyes. The young man was dressed in simple white trousers and a short sleeveless tunic; he was barefoot, and his right foot was tattooed with a strange blue mark.

  Faysal greeted me respectfully and remarked on my recovery. He then presented the barefoot young man to me saying, “This is Mahmoud. He is to be your teacher.” At my inquiring glance, he explained: “The noble Sadiq believes you to be a man of intelligence. Further, it is the amir’s belief that you will accede more swiftly to your rightful rank within his household once you are master of your own words. To this end, he has determined that you are to speak like a civilized man from now on.”

  “The amir is too kind,” I replied, my heart sinking at the prospect of having to learn yet another language.

  “Be of good cheer, my friend,” Faysal told me. “Mahmoud is a master of many tongues. He will soon have you speaking like a true son of the desert.”

  “Again,” I replied, my enthusiasm flagging, “I am in the amir’s debt. I will look forward to beginning tomorrow.”

  “The day is not so far spent that you must defer your pleasure,” Faysal countered. “Now is the propitious hour for new beginnings.”

  “As you will,” I said, yielding to Faysal’s suggestion. Turning to the young man, I indicated the cushions on the floor. “Please, be seated. Let us begin.”

  Mahmoud bowed slightly from the waist and folded himself onto a cushion, crossing his legs and resting his hands on his knees. “It is an honour for me to instruct you, A’dan,” he told me in singing Greek. “My mother was from Thessalonika, thus I have an affinity for the speech of my earliest memory. I think we shall prosper together.” He waited for me to ease myself into a sitting position on a cushion, and then said, “We begin.”