The Thief of Kalimar; Captain Sinbad; Cinnabar

by Graham Diamond

  For the good people of Basra loved their sultan deeply, as he in turn loved them. The populace one and all had grieved when his first wife had suddenly taken ill and died. Heirless, the stricken sultan had taken to his private apartments and struggled to come to terms with his life. There had been little laughter or gaiety in Basra during those bitter days. The first sultana, you see, had been far more than merely a wife. Risen from the ranks of the people themselves, she had captured and captivated every heart and mind, spread good works with her charity, and added to the city’s growth and prosperity. She had made a mark few other women could hope to equal, and because of this the sultan cherished her all the more. Her untimely death was a terrible tragedy for everyone. And the gloom that followed seemed endless.

  Yet time is a great healer of wounds, and with its gradual passage, life slowly returned more or less to normal. And although the sultana’s memory would remain strong, gossip, being what it is, naturally began.

  Who the sultan would take next to wed was the question in everyone’s mind. From lands and empires near and far emissaries came flocking to Basra’s court, each ambassador charged with the task of seeking audience and favour with the grief-stricken young sultan, offering him the most exotic and beautiful daughters of kings and princes, caliphs and sheiks. The heavy-hearted sultan was literally bombarded with offers of dowries so great as to make the wealthiest of men wince. These proposals came in such abundance that the sultan was forced to command a small army of court officials to sort them all out.

  Yet despite so many from whom to select the sultan remained unhappy. It was going to take a very special woman indeed to lift his pain. One who would need to work constantly to replace in his heart the one he had lost. A very special woman indeed.

  On more than one occasion, in fact, the sultan had decided to remain celibate, vowing not to take a wife at all but rather to console himself with memory alone. But Basra did need an heir, he knew, and what is a sultan but a slave of his people? Sooner or later he would have to wed, and it was with a heavy heart that he decided at last to put all the names of the women offered into a fishbowl and pick one at random. For nuptial bliss he had few hopes.

  Then he met Fatima.

  He had seen her in the garden, painting pictures of the flowers and birds. Her vibrant, youthful visage caught his eye and fascinated him. When he went to the garden to find out who she was he knew he might be falling in love. To his sheer delight, he found the girl to be more than he had dared to dream. And when their betrothal was officially announced, all of Basra understandably went wild with the news. This was to be no loveless marriage of state after all, but one indeed blessed in heaven. For the love held by the sultan was more than shared by his lovely bride-to-be. The time for mourning had finally passed, and the people of Basra rejoiced as never before.

  So it was that this night of the festival, heralding the wedding, was a night like no other in memory. Everyone wanted to see for themselves the woman who had been able to turn the sultan’s misery back into happiness. An invitation to the gala was something to be coveted like a fabulous jewel. So the guests arrived in all their splendid finery. They were ushered into the resplendent hall overlooking the hanging gardens that rivalled those of Babylon, the very place in which the sultan had first caught a glimpse of his bride.

  Women of the court came on the arms of husbands and fathers and brothers, marching along the blazingly lighted corridors of state in proud and regal procession.

  There were olive-skinned beauties from as far east as the Indian subcontinent, dignitaries of distinction from Persia and Damascus, holy men from Mecca and Jerusalem, and worldly travellers of fame and consequence from every known court. Ambassadors, military men, desert sheiks decked out in traditional costume, scholars from Baghdad, philosophers from Alexandria. Ship captains, naval admirals, pashas, the wealthy and the wealthier, the pampered and the spoiled. Ne’er-do-wells, wise men, prophets and magicians, the landed and the disenfranchised, a bevy of judges and court officials, ministers and sub-ministers, and no shortage of disappointed dowagers, their relatives and entourages. Nor of ambitious young men of lesser families who nevertheless by bribe, wit or coercion somehow managed to wrangle for themselves a highly valued invitation. Never in Basra’s long and glowing history had so many gathered at a single time, all come this night to share the sultan’s joy.

  While musicians played and exotic dancers from Tyre and Egypt spun dizzily to the flutes and drums, a host of servants catered graciously to every possible desire of the guests. Laughter and gaiety resounded throughout the glittering assemblage, and no one among them sparkled with greater rapture than the blushing bride-to-be. Her seventeen-year-old heart throbbed with the excitement of it all and her smiles glowed like candles. For her, every prayer had been answered. Starry-eyed, she accepted the accolades of her guests with charm and humility, secretly counting the minutes until the wedding itself would take place.

  The sultan retired to his rooms to enjoy a few moments of solitude. From his veranda he gazed out at the peaceful city. The sun had set, and the city lights beyond the walls twinkled in sympathy with the evening stars. From his high vantage point he could see it all, the curve of the bay and the sailing ships bobbing peacefully upon the dark waters; the towers, domes, and teardrop steeples rising gracefully into an unmarred sky. It was a panorama he loved. How much Fatima too would love this view, he mused. Then he turned and peered down at the splashing fountains in the garden. Guests were ambling merrily among the trees, admiring the flowers and their perfumed scent.

  Yes, a man couldn’t be happier than he was now. And Fatima and he had so many years to look forward to together. It would be wonderful

  “Sire, are you on the balcony?”

  The sultan turned, the familiar voice jarring him out of his thoughts. Standing at the threshold was a man of similar age and demeanour, a clean-shaven, turbaned, trim figured with bright and flashing eyes and an expansive grin etched into his tanned features.

  “Forgive me, sire, if I have intruded, but I arrived only minutes ago and they told me you — ”

  “Aladdin!” cried the sultan, rushing across the tiled stones. “Aladdin, is it really you?”

  Aladdin shared his mirth and enthusiasm. They hugged each other like bears, cuffing each other behind the ears and in the stomach like schoolboys on holiday. Then, panting, they stopped and looked at one another, grinning sheepishly.

  “By Allah, I never thought you’d make it,” the sultan said gruffly.

  “Was there any doubt, sire? I left Baghdad the instant I received your message. Rode here like a madman all day and all night and all day again to be here on time. Christóbal, too.” Aladdin pulled a face. “Though I have to apologise for him. He’s already out like a light in the quarters you provided.”

  “Oh Aladdin, it doesn’t matter! You’re here! Here at my side once more!” Moved nearly to tears, he embraced his visitor once more holding him like he would a long lost brother. And in many ways the young adventurer was indeed like a brother to him. He and Aladdin had known each other nearly all their lives, becoming firm friends from their first meeting. Traveling in disguise, he and Aladdin had shared many adventures together; wenching, brawling, drinking, riding the hills and the desert. The sultan knew he had learned much during those happy days. Aladdin had been his guide and often his teacher.

  “Well?” said the sultan eagerly. “Have you seen her yet?”

  “Only the briefest glimpse, sire. She’s totally surrounded by courtiers and well-wishers. Captured their fancy and their souls, it seems.”

  The sultan laughed heartily. “And mine as well, old friend.” He clasped Aladdin on the shoulder and lead him away from the veranda, back into his spacious rooms. There he served them both a goblet of the best honeyed wine from the Babylonian king’s private vineyards. Aladdin took his and sipped it gratefully. When he was finished and the warmth of the brew coursed through his veins, he said, “She is very beautiful, s
ire. I cannot tell you how pleased I am for you both.”

  The sultan’s face turned a blushing shade darker. “And you shall come to love her, too, old friend. She’s a woman like none other.” He slit his eyes and groped for the right words to express his emotion. “Her smile is like a sunburst, and when she blushes it’s as though a rose were blooming in winter. Her eyes sparkle as much as a diamond, and when she — ”

  Aladdin was forced to laugh at his companion’s animated description. The sultan shared that laughter good-naturedly. “So I guess you can plainly tell I am in love,” he muttered.

  With a mirthful chuckle Aladdin nodded. “It’s written all over your face, sire. You couldn’t hide it even if you tried.”

  Aladdin was delighted. The sultan seemed to be a wholly different person than when they had last seen each other. Then, understandably, the sultan had been lost in a dark and gloomy melancholia. Had it not been for an urgent commitment Aladdin would not have left his friend’s side. Aladdin had feared that the painful loss could twist a man in his heart and soul robbing him of peace and sanity as well.

  Those fears, though, seemed unfounded now. His boyhood companion was bubbling with vigour and a thirst for life, the way he remembered him in the old days. Truly this Fatima must be a sorceress to have worked such incredible magic; but if she were, it was a magic every man would dream of one day possessing.

  “Enough talk about me,” said the sultan, pouring another goblet full of wine. “So where have you been these past two years?” he demanded. “Still jumping from adventure to adventure, or have you finally decided to settle down and take life a bit less frantically?”

  Aladdin smiled. How well they knew and understood each other; as well as any true siblings could. “Many times I’ve made the promise to change my life,” he admitted with a sigh. Then he shrugged. “And as many times I’ve been forced to break it. But I have been busy, sire. At least my life’s not been lacking.”

  He almost fell from the slap on the back the sultan gave him, then sat comfortably on one of the many feathered cushions placed around the room. The sultan rested opposite and looked at Aladdin evenly. “I want to hear it all,” he said. “Tell me everything you’ve been up to and leave nothing unsaid. Ah, I miss those days we shared, Aladdin, my good friend. I dream of them often.”

  “So do I, sire. So do I.” He crossed his legs, leaned back and relaxed. A peal of laughter rose from the group of guests in the garden. Aladdin wearily shut his eyes. Only now was he beginning to feel the effects of the long ride to Basra. “Perhaps, sire, we should speak another time; I don’t want to keep you from your guests”

  The sultan dismissed the thought with a flourish of his bejewelled hand. “Nonsense! Fatima can handle them well enough by herself. In any case, as your punishment for staying away so long, I command you to bring me up to date.” He leaned forward in eager anticipation. “Surely there must be one adventure above the others that is worth the telling?” There was a gleam in his eye as he spoke; the sultan enjoyed few things more than listening to the daring exploits of his adventuresome friend. Indeed, many a time he wished he were not a monarch at all but merely a common man like Aladdin, free of the cumbersome burdens a life of royal servitude imposed; rid of the humdrum duties that bored him no end. A sultan may possess many things: power, glory, armies to fight under his banner, and a fleet of ships to gain new wealth in his name, but rarely was there any time left over to have the kind of reckless enjoyment Aladdin always had.

  Aladdin could almost read the sultan’s thought. He ran a finger along his jaw and regarded his listener with an impish grin. “Well, sire, now that you ask, there was one little sojourn Christóbal and I undertook last year that might be of interest”

  “Then tell it, man, and don’t keep me in suspense!”

  Aladdin bent forward. In a low tone he began to tell the tale, speaking rapidly of a strange journey that took him across the northern mountains where, by an odd quirk of fate, he found himself joining forces with the ancient, savage hill-men on a quest to regain a sacred treasure stolen many years before. It has been a hair-raising excursion, climaxing only after a bitter struggle atop the snowy peaks in the land of the yaks. More than once treachery had nearly cost Aladdin his life, but when the journey proved a success Aladdin had found himself rewarded for his efforts beyond his wildest dreams. The grateful tribes of the hills had given him the most precious jewel of all in payment: the Black Primrose of Athena, a stunning bauble of incalculable value.

  The monarch of Basra sat with his chin resting in his hand. The tale had been filled with such detail that he actually could picture himself there at Aladdin’s side. But when the adventurer placed his hand inside his robe and took out the prize for him to see, the sultan’s eyes widened in sheer amazement. It was a fabulous treasure.

  “Here, my liege,” Aladdin said, handing it over. “A gift for you and your bride to cherish.” He offered it humbly, without hesitation. The sultan was astounded.

  “Aladdin... no, I couldn’t accept — It is too great a gift.”

  “Greater than the gift of friendship, sire? Or of love? All else it seems to me is but a trifle. Please, accept this for Fatima.”

  With a trembling hand, the young monarch took the bauble. Never had a man had such a good friend, he was certain. Wiping a tear from the corner of his eye, he said, “All right. On behalf of my bride, I will accept it. But in return I will build for you a palace, here in Basra, as your home. All I ask is that you give up your wanderings at last and agree to stay here forever, by my side.”

  “Sire! I cannot allow — ”

  The sultan held up his hand to silence him. “The time for arguing the matter is over. Isn’t it time that you settled down and chose yourself a wife? Select from any woman in the sultanate, Aladdin, and she will be yours.” His thumb indicated the gala affair downstairs. “I’m confident that we can find you someone.”

  “Your offer is moving, sire,” Aladdin replied. “Alas, it would not be possible to accept.”

  “But why, Aladdin? You yourself have said how many times you’ve wanted to settle down”

  “And I do, sire! Truly, I do. Like you, though, I cannot take a wife until I am sure she’s the only woman meant for me. My search is for love.”

  “I understand,” the sultan replied. For the first time this night Aladdin noticed him frown. “Basra has much to offer a man such as yourself, though. We are a fair and generous people. Won’t you at least consider remaining for a time? Often the love you seek is right at your doorstep and you don’t even know it.”

  “As Fatima was, for you,” Aladdin said. “Thank you, my liege. Yes, I will think about it. That much I promise.” The monarch’s face lit up again. “Then it’s settled. You’ll stay.”

  “For a time.”

  “Yes, for a time.” He pursed his lips, shook his head. “A pity Fatima doesn’t have an eligible sister...” They both laughed.

  “I heard that remark!” came a voice from behind Aladdin and the sultan turned with surprise to find Fatima standing in the brazier’s light, her hands on her hips. She walked over to them. “Our guests are looking for you, my beloved,” she chastised teasingly. “It is rude to keep them lingering so listlessly.”

  Bounding to his feet, the sultan squeezed the girl tenderly. “See how she watches over me, my friend?” he said to Aladdin. “Doesn’t let me out of sight for more than five minutes at a time — and then she wants an explanation.”

  “Lest your eyes roam a bit too much, dearest,” the keen-witted girl countered spryly. She took hold of his hand and pressed it against her breast. “Come, darling, let’s go back together.”

  They were in love all right, Aladdin saw. As the lovers kissed, he loudly cleared his throat with embarrassment. The couple, almost oblivious to his presence, parted with flushes.

  “You see what you make me do!” said the sultan in feigned anger. In his passion he had all but forgotten his friend was there. “Fatima,” h
e said, “at last I can introduce you to the Finest friend a man has ever known. This is Aladdin.”

  The girl’s eyes grew luminous at the very mention of the name. Tales of the soldier-of-fortune and his daring had filled her head ever since she could remember. Now she found herself gaping at the legend in flesh and blood. She whispered his name.

  Aladdin bowed deeply. “My lady, it is my honour to meet you at last. My eyes assure me that everything I’ve been told is completely true. Our sultan is a doubly blessed man.”

  His flattery, sincere as it was, only deepened her blush. “And I have heard many remarkable things about you, my lord,” she told him. “Though we have never met I feel we have much in common and are the oldest of friends.”

  It was a sentiment he truly shared. He took her outstretched hand and kissed her fingers, where ruby and emerald rings glittered in the dim light. He liked the girl instantly and hoped Fatima would come to think of him as a brother.

  “By the Prophet’s holy beard,” said the beaming sultan, “I ask if it is possible for a man to be happier than I am at this moment.” Then he summarily answered his own question. “I think not. A night such as this, with the two I cherish most beside me, can never be duplicated.”

  They all laughed merrily. The sultan put his arms out and hugged them both. “It is good to have friends like you. Come then, let’s return to our guests. Tomorrow we shall put our past behind and speak only of the future.”

  Nodding and laughing, they left the opulent rooms and walked arm in arm down the marble steps. This night was indeed one that none of them would ever forget — but for reasons which no one could now imagine.

  Chapter Three

  Aladdin stood by himself on the terrace, peering up at the starry sky. Deep shadows hung under his eyes, his face was drawn with weariness and his lips were tightly pressed and pale. He rested his arms over the waist-high wall, clasped his hands and unclasped them. Listless, torn between the life he had known and the one that lured him, he glowed in the freshness of the cool sea breeze and tried to clear his head. The last knots of guests were leaving, returning to their homes after the long and splendid night. In the decorated rooms of state, servants were busily cleaning up. The music had stopped, the dancers had retired to their quarters, exhausted. Only Aladdin remained now, deep in thought, bone-tired but unable to sleep, reflecting upon a life that suddenly seemed as empty as the deserted palace corridors.