Now they approached the lime-washed gates of the sultan’s palace, with a servant leading and a small group of armed sailors who came as bodyguards. Talon found himself sweating in the humidity; he wished it would hurry up and rain to clear the air. The flies were everywhere and seemed to be enervated by the increasing humidity and the promise of a storm; they settled on any exposed skin and nipped painfully.
They were on their way to pay their respects to the sultan, and to pay bribes to the vizier. There would be no trading should they overlook either of these essential steps of protocol
The guards let them into a spacious paved courtyard with a gurgling fountain and he noticed a small open air trough of water feeding it, probably from a spring up on the hillside behind the palace, he thought.
The moment they were in the yard waiting for the servant to announce them, Talon became aware that they were being watched. He glanced up to the second story and knew that the womenfolk of the sultan were there behind the ornamental shutters, observing their arrival, able to see out but not be seen. Doubtless they were discussing the newcomers; life being what it was for women in a harem, there was little else to do but gossip and stare out of their gilded cage, he surmised.
The servant arrived and shepherded the four men into the building. They were honored guests, for the Mardini were were successful merchants, so they would see the sultan ahead of the long line of other people awaiting audiences.
“Our family is well known, so we do not have to wait,” Boulos explained to Talon ad Reza as they passed rows of supplicants, who glared at them in resentful silence as they went by. The sailors remained in the courtyard to squat in the shade of some frangipani shrubs and wait.
They were announced at the entrance of a chamber, which was airy and light, with a few rich furnishings around the lime-washed walls of its interior. There were huge polished brass lamps hanging off the black beams above their heads. The brass lamps had been perforated to allow light from candles to shine through. Carpets were strewn on the stone paved floor, and the smell of incense pervaded the air. Talon held his breath; he didn’t want to sneeze, not in front of the august figure lounging in the large ebony throne at the end of the room. Behind him stood two huge black men dressed in decorated cotton dishdashas, wearing turbans and clutching long spears. They glowered at the newcomers.
They were expected to go to their knees like ordinary supplicants, even though Boulos and Imaran were well known and highly respected merchants. They marched up to the step and went down on both knees, then bowed to the very fat man on the chair above them.
The sultan was dressed in a simple white thawb that reached from his thick neck to his small sandaled feet, over which there was a very light bisht, or overdress of fine material. He wore a huge turban that Talon assumed must have taken an hour to wind onto his head. In the middle of the turban was an enormous silver broach encrusted with precious stones. His fingers were covered in jewelry, and the hem of the simple tunic was sewn with gold thread.
The sultan seemed pleased to see them. He gave a languid wave of a very elaborately made fly switch in acknowledgement of their presence.
“As-Salaam-Alaikum, your Highness. Peace be with you. How are you? We pray for your good health,” said Boulos.
“Wa-Alaikum-Salaam, Allah has been kind. By the grace of God I am in good health. And how are you, Boulos?”
“Thanks be to God, I am well, Your Eminence. All is well.”
“God be praised. Welcome to my hearth. How is your father?
“Thanks be to God, our father is older and wiser and well, and sends these miserly gifts to you as a token of his ardent esteem.”
Imaran handed up a beautifully worked Khanjar knife. With the knife there was a silk wrapped package giving off the unmistakeable aroma of Frankincense.
The sultan smiled and touched the items, which were then passed back to a secretary.
“I am pleased with the gift. Please wish your father good health and happiness. What is the news from Oman?”
“No news, by the grace of God.”
Boulos paused. “But…”
“Ah.”
“The Seljuk Turks are making great gains in the Franks holdings of Byzantium, which means they’ll leave Oman alone. Closer to home, the trade of horses with India is better every year.”
“It is a good thing that the Indians cannot breed horses for themselves,” the sultan remarked and waved his fly switch. “Boulos, you look well; and Imaran, you look thinner than the last time I saw you.” The sultan’s voice was a throaty rumble, as though it came from the depths of his huge belly. He smiled and bade them to be seated on the huge cushions that servants ran forward to place on the floor in front of him. They also brought sweetmeats, a sticky sweet jelly, and tea, which was served in tiny cups and poured from long spouted brass pots.
Talon listened to the usual words of flattery spoken by Boulos and his brother as they all sipped tea. The tea made him sweat but also cooled him. Despite the fans being rhythmically waved by some black slaves behind the sultan and on either side of the guests, the air had become stuffy, and even here the flies were plentiful.
The conversation eventually moved on to trade, so he began to pay attention.
“We are here, Your Eminence, to purchase slaves, and the teeth of the elephants, and more. We can, as you know, pay with gold or silver, whichever you desire.”
Talon caught the gleam of avarice in the eyes that were almost hidden under the folds of flesh surrounding them.
“Of course. We are happy to see two of our best merchant friends here. Please inform my Vizier that you have my permission to trade.”
Talon knew exactly what that meant. They would do nothing before they had parted with several small sacks of gold handed over to the vizier. The sultan derived income in this manner, and every trade as it was sealed meant that a percentage of the profit went to his coffers, and no one dared to forget it.
The sultan shifted on his chair in order to get a better look at Talon and Reza, who had sat quietly while the opening discussions were carried out.
The alert Imaran waved his hand towards Talon and said, “Your Eminence, may I introduce Talon Suleiman and his companion Reza, who are new to these parts and have travelled with us. Suleiman wishes to trade. We humbly beg that you will give your permission for him to do so.”
“You do not look like an Omani,” the sultan stated. He twitched his fly switch as he spoke, but his tone was friendly enough.
Talon smiled and bowed politely. “We are both from Persia, Your Highness. We are friends of the Mardini family, who have very kindly offered to show us the wonders of your country. Yes, I wish to trade and to learn from them.”
More tea was delivered, and the conversation moved on to the question of the slaves who had arrived recently.
“I am informed that most of them are in good condition, but the crossing of the inland sea took more of them than expected.” The sultan wheezed as he took a bite out of a sugary morsel of jelly and swallowed, his fleshy jowls wobbling.
“Are there enough, Your Highness?” Boulos asked. There was a tinge of concern in his voice.
“Hmm, there are fewer this time, so the price will be higher. Demand does not change from year to year, as you are very aware, but when the supply goes down....” The sultan left the sentence unfinished and shrugged.
Boulos glanced at Imaran. This was unexpected.
“What of the elephant teeth? The Nutmeg and the ambergris, Your Highness?”
“I cannot say, but you will find the markets full of these things, and more on the island of Lamu.”
They discussed the prices of these various commodities, and also the pirates who infested the coastline.
“They come every year to the area and prey upon unarmed ships like yours, causing great disruption of the trade and even in my city,” he almost whined. “What is one to do? Insha'Allah they will get the pox and die. May their private parts be infested by flesh-bor
ing beetles!”
Boulos chuckled. “May it be so, your Highness. We will keep an eye open for these pirates.”
It was time for them to depart. The sultan was sweating copiously on his perch and looked uncomfortable.
“May God protect you, Your Highness, and bring you good health and happiness,” Imaran intoned as they walked backwards to the doors. The sultan waved them off with a pudgy hand.
“He looked ill,” Imaran stated as they left the palace.
Talon agreed. He had noticed that the entire staff of the palace had seemed sullen and lethargic. He put this down to the fact that the heat of the day and the humidity were contributing to the general lassitude.
Their visit to the vizier in another part of the palace had been brief. After the usual interminable greetings and flattery, each of them had laid a small bag of gold on his table, and while they had waited for the scribes to write up their permits they had exchanged small talk with the vizier. The man was clearly overworked and seemed glad to get them out of his office so that he could deal with the numerous supplicants seated outside his doors. Wealthy and poor alike, they all came to him begging for an audience with the sultan.
*****
When they had picked up their sailors outside the gates and were on their way back down the road towards the beaches, Talon asked a question that had been nagging him.
“What sea was the sultan talking about, Boulos?”
“It is the great inland sea, Talon. Many of the slaves that come here have a long journey. They are captured in wars or raids, and then they must walk to the inland sea from the west of this huge country. When they get to the sea, the sultan’s men put them in holds, lying side by side, then more on the decks above, until there is no more room. The journey takes several days, and they are not released nor fed until they arrive on this side. Many die on the way: the weak, the old, and the very young.
The dead are thrown to the crocodiles, which feed very well, and then the survivors must march some three to four hundred leagues to get here. It is a waste of good material. The overseers are greedy, but they calculate that even with losses like that they can still make a huge profit.” He sounded disgusted, but Talon was aware that it was not out of any form of humanity for the wretched people undergoing this hellish experience. He was decrying the loss of a useful and profitable commodity.
Talon thought of his proud and courageous friend Panhsj, who lived in Egypt and shook his head.
That afternoon they returned to their ships and made ready to sail for Lamu, which was just south. This was where Boulos and Imaran would visit the slave markets, and where Talon hoped to be able to trade for the elephant teeth and other luxury goods which he would then take to India.
Leaving it to the captain to negotiate the shoals and the reefs, Talon went and stood at the very back of the vessel, deep in thought. He was in a somber mood when Rav’an, Jannat and Reza joined him there, staring back at the harbor as it receded. Rostam was at the front of the ship with some crew members, who were keeping a watch on him and answering his innumerable questions.
“You have been very quiet since you came back from the palace, my Talon. Is something wrong?”
“Boulos told us how the slaves get to the island of Lamu. It is not a pretty story,” Reza explained.
Just as they rounded the final hook of the reef and began to sail south, Talon faced his friends. “I have not had time to tell you of a man I met while in Egypt,” he said. “His name was Panhsj and we became very good friends. He was a slave who came from this country, although it was much further north. He was a warrior when captured...” Talon went on to tell them of his experiences in Egypt, leaving out parts that he was not ready to tell them about his association with the Templars, but more about his life as a slave himself in that country and his growing friendship with Panhsj, up to their final parting.
“So you see, I cannot trade as Boulos and Imaran do for these people. I see my friend in all of them, and it feels like something of a betrayal,” he finished.
“When they get to their destinations they are often well treated, Talon,” Reza pointed out, not unreasonably. “There is much money to be made in this trade; but if I had a friend like that I too, might hesitate. What does the Princess say?” He smiled and looked at Rav’an.
“Reza is right about one thing, Talon. It is a lucrative trade; but I for one do not like the smell hanging over Boulos’s ship, and it is there because of the slaves. I do not want to see them die on our ship because we are not able to care for them, nor thrown overboard for the sharks, because that is what would happen.” Her gray eyes flashed with determination. “Do what you think is best, Talon, but I think we should not do as Boulos and Imaran do.”
“I hear you, my friends. I cannot say I am a particularly compassionate man, and slaves have been part of our lives everywhere, but that account of their passage made me think again. No, I shall not betray my friend. Instead we will load up with the other plentiful goods that should be awaiting us in the markets of Lamu.”
*****
They anchored at the crowded harbor of Lamu and almost immediately disembarked, this time with Rav’an, Jannat and Rostam, who was held in check by Salem. The women were closely veiled, so as not to incur the wrath of the mullahs who stalked the streets of the grubby township. There was a shabby mosque just off the main street.
Boulos and Imaran wanted to check out the slave barracoons as soon as possible. “The sultan worried me about how many were available and of what quality, Talon,” said Boulos “So we go there first, then we can go to the places of the merchants who have the other goods. They are not perishable.” He grinned at his own words.
Talon decided to go along, more out of curiosity than anything else. He had no intention, however, of buying any of the slaves. He sent Rav’an and Jannat, with Rostam in tow, to visit the bazaar under the watchful eyes of Dar’an and Yosef, while he and Reza went off with Boulos and Imaran.
They were greeted by the smell of the barracoons a hundred paces before they saw them. The smell of urine, feces, and rotting vegetation made a heady stink that assaulted their nostrils and seemed to cling to their clothing. Talon, who was no stranger to stinking, confined spaces, didn’t care to be reminded.
They heard the sound next, a muted mutter that filled the air. Talon could not decide whether it was the buzzing of the millions of flies or the voices of the people themselves. He realized it was both. From the people who were chained in groups behind the fences came the eerie moan of utter despair. It came from several hundred fettered black people who had not bathed nor had their barracoons cleaned out since the day of their internment.
The crude fences were made from branches of thorn trees with rough-cut stakes hammered into the red earth. The fences were too high to clamber over, and there were sentries posted at regular intervals with spears to deal ruthlessly with any that might still be considering escape. Although some shade was provided it was minimal, leaving most of the luckless people to lie out in the open still chained to one another under the burning sun. All over the compounds were large brown puddles of water that had not drained since the last rains. The surface of the water had a marble sheen and reeked of rotting filth.
Talon and the others pulled the corners of their turbans over their noses and mouths in an attempt to reduce the stench and keep the biting flies at bay. Just inside the gates, where guards could access them quickly, were randomly spaced bins of grain, millet and slops, from which the wretched people could feed themselves. The inhabitants gazed back at the passing men without any expression at all in their black eyes.
Talon wanted to hurry by, but Boulos and Imaran would pause from time to time to examine one or other of the potential slaves. They were soon joined by a hatchet-faced man in a dirty and torn striped cotton dishdasha that came down to his mud-bespattered sandals. He wore an equally filthy head cloth. He arrived with his own halo of flies and seemed oblivious to the utter squalor around him. In a
barely civil voice he enquired what it was they might be looking for. He carried a short leather whip and looked as though he would not hesitate to use it on any one of the prisoners, male or female, all of whom were naked.
When Boulos explained in sharp tones who they were, the man immediately dropped his surly tone and became fawning, almost groveling at their feet. He hastened to lead them to the main market place where the bidding was already under way for the various batches of prisoners, and where later individual slaves with more potential who would garner a higher price would be offered for sale. As they followed the man, Reza muttered under his breath in Farsi, “Pedar Sag! That is some kind of rat from a shit pile.”
Talon grinned. Reza could be blunt at times.
Bidding was in full swing by the time they arrived at the maidan. A wide platform had been erected in the middle, and upon this stage was a well-dressed man directing the process. It was speedy and efficient. The participants, buyers and seller alike, had done this many times, and he played the merchants with cunning and smooth words. A batch of slaves, sometimes only women or girls, or men only, would be hauled to their feet from among the others squatting all around the edges of the maidan to stumble up onto the stage; they would be hustled into a line by the slave overseers with curses and the snapping of the whips, after which the bidding would begin. The auctioneer would shout out the batch number and then a starting price.
Boulos and Imaran, leaving Talon and Reza on the outskirts, pushed forward and headed for the center for a better view of the merchandise. They were immediately involved in the bidding.
“Come on, Reza, I have seen enough.” Talon turned away in disgust and began to head back the way they had come. Reza joined him in silence and they walked past the barracoons. Something caught Reza’s eye as they passed a larger group of prisoners in one compound. He put a hand on Talon’s arm to stay him and pointed.
The Dragon's Breath Page 10