King of Kings

by Wilbur Smith

  •••

  Penrod was not sure how long he had been unconscious. A boy was sitting on the chair where Lucio had been. As soon as Penrod opened his eyes, the child scooted off his perch and dashed away. Penrod had the fleeting impression that something was wrong with the boy’s face, as if the features had melted somehow, and he moved with a strange scuttle as he fled the room. Penrod assumed he was in some sort of hospital. Perhaps the child was a burn victim. The room was cool. Penrod’s limbs ached, but it was a deep soreness rather than the burning agony of the cramps he had felt before. He knew he was feverish and his perception seemed clouded. Time was folded, somehow. He remembered the Egyptian doctor arriving in his boarding house and the attack just as the same man appeared before him now, as if he had materialized out of the memory.

  “Farouk al-Rahmi,” Penrod said, and the man nodded. He was not wearing Western clothes now, but a simple pale blue galabiyya, such as the water carriers wore.

  “Well remembered, Penrod,” he said.

  Penrod was so used to being addressed as effendi, or by the honorary titles given to him by his Arab friends, the use of his Christian name made him frown. The doctor noticed, and it seemed to amuse him. Penrod tried to move, but he found he was still restrained.

  “How are you feeling? I have been treating you for your opium addiction, but I’m sure you have worked that out for yourself. I’m not giving you the drug, but we have a number of concoctions that are known to ease the pains.”

  “How long have I been here?” Penrod said. His voice felt weak and cracked.

  “Four days,” Farouk said. He came around to the head of the bed and sat in the chair Lucio and then the boy had occupied before him.

  “I insist you let me go at once.”

  “Not yet, Penrod. Lucio will be here in a little while to read to you. You may tell him you wish to leave. He will also refuse to let you go, but perhaps you will feel better when you have shouted at him some more.” The thought seemed to cheer him. “You know, when he started reading Dante to you, I did wonder if it was a bit close to the bone, but now he is following Dante toward Paradise, I rather enjoy the symmetry.”

  Penrod listened to his voice, the choice of words.

  “You were educated in England.”

  “Oxford. But not just there. I studied philosophy in Tehran and medicine with the local masters here in Cairo.”

  “We are still in Cairo then?”

  Farouk stood up and filled a glass from a jug standing on a small table next to Penrod’s bed. Penrod twisted his head on his pillow to watch him. The table had a book on it, a copy of Dante’s Divina Comedia, a bookmark carefully marking a place halfway through the poet’s journey. Farouk put the glass to Penrod’s lips and he drank. The liquid had a bitter, complex taste but it seemed to cool his throat as he swallowed.

  “Near enough. Are you hungry?”

  Farouk took the glass away and set it on the table again. Penrod guessed he was in his late thirties, a little older than Penrod himself. His high cheekbones, large eyes and long lashes gave him an almost feminine appearance.

  “Yes, I am. Does that I mean I’m cured?” Penrod could not keep the sneer out of his voice.

  “I must see to my other patients. No, you are not cured yet. You must spend a little more time in purgatory.” He tapped the copy of Dante. “This moment, Penrod—it is like the moment when a drowning man breaks through the surface of the water for a moment, tastes air and light. Then he sinks again. But we will pull you from the depths at last. You will suffer more pain, however, before we can drag you ashore.”

  “I am not afraid,” Penrod said bitterly. It was difficult to form the words. They came out slightly slurred. He found he could not focus on the doctor’s face.

  “You should be,” Farouk said sadly, and the world disappeared.

  •••

  Days and nights became confused and fragmented. At times Penrod was conscious of a soul-shattering agony, as if he were caught on some devilish rack. Sometimes he was aware of Lucio sitting by him and could hear the fourteenth-century poetry of Dante speaking of angels and devils. At other times semi-human figures bent over him, their hands melted by hellfire. Cups of strange-smelling liquid were forced between his lips. Sometimes he accepted them, sometimes he spat them out at the demons. Farouk appeared and disappeared. Then, slowly, time seemed to repair itself and night followed day in the proper fashion. He could hear and understand what Lucio was saying for longer periods of time. The demons that tended to him, washing his flesh, manipulating his body, began to look more human.

  One afternoon, as Lucio read, Penrod licked his lips and tried his voice.

  “This is a leper colony.”

  Lucio closed the book at once and set it aside. “Yes, it is. Once they are cured, few of Farouk’s patients dare to go back to their villages; the stigma is too great, so many stay on here. We have a farm, you know. A mill. It’s terribly well organized. High walls all around, but I’m not sure if that is to keep the lepers in or keep them safe.”

  “Ask Farouk.”

  “I don’t think he knows either. And he’s a Sufi, rather a well-regarded one, so he’d probably just tell me some enigmatic story about a donkey, which suggests it’s all the same thing.”

  Lucio waited, but Penrod was silent for such a long time he picked up his book again and cleared his throat.

  “By whose authority am I held here, Lucio?”

  Lucio looked up toward the ceiling and considered. “Mine. The King of Italy’s. Somewhere in between the two. Penrod, I know why you destroyed the Duke of Kendal, and it was a very dashing gesture to release half of the royal families of Europe from his grip and ask for nothing in return. I even have a pretty good idea of how you managed it. But why, when you had accomplished such a thing, did you not dress in your best attire and go and break open a bottle of champagne at the Gheziera Club? You could probably have won back your fortune at the card table on the same evening, then taken up your commission again the next day. Why did you instead—and I mean no offense to our dear friend, Yakub—lock yourself in a hovel and try to smoke yourself to death?” He leaned forward with his hands on his knees, his head turned to one side, and blinked at Penrod with an owlish curiosity.

  “I don’t know,” Penrod said and turned away.

  Lucio sat back in his chair and crossed his legs. “Very strange behavior, my friend. That is all.”

  “I can do as I please.”

  “That is true. And so may I. And I was pleased to have you chained up here. Perhaps Farouk has another story about a donkey to explain you, too. You have had half of Europe in a puzzle.” He held up his hands. “Of course, you will never admit what you did to the duke, I understand, but you will be rewarded, whether you want to be or not.”

  “And being chained up among the lepers is a reward, is it?” Penrod yanked at his restraints. His muscles were aching and he felt weak as a child. The frustration made his eyes and skin prickle.

  Lucio scratched the back of his head. “They are very nice lepers, Penrod. And very gentle with you, I have noticed. You know as well as I do the disease is not as contagious as was once believed, and only those who are cured wait on you.” He sniffed. “And considering under which circumstances I found you, do not try and convince me you are concerned about your health.” He picked up the book again. “Have we had enough chatter? Let us see if poetry can lift your spirits a little.” He paused. “I got married, you know. Lovely girl. She died giving birth to my son. I was terribly angry. Shouted at the priests, cursed my own child as a murderer. It was reading Dante that returned me to sanity. Now my boy is growing, living with his doting grandparents and learning to hunt and ride on the same estates where we spent that summer together.”

  “So your plan is to read me into sanity?”

  “It’s worth a try, I think.”

  “You will have to release me sometime. What is to stop me returning to my hovel and my pipe then?”

&nb
sp; Lucio wrinkled his fine Roman nose. “You’ll be too weak to walk for a while. Hopefully you’ll have changed your mind before you get your strength back. Now, where were we?”

  Penrod sighed. The room was cool and clean, and in spite of his weakness and the ache in his bones and head, his thoughts were clearer than they had been for many weeks.

  “How did you find Farouk?”

  Lucio snorted. “My ancestors have been in Egypt for a long time, Penrod. Cleopatra brought the whole country to Rome as dowry while you English were still painting yourselves blue and sacrificing each other to oak trees. We remember our way around. Now, yes, here we are . . .”

  Roughly a week later Lucio announced he was leaving Cairo. Penrod was surprised to find that the idea disturbed him. He had cursed Lucio every time he had visited and sworn as soon as he could escape that he would return to his old ways in the city, but when Lucio told him that this visit would be his last, Penrod felt as if the rope that was towing him to safe shore had been cut. He did not think he gave any sign, but Lucio must have noticed something in his expression.

  “We have finished reading Paradiso, after all, Penrod. And I must return to Italy. Pleasant as this has been, my masters in Rome would like me to return and I have duties I would not shirk.”

  “You are leaving me here then, tied to a bed.”

  Lucio reached out and put his hand on Penrod’s shoulder. It was the first time he had touched him.

  “No. Farouk has told me you are fit to be untied. The drug has left your body, Penrod. You must feel it. Now it is your soul that must be repaired and I leave that in Farouk’s care.”

  “My soul?”

  “Your soul,” Lucio said with great seriousness. “But first I am to have my reward.”

  He got to his feet and without further ceremony unlocked and unbuckled the padded leather cuffs around Penrod’s wrists and ankles.

  “Now, if I help you, can you sit up?”

  He did not wait for an answer but put his arm under Penrod’s shoulder and lifted him. Penrod’s vision swam and a terrible nausea made him clutch at the mattress. He had never in his life felt so utterly helpless. He shivered.

  “Very good,” Lucio said quietly. He sat next to him on the bed, supporting his thin frame against his shoulder. “Now, Penrod Charles Augustus Ballantyne, I bestow upon you the grateful thanks of my king. In recognition of your valor, your honor and good character . . .” Penrod almost laughed, but Lucio carried on with careful emphasis, “your great, good character, I name you knight in His Majesty’s Order of the Guardians of Rome and bestow on you all the privileges and honors sacred to that order. So it is spoken. You may lie down again, my dear.”

  He helped Penrod fall back onto the bed and arranged the sheet over him like a careful nursemaid. Penrod felt as if he had battled giants, such was the pain in his head and the exhaustion in his limbs. Dear God, he thought, will I ever be well again?

  Lucio picked up his book, then set it down again. “I shall leave this for you—a memento of our time together. I hope you read it again as you recover. This poetry has lasted longer than empires for a reason.”

  “Lucio . . .” Penrod wanted to thank him, but his pride seemed to fill his mouth with rocks. After all, he could not yet tell if he was glad or sorry that Lucio had saved his life.

  “Yes, Penrod?”

  “Are there any plums among those rights and privileges?”

  Lucio put his head back and laughed. “Ah, my friend Penrod is in there somewhere! I knew it and I am glad of it. Let me think. Oh yes, I am almost certain you have the right to sell goat’s milk cheese on the forum on the first Saturday of every month.”

  “Cheese?”

  “Yes, only goat’s milk, though. Goodbye, Penrod. I hope we meet again.” He touched his fingers to his forehead in salute, then left the room.

  •••

  Penrod began to recover. Every morning when he woke he forced himself to sit and then to stand. His attendants only knew about this regimen when they noticed bruises blooming on his arms and thighs from his frequent falls. They said nothing, but the food he was given became more substantial and before a week was out he had managed to walk the length of his room and return to bed without his legs collapsing under him. He reminded himself of when he had been in Osman Atalan’s hands. He had been starved and beaten almost to death then too, but he had recovered. He would do so now. He still had no idea what his life might be outside these walls, but he concentrated only on his muscles. Beyond that, he would wait and see.

  One morning when Farouk entered, he asked directly how far Penrod could now walk.

  “Ten times across the room,” Penrod said, his voice neutral and even.

  Farouk looked mildly impressed. “I have brought you a present, Penrod.” He lifted his hand and Penrod noticed he was carrying a pair of cheap camel-hide sandals. “Sit up, please.”

  Penrod did so and Farouk dropped into a crouch and slipped the sandals over Penrod’s feet, then helped him to stand. Penrod was wearing his usual white shift. Farouk handed him a blue galabiyya like his own and helped him put it on.

  “Let me show you the colony,” Farouk said and offered Penrod his arm.

  Penrod put his hand to his face and felt the thick growth of his beard. “I must look like John the Baptist,” he said and Farouk laughed.

  “Yes, you do! We have not told anyone here who you are. Perhaps I shall introduce you as John.”

  Farouk led Penrod out of the room that had been his world for so many weeks. It opened onto a wide corridor, whitewashed, with several open doors leading off it. Penrod glanced through them as they walked slowly toward the open door at the far end. He saw that most were the same size as his own, but each had at least a dozen beds in them. In some, patients lay unmoving on their beds, but in others, patients were chatting and laughing with each other, collected in small groups. Penrod heard the rattle of a dice box, the shouts of pleasure or distress as the dice landed. Farouk saw him making his observations.

  “Your friend Lucio arranged some privacy for you and we were more than happy to oblige. His generosity has allowed us to make various improvements to the colony. From today you shall have a smaller room, but it shall be yours alone, and you will take your exercise outside. Now, shield your eyes. It will take a moment for you to become accustomed to full daylight.”

  As he spoke they stepped through the door at the end of the corridor and out onto a gravel path. Penrod was blinded at first, and Farouk waited patiently while his sight adjusted and he began to make out what was in front of him. Some hundred yards away, down a gravel path lined with young palm trees, he could see what must be the gates to the colony. They were high and made from great timbers. Hanging on the inside was a small bell, and a hatch had been cut into the wood. A neat gatehouse stood just inside them. On either side extended a stone wall, some twelve feet high, again whitewashed. As Penrod watched, the small bell jangled, and an old man emerged from the gatehouse and slid back the communication hatch. They were too far away to hear what was said. But once the hatch was closed, the old man unlocked a panel set into the wall and slid out a large drawer. He took a sack from it, which he handed to one of several lurking children, who ran off with it down another pathway.

  “Offerings,” Farouk said. “The prejudice against lepers in my country runs deep and strong, but many local people pay us a sort of tithe. Much of our food arrives in this way. Shall we walk on a little?”

  Penrod allowed himself to be led on and Farouk told him about the colony with a quiet pride. The walled compound extended over five acres and contained the hospital building where Penrod had been staying, a mixture of barracks and smaller houses for lepers who had recovered but did not wish to leave the safety of the place, and a small stone-built office for Farouk and his most trusted lieutenants. Farouk also pointed out the colony’s coffee house and mill, the little storefront where members of the colony could buy supplies and necessities, and the large communal dinin
g hall where most of the residents took their meals.

  “My practice in Cairo helps fund the establishment here. I have aided many of the Europeans who come here in the hopes the climate will cure their illness, and I am glad to say no more generous patrons exist than a man or a woman who feels they have had a miraculous recovery.”

  “I have no money of my own anymore. So your lepers will have to manage without my help,” Penrod said.

  He was beginning to tire and Farouk’s pride irritated him. Still, the lepers obviously loved him. Everyone who saw them offered blessings, and some of the children came running up to him with garbled greetings or news of some disputes among their fellows. Some of the children appeared healthy. Others were missing noses, ears or fingers. Among the population moving from place to place, some had similar deformities, others had wrists, hands or feet bandaged. Penrod felt a visceral dislike of the place, an animal, instinctive disgust for the disease and its sufferers.

  “I have already told you we have been well rewarded for your care,” Farouk said. “Still, now you are well enough, it is time for you to take your turn working here.”

  “I have no wish to become a resident. As soon as my strength has returned, I shall leave you.”

  Farouk did not seem angry or disappointed. He said calmly, “And you may do so. But at the moment you would not be able to reach the gate unaided, let alone walk the ten miles back to Cairo, and I assure you the locals here are very resistant to picking up anyone they see coming from the direction of the colony. Let me show you your new room. From tomorrow you will work in the infirmary and if you wish to eat, you will do so in the dining hall, Penrod.”

  Penrod stiffened. “And this will heal my soul, will it?”

  “Perhaps.”

  Farouk said nothing more until he led Penrod into a small, cell-like chamber in one of the barracks. It held a bed, a chair and a small desk in it, and light poured in from a good-sized window high up on one wall. Someone had already put Lucio’s copy of Dante on the desk. Next to it was another book that Penrod did not recognize. Farouk noticed him looking.