The Saracen: Land of the Infidel

by Robert Shea

  XXXVIII

  _A letter from Emir Daoud ibn Abdallah to El Malik Baibarsal-Bunduqdari, from Orvieto, 13th day of Muharram, 663 A.H.:_

  O Pillar of the Faith, the gift of the ancient scroll to the Christian scholar Tomasso d'Aquino has served our purposes beyond my expectations. At the same time that I delivered the scroll to him, I arranged for the allies of the Tartars to be deceived into thinking that the priest Tomasso was already in our camp. They chose the arrogant Cardinal de Verceuil, of whom I have told you, to bring his influence to bear on the priest Tomasso. The cardinal's treatment of Tomasso so offended him that he was driven to take the side we wished of him.

  This Tomasso has turned the clouds Ugolini and I stirred up into a veritable thunderstorm. The pope cannot proclaim a crusade unless he has the support of the Christian kingdoms and peoples. Otherwise, they will support him only halfheartedly or not at all. I confess I am surprised at how often the Christians of Europe choose to neglect or even refuse to do what the pope demands of them.

  As we know, the Christians of today have not the zeal to make war on us that their forefathers had. Let time pass, and Hulagu Khan will lose patience and recall his ambassadors. The Christians will fight among themselves here in Europe. And, if God wills it, Islam will know peace. Such is my deepest desire.

  Time, O Malik Dahir, is our ally.

  * * * * *

  Daoud stood at his writing desk, smiling at the tiny Arabic characterswith which he had covered the thin square of parchment.

  El Malik Dahir--the victorious king. How well Daoud remembered the dayBaibars had, with his help, assumed that title.

  * * * * *

  Riding back from the victory at the Well of Goliath, the Mameluke armywas camped outside Bilbeis, two days' ride northeast of El Kahira.Tomorrow Sultan Qutuz would hold audience at Bilbeis, and soon after hewould ride into El Kahira in triumph, a triumph Baibars had earned forhim.

  Baibars was alone in his tent when Daoud answered his summons. His blueeye glittered out of deep shadows cast on his face by a small oil lampthat hung in the center of the tent. With his own hand Baibars servedDaoud kaviyeh from a pot on a brazier, and the two men sat side by side,turned toward each other.

  "Again he refused me," Baibars said. "I have given him every chance,Daoud."

  Baibars's face was calm, but Daoud knew that the fury of a Tartar wasboiling within him.

  A reddish haze obscured the tent for Daoud as he fought back his ownrage at the injustice to Baibars.

  "He thinks I want to be governor of Aleppo merely out of ambition,"Baibars said.

  "The sultan is a fool," said Daoud.

  The single sighted eye transfixed him. "No, not a fool. He played thegame of power well enough when he made himself sultan. No one couldblame him for the murders of Ai Beg and Spray of Pearls. He restoredorder to El Kahira. His mistake now is in not trusting me. And that isan understandable mistake." Baibars stretched his thin lips in a suddengrin.

  "Understandable how?" Daoud experienced that unsettling sense he oftenhad that the one-eyed emir was always two or three jumps ahead of him.

  "It comes of too much cleverness," said Baibars. "He does not believe mewhen I say I want to be governor of Aleppo because it is the first cityHulagu Khan will attack. He suspects me of a hidden motive. He thinksthat if he gives me Aleppo I will break with El Kahira and claim all ofSyria for my own, because that is what _he_ would do. But Hulagu Khan,seeking vengeance for the Well of Goliath, is coming from Persia withall his power. May God send to the eternal fire a commander wickedenough to divide the kingdom at such a time."

  The kaviyeh Daoud held had cooled. He drained the glazed earthenware cupand put it down beside him.

  "The sultan himself divides the kingdom," said Daoud, "by dishonoringyou."

  "It is more than dishonor. It is war. If he thinks me too dangerous tobe ruler of Aleppo, it means that he thinks me too dangerous to live."

  Daoud felt as if his heart had dropped into the cold, black bottom of awell. If Qutuz destroyed Baibars, he would destroy Islam and El Kahiraand all of them. Daoud's whole world.

  "What will you do?" said Daoud.

  "I do not know what I will do," said Baibars, fixing his one eye onDaoud. "But you know that if he kills me, he will kill all close to me.What will _you_ do?"

  Daoud felt the edge of the headsman's blade on the back of his neck ashe had not felt it since that day Qutuz demanded his death. The thoughtof being executed at Qutuz's command outraged him. It was one thing todie as a mujahid, a martyr in holy war for Islam, destined to be takenat once into paradise. But what a shameful fate, to be murdered becauseyour own sovereign lord did not trust you.

  "I am your slave, Effendi."

  "Not slave, Daoud. You are as near a son to me as a Mameluke can be. Areyou not the husband of my favorite daughter? I speak now with youbecause I must speak, and in all this camp you are the only one I canrely on absolutely."

  Daoud felt tears coming to his eyes. He was embarrassed, even though heknew it was a manly thing to weep easily. For him crying was rare.

  Baibars rested a large, strong hand on Daoud's arm.

  "Never to know any brothers but our khushdashiya, our barracks mates,never to know any father but the emir who trained and freed us, it makesus the hardest, the finest warriors in the world. But we long for theloving families we never had."

  Daoud wiped his face with the sleeve of his robe.

  They sat in silence for a long time, while Daoud, stroking his thickblond beard, grappled with what Baibars was asking of him. Asking, notin words, but in the spaces between the words.

  Baibars spoke. "Remember what the Tartar general, Ket Bogha, calledQutuz? The murderer of his master. The world belittles us because eachsultan has climbed to the throne over the murdered body of the lastsultan. Turan Shah, murdered."

  He held up his left hand, his sword hand.

  "I myself killed Turan Shah because he betrayed the Mamelukes. Next, AiBeg, murdered. The Sultana Spray of Pearls, murdered. Ali, son of AiBeg, murdered. Each murder weakens the throne itself."

  "The throne is as strong as the man who holds it," said Daoud.

  Baibars continued to look at his left hand, his head turned to the sidein his one-eyed way. "Even so, Ai Beg did not himself kill Turan Shahand Qutuz did not himself kill Ali. If I kill Qutuz and take the thronewith his blood on my hand, I am inviting every other Mameluke emir tokill me when my back is turned. The title of El Malik, the sultan, chiefsovereign of Islam, will be like a ball in a game of mall, flying thisway and that."

  Daoud felt as if he were standing at the mouth of an enormous blackcave. It was one thing to know that Qutuz was not fit to rule. It wasanother thing to think of striking down the sultan, the anointed of God.If Daoud entered this cave, he might never come out again. He mightleave it only to fall into the flames of hell. He seemed to see stars inthe depths of the cave, as if he were looking into the world beyond theworld. Somewhere among those stars, God dwelt in His paradise with thoseHe loved around Him, the Archangel Gabriel, and the Prophet, and Abrahamand Jesus, and the saints and martyrs of Islam.

  _Is it God's will that I kill the sultan? How can I know?_

  He could not know. But he did know that second only to his submissionto God, the most important thing in his life was devotion to his emir.As Baibars said, his khushdashiya and his emir were all a Mameluke had.

  He leaned closer to Baibars.

  "Whoever dishonors my lord Baibars deserves instant death at the handsof my lord's servant."

  Baibars closed both eyes with a look of satisfaction.

  "Have I asked you to kill--anyone?" he said.

  "No, Effendi."

  They sat in silence again. The desert wind hummed in the ropes ofBaibars's tent, and the poles shifted and creaked.

  "If someone wished to kill Qutuz," said Baibars, "he should r
ecall thatwe are now very close to El Kahira. Once Qutuz rides on streetsfestooned with silks and carpeted with flowers, once people see him asthe victor of the Well of Goliath, they will love him too much. Theywould never accept his being taken from them. We could not control theirfury."

  Daoud said, "Tomorrow, when he holds audience at the palace of thegovernor of Bilbeis, men from all over the district with requests forfavors, with claims, with grievances, will surround him, clamoring.Anyone could easily approach him."

  Baibars nodded. "Let him be struck down before the eyes of many. Let itbe like a public sacrifice. I would rather see it done so than by poisonor ambush." His thin lips curved in a smile. "I seem to recall that you,too, have a preference for taking vengeance in public."

  "If the other emirs demand that he who killed the sultan be punished,"said Daoud, "you will have to sacrifice your servant."

  Baibars's face tightened. "They will not. They will accept what you andI do."

  "Nevertheless, if it seems needful to secure your place on the throne,you must give the killer up. You will not have to explain that to me.And you will still be my lord. My father."

  "Ah, Daoud," Baibars said. Daoud saw a wetness in both Baibars's eyesnow, the sighted and the blind.

  * * * * *

  Daoud stood beside a spiral pillar near the front of the audience hallof the governor of Bilbeis. It was a small chamber, but an elegant one.The floor was of mottled green marble, and pink columns lined theapproach from the front door to the massive gilded throne on its dais.

  Merchants and small landholders, officials in red fezzes, Bedouinsheikhs in black robes and burnooses, crowded the hall. Each man held apetition scroll for the sultan.

  Daoud carried no petition, but the sleeve of his left arm hid, strappedto his wrist, a scabbard holding a twisting dagger--a flame dagger, theweapon of the Hashishiyya.

  He longed for Qutuz to come into the hall, for the dance of death he hadrehearsed a thousand times in his mind, to begin.

  He had prayed this morning longer and with greater fervor than he hadfor many years.

  _When_ would Qutuz come?

  At the doorways and around the edges of the room stood warriors of thehalkha, the sultan's bodyguard, their steel helmets and breastplatesinlaid with gold, their tunics bright yellow. What would they do whenthey saw him strike at Qutuz? They were Mamelukes. They had seen Qutuz'sfear at the Well of Goliath and his pretensions afterward. But it wastheir duty to protect him. Daoud could not guess what feelings wouldmove them.

  Here and there around the room rose the spherical white turbans of theMameluke emirs who had been at the Well of Goliath. There was Kalawun,called al-Elfi, the Thousander, because his first master had bought himfor the incredible price of a thousand gold dinars, there Bektout,beside a blue-white pillar, another Kipchaq like Baibars. Six or soothers talked quietly under the pointed arch of the public entrance tothe audience chamber. None of the emirs paid attention to thepetitioners who streamed past them into the room.

  In the corner of the room farthest from the dais, Baibars stood alone. Ahead taller than anyone around him, he swung his white-turbaned headfrom side to side so that he could survey the room with his one goodeye. His glance seemed to pass over Daoud without seeing him.

  A side door to the throne room from the governor's private apartmentsswung open, and two officers of the halkha strode through.

  One of the officers drew himself up and shouted, "The Beloved of God,the Victor of the Well of Goliath, El Malik al-Mudhaffar Qutuz!"

  The buzz of conversation in the room at once stilled, and Daoud'sheartbeat filled his ears.

  Then a roar arose as Qutuz entered briskly, arrayed in a bejeweledgreen turban and a black and silver robe of honor. His chamberlain, astout man carrying a basket, followed him.

  The petitioners rushed forward, clamoring and waving their scrolls. Themen of the halkha made no attempt to hold them back. A merchant in ablue robe was the first to reach Qutuz, and he hugged the sultan,weeping. He first thrust a small silk bag into Qutuz's hand, whichdisappeared quickly under the sultan's black robe, then pressed a scrollupon him.

  Qutuz handed the scroll to his chamberlain, who put it into the basket.

  The petitioners were the people of Islam, and it was their right, as ithad been since the days of the Prophet, to clamor for their ruler'sattention. And though they might shout and beg and even manhandle thesultan, he must endure it, because these were the richest men of thedistrict, the men of highest rank, those on whom the sultan's power inthis place depended.

  Qutuz enjoyed, Daoud knew, playing father to his people. And though onemight think the Sultan of El Kahira had wealth enough, he was not averseto increasing it with the gifts of gold and jewels offered him onoccasions like this.

  Qutuz moved slowly through the petitioners, head high, his oiled beardpointed like the prow of a majestic ship. A small, indulgent smileplayed about his lips. He allowed them to impede his progress to thethrone. The petitioners crowded around him, some plucking at his sleeve,some falling at his feet, some pulling at the hem of his robe, evenkissing it in their urgency.

  Another man, this one a sheikh in desert robes, seized the sultan in anembrace, bellowing his entreaty. This time when Qutuz stopped hedisappeared behind a forest of upraised arms.

  The babble of voices, each one trying to outshout the other, madeDaoud's head ache. Men elbowed those beside them and pushed their handsinto one another's faces. Daoud even saw one man claw his way up thebacks of two who stood in front of him and climb over their shoulders toget closer to Qutuz.

  From his position near the front of the hall Daoud could catch onlyglimpses of the sultan's green turban from time to time and follow hisprogress by watching where the turmoil was fiercest. The melee was likeone of those towering dust storms that whirl across the desert, andQutuz was at the center.

  When Daoud judged that Qutuz was halfway to the throne, he began tomove.

  He plunged now into that black cave where God dwelt somewhere ininfinite spaces. Doubt and fear he left at the mouth of that cave. Hemust give all his strength and will to what he was about to do.

  He charged into the storm around Qutuz. Though these magistrates andmerchants were feeble compared to him, their frenzy and the mere weightof their struggling bodies formed a wall that took all his strength tobreak through. Each man was so intent upon his own desperate need toreach the sultan that none of them seemed to feel Daoud forcing his waypast them.

  Qutuz saw him coming. The dark brown eyes met Daoud's, questioning,frowning. A Mameluke emir of Daoud's rank did not usually join a crowdof petitioners. The sultan's arms and hands were full of scrolls. Hischamberlain had long since been carried away from him in the crush.

  "Oh, Sultan, grant my prayer!" Daoud shouted in a loud voice.

  _For your death._

  Qutuz's jaw clenched, and his eyes widened in the beginning of fear asDaoud bore down on him.

  Daoud had reached the center of the storm. Color and movement whirledabout him. Shouts deafened him. He forced his mind to blot out the chaosall around and to focus totally on Qutuz. He made himself as obliviousto the shrieking men around him as they were to him.

  He threw his arms around the sultan, crushing the satin of his kaftanand his armload of scrolls against his body.

  When Daoud's arms came together behind Qutuz's back, his right handreached into his left sleeve and pulled the dagger from its sheath.

  Qutuz's hands pushed against Daoud's chest. So tight was Daoud's embracethat he felt the sultan take a deep breath, to cry for help. They werelocked together like lovers.

  Daoud stretched out his right arm, and then with all the strength inthat arm drove the dagger into the sultan's back. He struck for thecenter of the back, between two ribs, so that the point would reach andstop Qutuz's heart.

  His thrust went true. The strong, lean body jerked violently, then wentlimp in his arms. Qutuz was a weight against him, sliding downward.Da
oud was sure he was already dead, because he did not move or cry out.

  Triumph blazed up within him. He had done it. He had killed the sultan.

  Daoud let go of the dagger, hilt-deep in Qutuz's back. He steppedbackward quickly, pressing himself into the crowd around them. Hisheartbeat was thundering in his ears and his knees were quivering.

  Qutuz toppled toward him as he moved back.

  "The sultan falls!" a man next to him screamed.

  Hands reached out to catch Qutuz as he fell. Cries of "The sultan hasfainted!" "God help us!" "The sultan is hurt!" went up all around Daoud.

  He continued to back away through the crowd. If attacked, he haddecided, he would draw his saif and fight. If he must die, hedesperately wanted to die fighting, not on the headsman's block.

  He had not truly believed he could strike Qutuz down without being seen,but no one was yet pointing at him.

  "Blood!" someone shrieked. "A dagger!" The shrieks and prayers weredeafening.

  All the men who had clustered around the fallen sultan backed away.Daoud was carried farther from the dead Qutuz by the crowd. Craning hisneck over the heads around him, he could see the body lying sprawledface down on the green marble floor, a spreading bright red stain in theblack and silver robes around the dagger's hilt.

  The babble of voices was so confused that Daoud could no longer tellwhat anyone was saying. Mansur ibn Ziri, commander of the halkha, andAnis, master of the hunt, pushed their way through to Qutuz's body,while some men still clutching scrolls ran from the chamber. They mustfear even being in the room where the sultan was murdered.

  _I have killed the sultan._

  Though his whole body shook with reaction and his limbs felt weak, hisheart was full of joy.

  His hand on his sword hilt, Daoud surveyed the large chamber. TheMameluke emirs were looking, not at Qutuz's body, but at one another.And they kept glancing at Daoud.

  _They_ had seen Daoud throw his arms around Qutuz. They knew who hadkilled Qutuz. And they knew why he had done it.

  Baibars still stood apart in a far corner. His good eye met Daoud's, buthis face was a mask.

  As the last of the local men fled the place of death, a silence fellover the room. The Mamelukes were alone with the body of their sultan.The men of the halkha, the sultan they were sworn to protect now dead,looked at the emirs. The only voices now were the murmured words ofMansur and Anis as they bent over Qutuz's body.

  With an effort Mansur pulled the dagger from Qutuz's back. Anis gruntedwhen he saw the twisting blade.

  Heart hammering, Daoud tensed himself. Would Mansur turn and accuse him?He glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was behind him and tookgliding steps backward until his shoulders were pressed against apillar.

  Mansur said in a voice that carried through the room, "The flame dagger.Our lord has been struck down by the Hashishiyya."

  Daoud almost laughed aloud with relief. With an immense effort he heldhimself rigid, his fists clenched so tightly at his side they hurt.Mansur was telling everyone who knew what had happened what they were totell everyone who did not know.

  Would anyone contradict Mansur? No one did. Relief spread through him.

  Carefully, almost delicately, Mansur laid the dagger on the floor besideQutuz. He stood up, wiping his hands on his mantle.

  With rapid strides the commander of the halkha crossed the chambertoward Baibars. To arrest him? What choice had Mansur made?

  To bow deeply before Baibars. He made a graceful, sweeping gesturetoward the vacant throne.

  "My Lord, the power is yours."

  _Praise to God!_

  Baibars's single-eyed gaze paused for an instant, Daoud saw, as it fellupon each of the emirs. In the look he fixed upon each there was bothquestion and challenge.

  Some of the emirs bowed their turbaned heads slightly. Others, likeKalawun al-Elfi, simply looked back at him in silence, and that wasassent enough.

  Baibars raised his right hand toward the vaulted ceiling, the widesleeve of his robe falling away from his powerful arm.

  "With Your help, O God." He did not shout, but his deep voice carriedthrough the room.

  Slowly but with a terrible firmness he walked across the room. So quietwas the audience chamber that Daoud at the other end of the room couldhear the scrape of Baibars's boots on the three marble steps to thethrone. Baibars turned and sat on the throne, resting his hands on itsarms. He leaned back a little, and his eye seemed to rest on some spotabove and beyond the heads of those who watched him.

  Mansur ibn Ziri turned to an officer of the halkha. "Let runners be sentto El Kahira. Let them tell the people, 'Pray for God's mercy on ElMalik al-Mudhaffar Qutuz. Pray for the long life of your SultanBaibars.'"

  _Let me hail him first_, thought Daoud. _And if he wants to kill me forwhat I did, let it be now._

  Trembling with exhilaration, he strode through the crowd and up thecenter of the room toward the throne. "Lord Sultan!" he said in a loudvoice, "El Malik Dahir! Victorious King!"

  He dropped to his knees and prostrated himself, striking his forehead onthe hard, cold floor.

  * * * * *

  Hearing a knock at his chamber door, Daoud rolled up the slip of thinparchment and dropped it into the purse at his belt.

  Sordello entered at his command, greeting and saluting him.

  "I see you are one of us, Messer David."

  "One of who?"

  Sordello pointed to the writing desk where Daoud had been standing andthe sheaf of quill pens. "One who had his letters. I write down all mysongs."

  Daoud had no wish to feel kinship with Sordello. The bravo had notbothered to clean the whiskers from his face for several days, and therewas untidy-looking gray stubble, like fur, under his nose and on hischeeks and chin. A man should grow a beard, Daoud thought, or keep hischeeks smooth.

  "What brings you to me?" Daoud asked curtly.

  "The Count de Gobignon sent a message to me by way of Ana, the Bulgarianwoman. Would you care to read it?"

  De Gobignon's note read: "The lady Sophia, Cardinal Ugolini's niece, hasrepresented herself to me as an honest woman who knows nothing ofpolitics and takes sides neither for nor against the Tartar alliance.Find out if she is telling the truth. Report to me in three days' time."

  Daoud felt pleased with himself. Turning Sordello into a spy for himselfwas yielding useful results. It was not surprising that the Frenchmanwas suspicious of Sophia. She was so close to the party opposing thealliance; how could he think otherwise? But now, Daoud thought happily,they had the means to put his suspicions to rest.

  Daoud handed the note back to Sordello, saying, "That is short and tothe point, but he does not tell you how you are to learn whether MadonnaSophia is telling him the truth or not."

  "I could tell him that I have sung at dinner for the cardinal'shousehold," said Sordello. "I could report a conversation at table whichshows Madonna Sophia to be the innocent he would like to think she is."

  "You keep talking about your songs and your singing," Daoud said."Answer me truly--are you any good at those things?"

  Sordello shrugged. "I could claim to be one of the finest trovatores inall Italy, but if I did, you would rightfully ask why I have to make myliving as a hired man-at-arms. So I will say only that I am good enoughthat I wish I could spend all my time making poetry and singing."

  A worthy wish, Daoud thought. Hearing his careful self-estimate, Daoud'srespect for the man increased a bit.

  "Then you _will_ sing at the cardinal's table. Your suggestion is a goodone. I will also arrange for you to be with Madonna Sophia at othertimes as well, so that you can honestly claim to know something abouther."

  "Very good, Messer David." Sordello turned to go, then turned backagain. "Messere?"

  "Yes?"

  "Do you think you might send me on another trip to paradise sometimesoon?" The eager light in his eyes sickened Daoud.

  "Do your work well, and I will see that you are properly r
ewarded."

  Sordello left, and Daoud brooded over his shame at what he had done tothe man--turned him into something less than human, less than animal, akind of demon with a single appetite.

  After a moment he forced himself to put that out of his mind. A fighterin jihad, holy war, must do many an ugly thing, but all was for thegreater glory of God.