But, I race ahead of myself. The caliph’s envoy did not arrive in the city until twenty days later, and we did not meet him for seven days after that. All of which gave me a long, unobstructed view of friend Nikos; and what I saw confirmed what Justin had said of the seemingly loyal, devoted courtier: here was a ruthless and dangerous man.
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The Amir J’Amal Sadiq arrived twenty days after our own landing, as I say; he approached the city on horseback, leading a retinue of noblemen, slaves, and other servants numbering well into the hundreds, along with herds of sheep, cattle, and horses. Receiving word of his approach, Nikos dispatched the imperial bodyguard to the city gate to escort the Arabs into the city.
The amir advanced at the head of his company directly to the shadow of the gate, then stopped. His was the first Arabian face I had ever seen, and it seemed to me the visage of a bird of prey: sharp featured, lordly, proud. His skin was dark brown; his eyes, hair, and beard were deepest black. He wore white: from the top of his head, wrapped in a long winding cloth called a turban, to the soles of his feet, encased in fine white leather boots. The brightness of his snow-white clothing against the darkness of his skin and hair made for a striking appearance.
The envoy did not enter the city that first day; instead, he sent a messenger to beg of the magister permission to occupy the flat land at the river’s edge below the city’s eastern rampart, for the Arabs would not stay within the city, but insisted on erecting their tents outside the walls. Tents, yes, but not crude skin structures stretched with rope over poles; they were as far from that as mud huts from a palace. The tents of the amir were made of cloth woven of a multitude of colours, and most had multiple rooms within.
They raised these tents on the banks of the river which passed beside the city, and there they remained for three days without stirring from the camp. And then, early in the morning on the fourth day, a messenger from the camp appeared at the door of the eparch’s palace bearing a small blue-enamelled box.
As it chanced, Nikos was in the city and the eparch was breaking fast in the courtyard; the first people the messenger encountered were the ten barbarians Nikos insisted stand guard every moment of the day and night. Not knowing anything else to do, they called me to speak to the man. Since Constantinople, the Sea Wolves had come to value me as a mediator between them and the Greek-speakers, who they thought spoke gibberish. As they could not make themselves known to anyone else, the bodyguard at the door came to me. “A man has come, Aeddan,” said the Dane named Sig.
I went outside to meet an Arab on a pale, sand-coloured horse. Seeing that I was but a slave, he dispensed with the formal salutation, and said simply, “May the peace of Allah be upon you. I bring greetings in the name of my master the amir.” The messenger spoke in precise, unhesitating Greek and asked if the time were convenient to speak to the eparch.
“If you would come with me,” I replied, “I will take you to him.”
Sliding from the saddle, he followed me, walking a pace behind and to the right. I brought him to the courtyard where he greeted the eparch more formally, apologized for disturbing his meal, and placed the blue box in the eparch’s hands, saying, “A gift from Lord Sadiq, who will be pleased to receive the eparch tomorrow at the hour he finds most felicitous.”
“Please tell your master that I would be delighted to attend him. I will come at midday.”
“As you will.” Raising his hands shoulder high, palm outwards, the messenger bowed once, and departed without another word.
The eparch was in the habit of eating his first meal of the day alone at a small table in the courtyard; sometimes a brazier was placed beside the table to take the chill from the morning air. Though the sunlight was thin and the days were not warm, with or without the brazier’s fire he preferred the open air of the courtyard to any other room. When the messenger departed, I turned to leave him in peace. Putting out a hand to me, he said, “Stay, Aidan. We will see what the amir has sent me.”
I took my accustomed place beside his chair and asked, “What is this ‘hour’ of which he spoke?”
Eparch Nicephorus turned in his seat and addressed me as a teacher might an esteemed pupil. “Ah!” he said, extending his forefinger to the sky above. “The Arabs conceive of the day as divided into twelve courses—a wheel of twelve spokes, you see—each corresponding to one of the zodiacal phases. It is their belief that the sun passes through these twelve phases as it moves through the day. They hold each division to contain the aspect most favourable for various activities, and do nothing without first consulting the heavens in order to determine the best course for any action they contemplate.”
The Arabs then were extending the same courtesy to the eparch which they themselves expected. The eparch understood this, and he appreciated the nobility behind it. Laying aside his plate, he took up the enamelled box and opened it; inside was a single diamond the size of a wren’s egg lying in a nest of red silk. Removing the gem, he held it before him, turning it in the morning sun. It glittered hard fire in the yet dim light of the courtyard.
Nikos appeared at that moment, saw us talking, and stiffened. His smile was once more in place by the time he reached the table. “I see the greeting has come at last,” he said, indicating the blue box with its costly gem.
“The amir will receive us tomorrow,” the eparch said. “We will go to him at midday, I think. They consider that propitious.”
“With all respect, eparch,” replied Nikos stiffly, “would it not be better to summon them to attend us here—and at a time of our choosing? We should not be seen to obey their summons.”
“It is a fine point you raise,” allowed the eparch, “but inappropriate to the particular circumstance.”
“On the contrary,” said Nikos, “it is most pertinent. With respect, eparch, I would not like our leniency to be misconstrued as vacillation or weakness. We should command them to attend us—not the other way around.”
“It is never weakness to show good will toward those one hopes to persuade,” replied Nicephorus gently. “The amir will recognize the generosity of our acceptance, and consider it accordingly.” The eparch raised an admonitory finger. “These Arabs are a proud race; they do not willingly allow themselves to remain in debt or obligation to anyone. You would do well to remember this.”
“Of course, eparch.” Nikos inclined his head in a stiff bow and withdrew. I did not see him again until the next day when we assembled the party that was to greet Amir Sadiq—and then I saw why: Nikos had arranged, at considerable pains, for a number of horse-drawn chariots to take us to the Arab camp.
Eparch Nicephorus emerged from the house, took one look at the long line of chariots awaiting us in the street, and said, “Send them away, Nikos. Send them away! We will walk to the amir’s camp.”
Blinking in disbelief, the komes said, “Walk? With all respect, eparch, we cannot be seen to walk.”
“Why not?” asked the eparch lightly. “People walk here and there about the earth, their business to perform. This I have seen myself, and, try as I might, find no shame in it.”
“But the magister and the officials—they will deem it improper and undignified to walk.”
“I was not aware that we were trying to impress the magister and his minions with our exalted position.”
“Eparch, please, I would not have expected you to adopt this tone. Believe me, I care as little as you for the opinion of the magister. But it is the amir’s opinion we must consider now.”
“Then let me reassure you,” said Nicephorus, “it is my sole consideration.”
“No less than mine, eparch—”
“Is it?” The eparch’s voice became firm, and his eye keen. “I do wonder, Nikos.” Dismissing the matter, he said, “But never mind. The amir is waiting; let us depart. Bring the gifts.”
Nicephorus started off down the street alone. Nikos watched him for a moment, and I saw the rage welling up within him; he all but shook with fury. Then, as quickly a
s it had flared, he forced the anger down again. Turning quickly, he signalled Harald to send the bodyguard ahead.
The magister, waiting a little distance apart with a group of city officials, came forward then. “I see the eparch has changed his mind,” he said, watching the lanky old man striding down the street.
“Unfortunately, yes,” agreed Nikos with seeming reluctance. “I fear we must accustom ourselves to his unpredictable humours.”
That was all he said, but the doubt sown with those few words would quickly grow to a sizeable crop.
By the time our party reached Trebizond’s eastern gate, Nikos had arranged us in well-ordered ranks, reclaiming some semblance of the pomp he had hoped to inspire. Passing through the gate, we crossed the ditch bridge and proceeded in procession towards the camp. Seeing that we approached on foot, Amir Sadiq mounted a welcome party and met us on the way.
I will never forget the sight of him, sitting on his fine grey horse, dressed all in white, dazzling in the pale winter sunlight. He reined in his mount, slipped from the saddle in a single, fluid motion, and advanced open-handed to greet the eparch. The caliph’s envoy was not a big man, but he exuded an air of such dignity and dominion that he seemed to tower over all around him. He was lithe, rather than muscled, and moved with the grace and subtlety of a cat.
Though they had never met before, the amir strode directly to Nicephorus and bowed. He said something in Arabic which sounded like, Al il’allah, and then, without the least hesitation said, “Greetings in the name of the Great al’Mutamid, by All Wise Allah, Khalifa of the Abbasids. I am J’Amal Sadiq, Amir of the Abbasid Sarazens, and I welcome you to my camp.”
The eparch inclined his head in acknowledgement of the salutation. “Greetings, Amir Sadiq. In the name of the most noble Basil, by the grace of God, Elect of Heaven, Co-Regent of Christ on Earth, Emperor of the Romans, I welcome you,” replied the eparch. “I am your servant, Nicephorus.”
“You must now forgive me, Eparch Nicephorus,” said the amir, “I have exhausted my small store of Greek words. From now on I will employ the aid of my advisor.” Raising his hands, he clapped them twice, and said, “Faysal!”
A young man, only slightly older than myself, appeared beside his master as if out of nowhere. I recognized him at once as the messenger who had brought the invitation the previous day. Bowing low, Faysal proceeded to relate the words of his master to the Greek-speakers present. Facing one another, eparch and amir traded additional greetings and salutations for a time, including those of the lesser officials of both sides in their turn. They then exchanged gifts: gold armbands for the amir, and a gold bowl for the eparch.
“It is our custom,” said J’Amal Sadiq through his interpreter, “to take refreshment at this time of day. I would deem it the greatest of honours if you would consent to join me in my tent.”
“The honour, Amir Sadiq, would be ours entirely,” replied the eparch. “But we could not consider setting foot inside your tent without extracting from you a promise to dine with us another day.”
“Most certainly,” answered the amir. “I will await the day with enormous anticipation.”
The delegation then proceeded to the tent, which stood centermost in the midst of the camp. As Harald was to remain outside the tent with his barbarian guardsmen, I took my place beside him to wait, thinking that would be as close as I would get to the proceedings. But, as the eparch stepped to the entrance of the tent, he half-turned, looked around him—noting the magister and spatharius, Nikos, and the others making up his party—then saw me standing with Harald. “You there! Priest!” he called, more gruffly than was usual when no one else was near. “Come here. You will attend me.”
“We do not need him,” said Nikos quickly. “Let the slave remain outside with the barbarians where he belongs.”
Turning on Nikos suddenly, almost fiercely, the eparch charged, “Do you speak Arabic?”
“You know I do not,” answered Nikos, frowning at the question. “But—”
“Then you need bother yourself no further with my decision,” replied the eparch archly. Turning once more to me, he said, “Follow me.”
I saw the komes’s eyes narrow as I stepped past him. Once inside the tent, I confessed: “Eparch, I do not speak Arabic.” I whispered so as not to be overheard.
“Do you not?” he wondered absently, and spoke in such a way that I could not tell if he knew this fact before I told him, or not. “Never mind, it makes no difference.”
Altogether, the delegation made a party numbering close to thirty, with another fifteen or so Arabs in attendance. The tent held us all, and with room to spare. We sat on the floor, but that is not to say we sat on the ground. No; for the ground, which had been but grass and dirt, was now transformed into a patchwork of brilliant colour, owing to the Arab habit of flooring their tents with thick-woven lengths of cloth of the most striking design and colour—every colour known to the weaver’s art, in fact. The effect of these coverings, or rugs, was to bewitch the eye, even as their design delighted the intellect. Along with the rugs, which formed a handsome floor, there were cushions for leaning or sitting upon—all of which made for as comfortable and satisfactory a shelter as I have encountered anywhere.
When we had all assembled inside the tent, the amir ordered the refreshment to be served. This he accomplished without uttering a word; a simple clap of his hands, and immediately, a dozen servants appeared bearing silver platters, each dish larger than the last, and each containing foods the like of which I had never seen. The biggest platter held a whole roast lamb and required the strength of two slaves to carry it.
The platters were placed within reach of the guests on low wooden tripods, whereupon the servants retreated, only to be replaced by others bearing silver jars and trays of silver cups. A hot drink was poured out and the cups distributed to one and all, myself included. Taking his cup, the amir raised it, spoke a brief burst of Arabic, and then drank; the rest of us followed his example, placing our lips to the rim to sip the steaming liquid, which tasted of flowers and honey. It was hot and sweet, but refreshing for that.
The amir then showed us how to dip from the platters, holding our sleeves with the left hand and using the fingers of the right hand to select the choice morsels. Some of the delegation from Trebizond grumbled at this manner of eating, begrudging the lack of knives; they picked among the platters like fastidious birds, none too courteous in their comments, nor over concerned, it seemed to me, with offending their host. But Nicephorus behaved regally, licking his fingers and smacking his lips in appreciation of the delicacies before him. For delicacies they were, of that I have no doubt.
For his part, Amir Sadiq professed himself delighted that the eparch should enjoy himself so. Several times, he chose out a particular tid-bit and gave it to the eparch. This, I quickly learned, was a gesture of friendship; to be fed by the hand of the noble ruler was considered an especial honour among them.
They ate, and when the appetites of the officials and their men were met, I—along with the other servants—was given to eat of several of the dishes, and found them strange to my taste, but not overly disagreeable. One or two contained a potent spice which produced heat in my mouth and warmed me so that the sweat stood out on my forehead. I thought I might swoon, but the feeling passed.
While eating, the eparch and the amir talked. Alas, I was not close enough to hear what they said, but they seemed to find the measure of one another quickly, and were not displeased with what they found. The eating and talk continued in a leisurely way until there came the sound of someone wailing outside the tent. The voice droned on in an undulating chant, and we all fell silent to hear it, save the amir, who rose, bowed to the eparch, spoke a word and departed. His men followed him, leaving only the servants and translator behind.
“Please,” said the young man, “my lord Sadiq begs to be excused as it is his hour to pray. But you are his honoured guests and you are welcome to remain as long as you wish. Eat and d
rink your fill.”
The eparch rose and said, “You will convey our thanks to your lord, and tell him that we have enjoyed ourselves in his company. It is with deepest regret that we must leave.”
We left the camp and returned to the city, and to the governor’s house where the eparch began preparations for receiving the Arabs.
This, then, began my first acquaintance with the Muhammedans, who, I promptly learned, were not pagans, as I had first supposed, but a people who worshipped the same God as Christians and Jews, and, like them, revered the Holy Word. They knew somewhat of Jesu, but, like the Jews, did not hold him to be the Christ. Nevertheless, they were extremely devout, and very exacting in their ways and lived according to a set of laws laid down in a book, the Qur’an, written by one called Muhammed, a mighty prophet indeed. The chief tenet of their belief was, as I came to understand it, complete and utter submission to the will of God, a state which they called islam.
That night, as I lay in my bed, in the palatial house in Trebizond, I dreamed again.
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In the between-place where waking and sleeping meet, I found myself standing in darkness. The features of the room could not be seen, but it was cool and damp, and I could hear shouts and cries of men echoing, as if at a distance, along stone corridors. The room where I stood was foul with the stink of urine and excrement, and acrid smoke.
I did not know how I came to be there, nor what sort of place it was. Nor could I recall how long I had been in this room—if room it was. But I heard the cries of men all around, and it seemed to me that I was waiting, and perhaps had been waiting a long time for someone to arrive, though why…I could not say.
I became aware of some other presence in the room. I raised my eyes and saw a man standing before me. This man was of the brown-skinned race, and stood glaring at me, his arms folded across his chest, as if offended by the sight of me.
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