Byzantium

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  I did love Kazimain, I swear it. But it was not love for her that wakened or nurtured my desire. Christ have mercy, even as she stood offering me the gift of herself, I saw but a way to fulfill the promise I had made to my friends. Revenge was all that mattered to me. Poor Kazimain was merely a convenient means by which this vengeance might be achieved. This, and no kindly regard for that beautiful, trusting soul, is what kindled my passion. I do freely confess this so that all may know what manner of man I had become.

  Of my priestly vows, I had no qualm whatsoever. God had forsaken me, and I him. That part of my life was over; insofar as I was concerned, it was God, not me, who had died in Byzantium. So be it.

  The next day I prepared for the amir’s return, practising what I would say to him. Kazimain and I saw each other only once, and that briefly. She said that to avoid suspicion, she had arranged for another to bring my evening meal. We parted then, and I spent a restless night turning the matter over and over in my mind.

  Lord Sadiq returned as expected at midday, and his arrival threw the entire household into a flurry of excitement. I kept myself out of sight, watching the activity from the roof garden, which had become my haunt as no one else seemed ever to go there. The horses of his bodyguard clattered into the street, clearing the way. Two of the rafiq dismounted and went inside to announce their lord’s arrival, while the others ranged themselves outside. Meanwhile, servants, slaves, wives, and children hastened out into the street to bid him welcome. They shouted greetings and waved squares of coloured cloth as he rode into view.

  Even from my rooftop roost I could tell that the amir was in no gentle mood. Without a word he threw himself from the saddle, bowed stiffly to his wives, and then strode rapidly into the house. This, I thought, boded ill for my plans. True, I did not know what was on his mind to upset him so, but in all likelihood my request would not be greeted with delight.

  Still, I did not see any other course open to me. I could wait until the amir was in a better mood, but depending on what was troubling him, I might wait in vain. In the meantime, my position as a guest in his house could change at any moment. Regardless of the outcome, my best chance was to act now.

  I prepared myself for the encounter. When I heard footsteps rushing up the stairs to the roof, I knew that the moment had come.

  “Lord Sadiq demands your presence,” said the servant who had been sent to fetch me. “You are to come at once.”

  I inclined my head in submission to the request. “I am ready,” I told him. “You may lead me to him.”

  The servant bridled at this. Was I not a slave, like him? But I had schooled my manner well. No more would I behave as a slave. Mine would be the imperious demeanour of the amir himself.

  Nevertheless, as the doors were flung open to his reception room and I glimpsed the amir sitting on his great chair, his face contorted by a vicious scowl, my new-found resolve deserted me. Faysal stood behind him, arms crossed over his chest, the frown on his face matching that of his lord’s. I gulped down a deep breath, gritted my teeth and forced my feet to shuffle ahead. The servant saw my dismay and smiled in derision. This angered me, and I plucked up my flagging courage and strode into the glaring amir’s receiving room as if I were the Holy Roman Emperor himself.

  The first words out of the amir’s mouth, however, all but destroyed my fledgling determination. “You did not tell me you were a spy for the emperor,” he charged. “I should have let them kill you. It would have saved me the trouble.” He clapped his hands sharply, and three of his warriors rushed forth, seized me by the arms, and forced me to my knees. Another warrior approached, carrying a curved axe on a pole.

  “Well?” demanded the amir. “Have you anything to say before you die?”

  53

  I will speak,” I said, forcing strength to my voice. “But I will not beg for my life on my knees. You demand an explanation, Lord Sadiq, and I will give it—only, allow me to stand before you like a man.”

  These words both surprised and, I think, pleased the amir. Like many men of power and influence he respected courage and plain-speaking. He gave a twitch of his hand and the warriors raised me to my feet. I stood, smoothed my clothes, and stepped forward. Though trembling inside, I forced myself to appear calm and unconcerned.

  “So!” snapped the amir impatiently. “You are standing like a man. Explain yourself—if you can. I am waiting.”

  “I will explain, lord,” I said, “but as a guest in your house, I would first make one request.”

  His face hardened at these words and his dark eyes narrowed dangerously. Clearly, he did not like me invoking the demand of hospitality. He glowered at me murderously, his voice a coiled serpent about to strike as he inquired, “What is this request?”

  “I ask your permission to marry Kazimain, your kinswoman.”

  Lord Sadiq stared at me as if I had lost my mind. Perhaps I had, for until the words were out of my mouth, I had not truly intended to say them. Indeed, it had occurred to me to request my freedom instead. Had I done so, however, I would never have been able to see Kazimain again and on my own, I had no chance at all of obtaining my revenge. At the last instant, I had asked the greater boon knowing full well it would be denied. Far better, I decided, to die trying than never having tried at all. In the end, if blood were to flow, it made little difference whether I was slaughtered as a goat or a lamb.

  “Marry Kazimain!” A look of amazement transformed the amir’s features. He shook his head slowly as if he had been struck a blow. “Can I believe my ears?” he demanded, and stared around him as if he expected an answer. Before I could speak, he shouted. “No! It is impossible! I should kill you now and rid the world of your impudence!”

  “As a guest in your house,” I replied with all the composure I could muster, “I must demand that you honour the claims of hospitality.”

  “What do you know of such things?” he roared. “You are a slave in this house!”

  “A slave I may be, lord,” I conceded, “yet until such time as my position in your household has been decided, I remain a guest under your roof.” He grimaced at my allusion to his own words, but said nothing. Faysal’s frown, however, had altered to an expression of astonished admiration.

  “The words were yours, not mine,” I said. “The physician Farouk was kind enough to translate for me. If there is any doubt, I am certain he will recall the conversation.”

  “Yes! Yes!” Sadiq cried impatiently. He whirled away from me, stalked to his chair and flung himself down in it. He sat glaring at me for a moment. “Well? Will you yet speak?”

  “I would be most happy to tell you whatever you wish to know, lord,” I replied evenly. “First, however, I require an answer to my request.”

  “And I have already told you!” he shouted. “It is impossible; a woman of nobility cannot marry a slave. The disgrace would be past enduring. Then there is the matter of faith: you are a Christian, she is a Muslim, and that is the end of it.”

  “For my part, I am willing to embrace Islam for her,” I told him, squaring my shoulders. “But, if our marriage is impossible, I have nothing further to say.” Strange to tell, but my pretence of defiance actually made me feel more bold. I returned Sadiq a steady gaze, courage mounting with every thumping beat of my heart.

  The amir stared at me balefully. “You are a slave and a traitor,” he intoned.

  “A slave I may be, lord,” I answered. “But I am no traitor. If someone has suggested this to you, he is either mistaken or a liar.”

  The amir turned his head to look at Faysal, who only gazed back in bewilderment. “Never have I encountered such audacity,” declared Sadiq. “Is this the gratitude my benevolence has earned?”

  “What manner of benevolence is it that seeks the death of the guest who shelters beneath the amir’s protection?” I charged, and at once feared I had pressed him too far.

  He growled and dismissed my question with a flick of his hand. I pressed my attack with a brazen disregard for
life and limb. “Consider, O Benevolent One,” I said, stepping forward a pace, “that marriage creates strong ties of blood. Naturally, a man constrained by such bonds would not betray his lord, for to do so would be to betray himself. Who but the most vile and contemptible craven would even ponder such a thing?”

  Amir Sadiq cocked his head to one side and gave me a long, grudging look, then looked away as if the sight wearied him. “No doubt it was a mistake to teach you to speak. But as you have found your tongue,” he said, affecting scorn and impatience, “please continue.”

  “Kazimain and I wish to be married,” I stated. “You say it is impossible since I am a Christian and a slave. Yet, I am willing to convert, and you hold it in your power to grant my freedom. Do it, Lord Sadiq. Perform the impossible, and men will marvel at your power—”

  “Men will marvel at my foolishness!” he sneered.

  “No.” I shook my head slowly. “Your generosity and sagacity will become legendary. For in one bold act you will have freed a man beholden to you and secured him with ties more binding than any slave’s chain could ever be—ties of loyalty and blood.”

  Lord Sadiq said nothing for a long moment; he simply sat staring, his gaze deep and searching. I stood assured before him, confident in my claim. Incredibly, I felt no fear. I had cast my lot and could do no more; it remained for him to decide my fate.

  The amir clapped his hands and I thought he would proceed with the execution. Instead, Sadiq shouted, “Bring Kazimain!”

  We waited in silence while servants went to fetch the young woman. The amir said nothing, but remained carefully watchful—as if he thought I might vanish in a wisp of smoke if he did not keep an eye on me. For myself, I bore the waiting easily, secure in my new-found confidence.

  Soon, Kazimain appeared, hastened into the hall by two of the amir’s bodyguard who led her to stand before the amir and then took their places with the other warriors standing behind us. Kazimain did not look at me; she kept her eyes on Lord Sadiq all the while. To her credit, she betrayed neither fear nor alarm, but maintained an impassive expression. There was, I thought, more than a hint of determination in the set of her jaw, and her glance remained keen.

  “I have loved you like a daughter, Kazimain,” Sadiq said quietly. “Therefore, it distresses me to hear the lies this man has been speaking about you.”

  “Lies, amir?” she wondered. “What lies are these?”

  “He says that you two wish to be married,” replied Sadiq. “He says that you have agreed to this. I suspect it is nothing more than a clumsy ruse thrown up like dust before a wind to distract me from his genuine motives. I would know the truth.”

  “If these are the lies that you find so distressing,” she replied coolly, “then allow me to put your mind at rest.” The amir’s quick smirk of satisfaction faded at once as she continued, saying, “Aidan is not lying. He is telling the truth.”

  She said it so calmly that the amir did not seem to hear at first. He made to rise from his chair and then stopped in mid-motion and fell back again. “Kazimain,” he implored, “do you know what this means?”

  “I know when someone has asked me to marry,” she answered smoothly. “And I know well when I have agreed.”

  Lord Sadiq looked from her to me and back again, tapping the arms of his chair with his fingertips. “What if I said that I thought you were saying these things merely to save his worthless life?”

  “If you were to tell me such a thing, my lord,” Kazimain replied without hesitation, “then I would say that it is the amir who is telling lies. The truth is that Allah has brought us together and, out of obedience, we wish to be married.”

  “He is a slave, Kazimain,” the amir pointed out.

  “Who holds the power to change that,” wondered Kazimain, “if not the amir himself?”

  “That is what he said,” grumbled Sadiq. He tapped the arms of his chair for a long moment. I could see him struggling to grasp the implications of the circumstances arrayed before him. Sure, the thing had taken a strange leap; he was no longer certain what to say or do.

  Here, Faysal endeavoured to help. The amir’s advisor stepped forward and bent to whisper in his ear. Sadiq listened, nodded, then said, “Before I could grant such a request as this man has made, I must be certain in my heart that he was not a spy sent here to help bring our people to destruction.”

  “As to that,” I said, “I have offered to tell you whatever you wish to know once I have obtained my request.”

  “I must have more than that!” snapped the amir. “You are asking gold and rubies of me, but offering only dung and pebbles in return.”

  We had reached an impasse; neither of us could move without giving valuable ground to the other. Kazimain took it on herself to break the deadlock.

  “My Lord Sadiq,” she said, “is not a spy by nature scheming and duplicitous? What schemes has this man fomented? What duplicity have you discovered in him?”

  “None,” admitted the amir. “Yet, lack of discovery does not mean there has been no deception. A spy will necessarily be skilled in hiding his deceit.”

  “Thus,” pursued Kazimain, “lack of deceit becomes proof of deception. Innocence confirms guilt. If that is what justice has become, Wise Amir, then all men stand condemned.”

  “You twist my words, woman!” growled the amir. Turning his face to me, he said, “The accusation has been made and is yet to be denied.”

  By this I knew that he was softening. I decided to risk meeting him halfway. “Were I to gain approval to marry your kinswoman, the problem would cease to be important,” I pointed out.

  “You are saying this to save your life,” Sadiq maintained, but the fight was going out of him.

  “I am saying it because it is true,” I countered. “If it helps save my life, well and good. If not, you will have killed a loyal and trustworthy man, and one who has ever treated you with gratitude and honesty. I can say no more.”

  “If I grant you the approval you desire,” said the amir, his tone that of a horse-trader seeking to make the best of a bad bargain, “will you yet treat me with honesty and loyalty?” I opened my mouth to speak my affirmation of his offer, but he stopped me with a raised finger. “And will you answer all my questions to my complete satisfaction?” He lowered his hand, inviting my reply.

  “Lord Sadiq,” I told him, “whether my answers will indeed satisfy you, I cannot warrant. But you have my word that I will answer your questions in all truth.”

  “You expect me to rely on the word of a slave?” demanded the amir.

  “Even as my life depends upon yours,” I said. “For my part, I have seen enough to know that you are a man of honour who makes no vow he cannot fulfil. Whatever promise you undertake, I will trust it with my life.”

  This response pleased him inordinately. His smile was so quick and genuine, that his anger now seemed to have been mostly bluff. I had surprised him, but his greater interest lay in learning the truth. Threats were simply the quickest and surest way to obtain it.

  Turning to Kazimain, he adopted a gravid air once more, saying, “It is shameful for a woman of a noble house to marry a slave.” He paused, fingering his bearded chin thoughtfully. “We cannot allow our kinswoman to bear such a disgrace. Therefore, I suppose we must do something about the rank of this man whose proposal of marriage you have accepted.”

  Turning to me, he proclaimed, “Aidan, you came to me a slave, but from this day you shall call no man master. With Allah, All Wise and Compassionate, as my witness, I return to you your freedom.”

  “Thank you, Lord Sadiq,” I said, bowing with genuine gratitude.

  “You are free, my friend,” he said. “Go in peace.”

  I do not know if this last was said to trick me, or confuse me into making a blunder, but I told him, “I am content to remain at your side as long as you will have me. I would consider it both duty and joy to serve you in some small way.”

  Sadiq beamed with pleasure. “The choice is
yours.” Motioning to Faysal, who leaned near, he said, “The apartments vacated by my former advisor have been unused these past two years; see that they are prepared at once. Also, the silver formerly paid for these services will from this day be paid to Aidan.”

  “Lord Sadiq,” I protested quickly, “I ask nothing more than I have already been given. I am a man of simple needs; it is more than enough.”

  “You, my friend, are a man soon to acquire a wife and, in due course, Allah willing, many children. Your days of simplicity are, I fear, quickly approaching an end. In any event, I could not possibly allow my kinswoman to marry a fellow lacking the means to support her properly.”

  “I am overwhelmed by your generosity, my lord, but—”

  The amir raised an admonitory hand. “Try me in this,” he insisted. “I know whereof I speak.” He stood and spread his arms wide. “Now then, allow me to be the first of many to extol your impending marriage, and offer my felicitations.”

  Kazimain ran to her uncle, throwing herself into his embrace. She kissed him on both cheeks and kissed his hands also. I followed, stepping forward somewhat awkwardly—still trying to comprehend what had just happened to me—gripped his hands and embraced him. Kazimain thanked him, and I thanked him; she kissed both of us many times and, with tears gleaming in her eyes, proclaimed it the happiest day of her life.

  Then, before I could speak even a word to her, she darted away, saying that she must tell everyone what had come about. She disappeared from the hall in a rush.

  “I believe you must be touched by God,” the amir said, watching her go. “The man who has won Kazimain’s heart has claimed a treasure worth many kingdoms. One day you must tell me how you accomplished this remarkable feat.”

  “That is a secret,” I replied, “I shall guard with my life.”