The City of Silk and Steel Page 4

  ‘When the heavy feet had certainly gone, she moved the straw aside a little and peered out, wondering how she could find her way home. She had seen blood on the fat man’s mouth before she ran: she could expect no mercy if he caught her. But as she stirred she heard a new sound: the clop of hooves outside, and then a man’s voice. He drove the beast straight into the hut; she had to scramble away from its feet. It was not a camel. Its coat was sleek and as black as the night, its face long and gentle.’

  ‘It was just a horse, wasn’t it?’ said Hayat.

  ‘It was, but the girl had never seen one before,’ Gursoon told her.

  ‘Her wonder at the sight made her slow, and the man saw her as he came in. He filled the doorway so she could not run, a tall, broad man. But there was no threat in his face, only puzzlement.

  ‘ “Who are you?” he asked. His voice was accented like those of the nomad traders who came to the market sometimes with dates and palm wine. “What are you doing here?”

  ‘Since there was no escape, she answered him boldly. “I’m a dancer. But the man in there thought I was something else, so I ran away.”

  ‘The young man thought for a moment. “I think you need to leave his house, then,” he said. “Where do you live?”

  ‘He sat her in front of him on the horse. She had never ridden any beast before and the motion was strange and uncomfortable, but the wind in her face was a joy as they sped away from the fat man’s house. The young man had visited her village before and knew the way, he said, even by night. His name was Fouad. He belonged to a nomad tribe which caught and trained horses, but he had quarrelled with his brother and left to find work in the town. The horse they rode was the prized property of the fat man, and Fouad had been hired to tend and groom it. He described his human master as a skinflint, a glutton and a terrible horseman. “Much worse than you,” he said. He made the girl laugh.

  ‘They reached the village at first light and Fouad helped her to climb down. He had to return at once he said: his master would beat him for taking Belshazar out at night. His skin was very dark, and his hair curled tightly like a cluster of grapes. His eyes were long, slanted and green in colour. The girl had never seen such eyes, as pale as the slanting light along the horizon.

  ‘ “I would like to see you again,” the young man said, and the girl said, “I’d like that too.”

  ‘Her parents shouted and wept when they saw what she was wearing, but they did not beat her, nor ask many questions: they were afraid of the answers she might give. They forbade her to see her teacher again, which the girl was happy to promise. The next time the old woman saw her in the market she shook her fist at the girl, and cursed her as she walked away.

  ‘When Fouad appeared to court her, her parents thought they understood what she had done that night, and scolded her again. But they were pleased that her suitor was such a strong young man, who looked well able to support her. They gave their consent.

  ‘Strong and fine as he was, though, Fouad had no money, and the girl no dowry but dried fish. But each of them had a skill, and they trusted to their strength and luck to make their fortunes. Fouad left his skinflint master and returned to his tribe, working for a share in the next horse they sold. And one day he came to the girl in high excitement. The midsummer festival was coming, and the sultan of the city of Bessa had called for displays and festivities in the town square. His viziers would pay well for skilled dancers, both men and women, to lead the celebrations.

  ‘The girl’s father was shocked: public dancing! But Fouad had seen such displays before, and assured him that there was no immodesty in them: ladies and children could watch them, he promised. He himself would accompany the girl as her brother, and he vowed on his life that no harm or insult would come to her. And the money would be enough to allow them to marry. He borrowed a mare from his tribe, giving them all his savings as security, and the two of them made the weeklong journey to Bessa.

  ‘There was a press of people outside the house of the master of ceremonies, but Fouad’s horse made an easy path for them. The girl found herself among a crowd of women and girls, being ushered into a dusty courtyard where a fierce woman not unlike her old teacher made them stand in rows and follow her movements. The girl was the youngest there, and some of the others threw her sidelong glances of disapproval, but the old mistress nodded at her. She was chosen as one of the thirty women dancers, and Fouad, as her brother, was given a hundred dirham in payment. It was more than enough for a dowry.

  ‘That week was the finest of the girl’s life. Fouad had to leave her in the protection of the old mistress until the day of the festival, but she knew they would be together soon, and forever. Joy made her feet light. She laughed through the long sessions of practice while the other women moaned about their sore feet. She slept in the corner of the courtyard, dreaming of Fouad, and woke to dance again. The day came, and she whirled out with the others, surrounded by the great buildings of Bessa and feeling herself the centre of the world – for there at the edge of the square, Fouad was watching her from the mare’s back, his face full of pride.’

  Gursoon paused, sighing.

  ‘She never thought that others might be watching as well.

  ‘When the festival ended, the two of them went back to the girl’s village to celebrate their betrothal. Her parents were overjoyed: they began to plan the biggest wedding that a poor fishing village could provide. Then, three days later, a messenger came to the village from Bessa.

  ‘He arrived with his own servants on four camels, and a crowd gathered around him at once, thinking him some great merchant. When he gave the name of the poor fisherman at the village’s edge they were astounded, but they led him there. And so it was in the presence of half the village that the girl learned she was summoned to join the sultan’s harem, chosen by the sultan himself, who had seen her dancing in the square and fallen in love.

  ‘Her first word, when she could speak, was “No.” But the messenger took it only as a sign of disbelief, and assured her that indeed, it was so. His master would not be denied. Her parents would be made rich for the rest of their lives – and he showed the bags of silver that he had brought to pay for her. At the sight her mother fainted, and her father, whose back had stiffened lately so he could hardly bend to his nets, let out a cry of joy. And Fouad, who was suddenly no more than her brother, stood still, his face as grey as the dry earth.’

  Gursoon’s voice had become slower and heavier. She stopped now, and closed her eyes as if the story was over.

  ‘Go on!’ cried Soraya. ‘Did she go to Bessa? What did Fouad do?’

  ‘What’s to tell?’ Gursoon sighed. ‘The sultan willed it. Next day the messenger placed the girl on one of the camels, and she said goodbye to her parents, who were still stunned with their loss and their good fortune. She could not see Fouad. Perhaps he was watching from a distance.’

  ‘And she never saw him again!’ sighed Huma, her eyes misting.

  Gursoon raised an eyebrow. ‘Did I say that?’

  Soraya nudged Huma hard, and they closed their mouths.

  ‘You know the palace. To a girl from the river, it was frightening. The size of it overwhelmed her. There were so many rooms! She could not tell the inside from the outside. But the other women were understanding: they explained things to her when she asked and left her alone when she cried. One of them took word to the sultan that the new girl was mourning for her family, and he allowed her two weeks before he called for her. And when he did . . . Well, he was not so very old, nor fat. Not then. And he was not brutal . . . he had perfect manners, always.

  ‘So the girl became a member of the harem. There was always enough to eat, and soft beds and beautiful gardens, luxuries that she had never dreamed of. In time she learned to live, not happily but in a kind of peace. The women around her gossiped and squabbled sometimes, but most were kind, and they helped her to send a message to her mother and father, paying one of the sultan’s scribes with a bracelet. Word ca
me back that her parents were respected people now. They lived in the largest house in the town, with two servants. They said nothing of Fouad.

  ‘The sultan sent for her nearly every night at first, then less often. She was one of his favourites still, but there were a hundred girls and women in the harem. And he had other affairs to trouble him: there was a land dispute with a neighbouring sultan and preparations for a war. From behind the window hangings, the younger girls of the seraglio would look out at the newly recruited men practising archery in the square. One day the girl saw Fouad among them.

  ‘He did not see her. He was fitting an arrow to his bowstring, scowling at the straw bales. She knew that look well: his frown of concentration when a task absorbed him.

  ‘But he had come there only to find her. When she was taken from him he had ridden away into the desert, wanting to forget his life. But after some days or weeks of wandering his mare was bitten by a snake and lamed, and he knew he must return to his people. The horse recovered, but Fouad could no longer settle to his old ways.

  When the tribe came next to the lands around Bessa, he learned that the sultan was paying young men to fight for him, and he volunteered, to the fury of his brother and uncles. He had been there for nearly a month when the girl saw him, training as a foot soldier. His tribe would not let him take one of its horses on such a wilful venture, and the sultan’s captains would not trust a new recruit to ride, however skilled he was.’

  ‘But, Auntie,’ objected Soraya, ‘how did the girl know all that, about how Fouad was feeling, and what his uncles thought? Did he tell her?’

  ‘Is this your story?’ Gursoon said. ‘Wait and listen!

  ‘From that morning on, the girl found a way to watch the practice ground every day, from the tower at the top of the women’s quarters, or through the branches of the orchard. On one of those days Fouad looked up, and her eyes met his. But she could never speak to him. And all too soon the men were marched off into the desert. She saw Fouad turn once and look up at the tower where the women were hidden. Then he went away with the others.

  ‘Well, that was a bad time. But she started to see that she was not alone. Other girls in the harem were fretting as well, for brothers or cousins. And one or two, like her, never spoke a name, but sneaked up whenever they could to the tower window to look out across the desert. With these she became friends in sorrow, and as they talked, a hatred grew in the girl for the business of war.

  ‘After many months the men began to return. It was nearly a year before Fouad came back. He was limping, and he had a great scar on his arm, but the girl’s heart leaped to see him. She knew the ways of the harem well enough by now to be able to speak to him. He was no more use for fighting, he told her, but because of his faithful service he had been given work in the sultan’s stables. And he stayed there. He had a rare skill with beasts, and the stablemaster came to value him so much that he was given a home with the palace servants.

  ‘So our girl’s time of sorrow was past, but she could not rejoice. She had friends now, and some of them were grieving. None was as fortunate as her, able to see her beloved close by and know he was well. And their sultan was a man of fierce honour, as touchy as a cobra: he was always in dispute over land, and the merest breath of an insult could provoke him to war.’

  Soraya darted a look at Jamal. But he and Zufir had drifted away and were throwing stones into the fire.

  ‘That was when a new purpose came to the girl’s life,’ Gursoon continued. ‘She talked with the others, and found out what pastimes the sultan enjoyed, and what foods; what irritated him and what soothed him. And the next time he was visited by his neighbour sultan’s emissary, and kicked the man out of the room and retired cursing to his study, the women were ready. They caught the messenger before he could leave, gave him a good meal and other hospitality, and sent him back to his master with a sweeter answer.

  ‘The girl herself, meanwhile, visited the sultan with honeyed wine and gentle looks. In the days that followed she schooled herself to do whatever was pleasing to him: she danced for him, and learned to play chess. She listened when he cursed his grasping neighbours and his heavy responsibilities, and gave him soft answers. And in time, over many months, he came to trust her, and to call for her whenever he was troubled, knowing that she would listen to him.

  ‘The whole household learned what to do. When their master was angry, he was offered the finest food and the sweetest music, and everyone gave way before him till he relented, feeling that here at least, he had the honour that was his due. Then the women suggested that their lord might show his greatness to his neighbours by inviting them to feasts rather than to battles. And when the other sultans round about came to the palace, they found such a welcome that they too were soothed. The sultan became famous for his great hospitality, and for many years there was peace between the kingdoms.

  ‘So that is the story. That’s how a poor village girl rose to be one of those who ruled the sultan.’

  The children considered this for a while. It was not the sort of ending they were used to hearing.

  ‘Thank you, Auntie,’ Soraya said at last. ‘That was a good story.’

  ‘But it’s not finished!’ Huma objected. ‘What happened to Fouad?’

  ‘Fouad? He lived to be old. He rose to be stable master in his turn, and never had to fight again.’

  ‘And did they really stop wars for ever? Just by being nice to the sultan?’

  ‘Did I say that? No, war always comes back. They kept peace for a time, that’s all. Long enough for Fouad, not for his children.’

  ‘Fouad had children?’ Soraya was shocked. ‘Did he marry someone else, then?’

  ‘No,’ said Gursoon shortly. ‘He was true to his first love.’

  ‘But in that case,’ Huma protested, ‘where did the children—’

  Gursoon was Soraya’s favourite among the aunties, for sure. But she had a scary way of looking at you sometimes, like the sultan’s falcon when you got too close to it. She used that look on the girls now.

  ‘The Increate provides,’ she said.

  Soraya and Huma exchanged a quick glance and fell silent.

  There was a small commotion beyond the fire. Zufir’s mother dragged her son and Jamal back to their place, scolding them in frightened whispers. They had thrown their stones too far. One of the men at the big fire was standing, looking around him and calling out angrily. Soraya clung to Gursoon’s soft thigh; everyone was suddenly very still. Then another of the guards said something in a jeering tone, and all of them laughed. The standing man shrugged and sat down again.

  No one felt like talking any more. They watched the bulky shapes of the men through the flames, willing them not to turn round again. Finally Zufir broke the silence, in a voice as scratchy as a cricket’s.

  ‘What will those men do with us, Auntie?’

  ‘Nothing bad,’ Gursoon said firmly. ‘They’re too afraid of their master to disobey him. They’ll take us to Perdondaris as they’ve been ordered, and we’ll join a new household. There are rules for such things. The Caliph will respect those rules: he’ll find us a place.’

  ‘He’ll do more than that!’ Jamal broke in. ‘When he hears who I am he’ll reward all of you for saving me. And he’ll help me get my revenge.’

  If Soraya had been sitting any closer to Jamal she’d have kicked him. Gursoon had turned her falcon-look full on him, but the fool boy seemed not to notice. ‘You’ve rescued a prince of the line of Al-Bokhari,’ he said. ‘You can ask for whatever you like, I dare say.’

  When Gursoon spoke, her voice was harsher than Soraya had ever heard it. ‘We rescued a child,’ she said. ‘Nothing more.’ Jamal’s jaw dropped, and Halima, one of the new aunties who was usually too shy to speak around Gursoon, ventured a protest. ‘Oh no, Sister.’

  ‘Yes!’ Gursoon said. ‘Hakkim Mehdad has just killed a sultan, in a well-defended city. And his wives, and his sons, and his bodyguards. He’s sending us as a gift, but
also to show what he can do to his enemies. And Caliph Kephiz Bin Ezvahoun has no reason to involve himself in another city’s wars. Do you think he’d even take us in, if we came bringing that kind of trouble?’ She glared full at Jamal. ‘You’ll say nothing in Perdondaris, child – unless you’re stupider than I ever thought you.’ To Halima she added, in a gentler tone, ‘That life is over, girl. Put it out of your mind.’

  The old aunt’s eyes glittered: Soraya could not tell if it was with anger or tears. Over by the big fire some of the soldiers were getting up, casting glances in their direction. Gursoon rose too, and gestured towards their row of makeshift tents, set up as far away as they could manage from those of the men.

  ‘And now it’s time for you children to sleep,’ she said. ‘Take the tent nearest to the fire; I’ll get you blankets. It will be a hard day tomorrow.’

  It was not wise to disobey Gursoon when she spoke like that. The girls said a hasty goodnight, and ran for the shelter of the tents.

  And as the fireside conversations died, one by one, the desert night enfolded them into its silence.

  The Cup Lands Upright, Part the First

  As Bessa receded behind them, and the deep desert opened its arms to receive them, the fear and sorrow of the women and the children abated somewhat. They were not yet reconciled to what they’d lost, or to the new life that now awaited them, but they could at least contemplate both without absolute despair. The wisest among the women considered the fate of the sultan’s wives and heirs, and reflected that things could be a lot worse.

  Whenever anyone thinks ‘things could be a lot worse,’ the Increate seems to take that as a personal challenge.

  In Bessa, the sultan’s palace was still a ferment of mostly uncoordinated activity. Lists of those condemned to death as enemies of the new regime were drawn up by the hour, and then revised by the minute. A lot of actual executions took place, many of them ad hoc and based on quick answers to yes/no questions. Did you serve the old sultan? Did you live here in the palace? Are you loyal to the new regime? Do you drink or fornicate?