"Please," the physician insisted. "It may be that I can tell you something to your benefit." He nodded slowly as I relented, then taking my arm, led me away, saying, "Come, I will show you the jewel of the palace-a delight to the ear as well as the eye!"
50
We crossed the spacious hall and passed through a high-curved doorway and out into another world. Green and deep-shaded, shadows abounding, the garden of the amir was a cool haven amidst the oppression of heat and dust of the land beyond the high walls. Monkeys and parrots flitted here and there among the upper branches of the leafy canopy above. Water glinted and sang among the shadows, trickling through brook-like channels, gathering in darkling pools hidden beneath saw-toothed palms and splay-leafed flowered creepers. The liquid song of rippled run-and-trickle played lightly on the ear, murmuring reminders of peace and calm. The paths were many and interlacing, marked out with flat stones to pursue an idly wandering course around a large pond where imperious swans held sway, gliding serenely over the breeze-ruffled water.
Farouk led us along one path and then another, taking turns at random, until we were well beyond the palace precinct and any listening ears. Turning aside into a shady bower, he settled himself on a stone bench and offered me the place beside him. "Let us talk a little," he suggested, "before continuing our stroll."
The small exertion of the morning had all but exhausted me, and I was grateful for the rest. "This is magnificent," I remarked as I settled myself on the low bench.
"The amir is a man of many talents;" Farouk said, "architecture is not the least of them. This palace was built to the plans he drew with his own hand-the garden as well. Plants and trees from every corner of the Persian empire find their home here. It is a living work of art."
He looked around him, appreciating qualities of the garden which were, no doubt, veiled to my untutored eye. After a moment, his mouth framed a word, hesitated, and let it go. We sat for a while in silence before he said, "The path of life is rarely straight, I find. It twists and turns always unexpectedly."
This did not seem to require any comment from me, so I made none. The balm of the garden seeped slowly into me as I sat in the dappled shade. After a time Farouk continued. "We live in difficult times, my friend."
"Truly," I replied.
"As the amir rightly suggests, you have borne much for a cause of which you know next to nothing. You desire an explanation, and no doubt deserve one." He did not allow me an opportunity to comment on his observation, but proceeded straightaway. "However, you must understand that Lord Sadiq cannot, at the present time, offer you the accounting you desire. I am certain that he will attend to this matter once he is free to do so. Until then, perhaps you will allow me to be of some small service in this regard?"
His words were carefully chosen, if somewhat circuitous, but pricked my curiosity nonetheless. "By all means," I replied magnanimously. "Please, continue."
"As it happens, our Great Khalifa al'Mutamid, like the amir, is a many-talented fellow. His achievements are legend, believe me. Still, he is human, after all. Thus, I think you must agree that it is difficult for a man of several occupations to excel in them all equally."
"Such a man is very rare," I allowed, as Farouk seemed to want assurance that I followed his meaning-though why he persisted in speaking as if he were giving a formal oration, puzzled me.
"Unfortunately, al'Mutamid is perhaps not so rare as his people believe him to be."
"I see. Some people, I suppose, might have difficulty accepting these human limitations," I ventured, adopting Farouk's tone. "Such men might confuse the mere mention of weakness with treason, for example."
"Or worse!" he quickly put in. "Like an arrow, your intellect has penetrated straight to the heart of the matter, and just as swiftly."
"Such things are not unknown in the land where I was born," I told him. "Where kings rule, lesser men must always take heed for themselves. The truly benevolent lord is a wonder of the world."
"Precisely!" Farouk rushed on, "al'Mutamid is a gifted poet, and his calligraphy far surpasses any seen in a hundred years! Two hundred! And his disputation on theological subjects is rightly renowned far and wide." He paused, willing me to understand.
"Naturally," I allowed, "with so many interests it must be difficult to treat more mundane matters with equal consideration. By necessity, some pursuits will prosper while others languish."
"Sadly, that is the way of things completely," agreed Farouk. "Still, God is good. Our khalifa is blessed with a brother who has made it his duty to shoulder the affairs of state to which, by necessity, the busy khalifa cannot address himself."
"It seems a splendid arrangement," I observed, "and one which allows both men to fully devote themselves to the pursuits for which they are best suited."
"By Allah!" cried Farouk. "You have grasped the truth entirely."
"Even so, I do not see why this should cause Amir Sadiq undue concern. It seems to me he could direct to either man those matters which concern him, sparing the other needless worry."
"Alas," replied Farouk sadly, "it is not so simple as that. You see, although he is the khalifa's brother, Abu Ahmad is not entitled to wield the authority he, from time to time, must necessarily assume.
"I see how that would make Abu's position somewhat delicate."
"Amir Sadiq is the last in a long and illustrious line of Sarazen princes and is pledged at birth to serve only the khalifa, and him alone. His loyalty must remain forever beyond the taint of suspicion."
"Of course."
"If even the most insignificant breath of a word hinting that the amir entertained a divided loyalty were to reach the khalifa, Sadiq's death would follow as the night does the day."
"That swiftly?" I mused.
"That swiftly," agreed Farouk, "yet not so rapidly that he would not have leisure to witness the bloody executions of his wives and children, and all his household before his own eyes were put out and he himself was impaled and his head carved off with a dull blade."
"Loyalty is a virtue ever in short supply," I agreed.
"As you are a foreigner," Farouk remarked, "you cannot know how we have suffered under the mad khalifas of recent years. I could tell you tales to induce nightmares. Believe me, it is in everyone's best interest that al'Mutamid is allowed to pursue his poetry in peace."
"I believe you, Farouk."
"As you are a foreigner," the physician repeated, "you cannot know that an ugly rebellion has shaken the khalifa's domain to its very foundations. Abu Ahmad and the khalifa's army are even now engaged in vicious warfare in Basrah-that is in the far south. I believe Prince Abu will eventually quench the flames of rebellion, but for now the rebel forces grow ever stronger, more brazen and brutal; their attacks are increasingly bothersome. In one incident alone more than thirty thousand died. The rebels rushed into the city at midday and slaughtered people at their prayers; the blood of the faithful flowed knee deep in the mosqs." Farouk paused, his head weaving back and forth sorrowfully. "A most shocking tragedy, and merely one of many. This war is a disease that must run its course; I fear it will get worse before it gets better."
"I see," I replied slowly. Indeed, I perceived full well what Farouk was telling me. The caliph was little more than an impotent idler, content to spend his time writing poems and disputing theology, leaving brother Abu to rule in his stead. The southern rebellion now occupied the caliph's army-which is why peace with the emperor of Byzantium was so important to the Sarazens just now. If these facts were known to the Byzantines, I wondered, would Basil remain content with his peace treaty?