Taking the khalifa's decree, I passed it to Faysal, who leaned down from the saddle and offered it to the overseer who untied the silk band and carefully unrolled the parchment. "You can read, I presume?"
A frown appeared on his face as he scanned the document. After a moment, he lowered the decree and stared at me; this time he seemed to find something familiar in my face, but clearly could not think where he had seen me before.
"Come down from your lofty perch, my friend," he said, "and let us discuss this matter face to face."
Looking down on him, revulsion surged through me. God help me, I despised him. Oh, he was a vile creature.
"We have nothing to discuss," I replied. "I will tell you the names of those who are to be freed, and you will free them."
His face closed like a fist. "Names mean nothing here," he replied with an air of superiority. That was true, and I should have remembered. Thinking he had thwarted me, he allowed himself a smug sneer.
"It makes no difference," I responded coolly, "you will assemble the slaves and I will choose those I require from among them."
"All the slaves?" He sputtered like a pot about to boil. "But there are hundreds of slaves here-scattered everywhere in these hills. It would take the entire day to assemble them all."
"Then I suggest you begin at once."
"I would lose a day's worth of silver!" he shrieked. "Come back tomorrow," he suggested. "Come at dawn and you can see them before they begin their labour."
"Do you refuse the emissary of the khalifa?"
"You are being hasty," he said. "I must point out to you that what you ask is very difficult. There are many questions to be considered." His pained expression smoothed. "There is no need to invoke the khalifa's name; this is a matter between the two of us."
"My thoughts precisely."
"Seeing that you understand me," he said, his voice oily and insinuating, "I believe we can reach a fair agreement." He rubbed the fingertips of his right hand against the palm of his left.
"I understand you better than you know," I told him, my voice thick with loathing. Placing a hand to the jewelled daigear at my belt, I said, "Assemble the slaves at once, or lose your worthless tongue."
Turning to Faysal, I said, "I am going to wait in the overseer's house. See that this son of a rat does what is required of him."
"If I refuse?" the overseer said, the arrogant sneer back on his face.
"If he refuses," I said to Faysal, "kill him."
59
The overseer gaped, unable to decide if I was in earnest; he opened his mouth to protest, then decided to save his breath, and hastened away to begin the task of summoning and assembling the slaves. While Faysal and one of the rafiq accompanied the overseer, I dismounted, secured my horse to the whipping post and went into the overseer's house to await his return.
The interior was dim, the low wide windholes shuttered against the sun. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw a room of clutter and filth. The powder-fine red-brown dust, which was everywhere in the mines, blew in on the breeze and was never swept out again; it clung to everything, and was hard caked in the places he habitually walked.
The dwelling reeked of bitter smoke; the stink clung to the carpets and cushions on the floor. "Hashish," muttered one of the warriors scornfully, and pointed to a small iron brazier filled with ash which stood beside a large greasy leather cushion. Here then, the chief overseer spent his nights, inhaling the potent vapours of the stupefying plant. I did not like to sit down in this hovel, so I stood, and the rafiq stood with me, contemptuous of a man whose life could be read in this slovenly mess.
My thoughts turned to my friends, and I wondered what they would say when they saw that I had returned to free them. Did they think I had forgotten them? Did they imagine I had abandoned them? Or was hope yet alive in their hearts? When this day dawned and they rose to take up the tools of their torment once again, did they realize how close was their liberation? Did they sense the nearness of their freedom even now?
From somewhere high on the hill the sounding iron clanged, and after a time the first slaves began streaming down the hill paths to their accustomed places along the boundary of the sun-baked square outside the overseer's house. I watched them as they arrived, searching among the ranks for any familiar face, but saw none. The distressing thought flitted through my mind: what if they are dead? What if I have tarried too long and they have all succumbed to cruel labour and the lash? What if none now survived for me to set free? This was something I had never considered, but I did so now; and, had I imagined it would have done any good, I would have prayed that God had sustained them and kept them to this day.
I waited. More and more slaves were coming to the square. They saw the horses tethered to the post in the yard-where on such occasions someone among them provided an exemplary sacrifice-and wondered what new torture was at hand.
The slave throng slowly gathered. I stood in the doorway, searching the crowd, and had begun to fear I would not find anyone I knew, when I saw Jarl Harald. He stood a head or more taller than anyone around him, which should have made him easier to find. But then I realized why I had not seen him sooner: he had changed. His fine mane of flame-red hair and beard were now a matted, moth-eaten mass; his broad shoulders were bowed and he stood with a slump, his body twisted to one side, as if favouring a crippled limb. Grey-faced, the once proud lord gazed down at the ground, never raising his eyes.
With awful dread, I searched the ranks and found, to my horror, others I should have recognized before. One after another-and each more wretched than the last-I identified them. I could not bear to look at them, and turned away in a sudden panic of doubt, thinking, It was a mistake to come. I should have left them to their fate. There can be no salvation; liberation has come too late.
Finally, the chief overseer returned to stand uncertainly in the centre of the yard. Faysal left him in the company of the warrior named Nadr, and proceeded to the house. "The slaves are assembled," Faysal reported.
I thanked him and said, "I wish I could free them all. Would the khalifa's generosity stretch so far, do you think?"
"They are waiting," he said.
I nodded. "They will wait no longer. Captivity has ended for a fortunate few."
Stepping from the overseer's house into the full brightness of the sun, it was a moment before I could see properly. The sun scorched through the thin cloth of my robe, and my heart went out to those standing naked beneath the burning rays. At least the mines were dark and cool. Now I was making them burn in the blast furnace of the day's heat.
Faysal regarded me out of the corner of a narrowed eye, but I shook off his concern. "Let us be done with this," I murmured, striding forward once more.
Not knowing where else to begin, I went first to the place where Harald stood and pointed to him. The barbarian did not so much as glance in my direction. "Bring him here," I ordered the nearest guard, who seized Harald roughly by the arm and jerked him from his place. "Gently!" I told the guard sternly. "He is a king."
The Dane shuffled forth, his leg chains rattling on the ground; he came to stand before me, never once looking up. "I have returned," I told him. "I have come for you."
At these words, he raised his head for the first time. With pale, watery eyes he looked at me, but without recognition. My heart fell.
"Jarl Harald," I said, "it is Aidan. Do you not remember me?"
Into his dull gaze flickered a light I had never seen before-beyond mere recognition, or realization; beyond common hope, or joy. A light which was nothing less than life itself reawakening in a human soul. Awareness at its most profound and pure kindled in that spark of light and blazed in the smile that slowly spread across Harald BullRoar's face.