Orm commented that there must be many poets in the Caliph’s kingdom, as he had met one already. Khalid replied that there were a lot in the sense that many men attempted to write verses, but that very few of them could be considered true poets.
After this conversation they got on better together, though Khalid continued to be a poor oarsman and was sometimes hardly able to pull at all, because his hands were skinned by the oar. A little later he told Orm how he had come to be sent to the ship. He had to repeat himself several times, and use paraphrases to explain what he meant, for he was difficult to follow; but in the end Orm grasped the gist of what he had to say.
Khalid told him that his present plight arose from the fact of the most beautiful maiden in all Málaga being the daughter of the governor of the city, a man of low birth and evil disposition. The beauty of his daughter, however, was such that not even a poet could conceive of anything lovelier, and on one occasion Khalid had been lucky enough to see her unveiled at a harvest feast. From that moment, he had loved her above all other women, and had written songs in her honor that had melted in his mouth as he sang them. At length, by dint of taking up residence on the roof of a house near where she lived, he had succeeded in catching another glimpse of her when she was sitting alone on her roof. He had shouted ecstatic greetings to her and, by stretching out his arms appealingly toward her, had prevailed on her to lift her veil once more. This was a sign that she reciprocated his love; and the surpassing magnificence of her beauty had almost caused him to faint.
Thus assured that the lady was favorably disposed toward him, he had given rich gifts to her maid-in-waiting and so had managed to convey messages to her. Then the governor had gone to Córdoba to present his annual accounts to the Caliph, and the lady had sent Khalid a red flower; whereupon he had disguised himself as an old crone and, with the connivance of the maid-in-waiting, had gained admission to the lady’s presence, where he had enjoyed lively sport with her. One day, however, not long afterwards, her brother had drawn upon him in the city and in the ensuing fight had, by reason of Khalid’s skill at arms, been wounded. On the governor’s return, Khalid had been arrested and brought before him.
At this point in his story Khalid went black with fury, spat viciously, and shrieked horrible curses upon the governor. Then he proceeded: “Legally, he had no case against me. Granted I had lain with his daughter, but in return for that I had immortalized her in exquisite songs, and even he seemed to realize that a man of my birth could hardly be expected to propose marriage to the daughter of a common Berber. I had wounded his son, but only after he had attacked me; indeed, but for the temperateness of my nature, he would not have escaped with his life. For all this the governor, if he had been a true lover of justice, should have been grateful to me. Instead, he took counsel in his wickedness, which is surpassing even in Málaga, and this is the result. Hearken well, O unbeliever, and be amazed.”
Orm listened to all this with interest, though many of the words were unfamiliar to him, and the men on the nearest benches listened too, for Khalid told his story in a loud voice.
“He had one of my poems read aloud, and asked whether I had written it. I replied that everyone in Málaga knew the poem and knew that I was the author of it, for it is a pæan in praise of the city, the best that was ever written. In the poem occur these lines:
This I know welclass="underline" that had the Prophet e'er
Tasted the harvest that the grapevines bear,
He would not blindly have forbidden us
(In his strict book) to taste the sweet grape’s juice.
His whiskers berry-drenched, his beaker flowing,
With praise of wine he had enhanced his teaching.
Having recited these lines, Khalid burst into tears and explained that it was for their sake that he had been condemned to serve in the galleys. For the Caliph, who was the protector of the true faith and the earthly representative of the Prophet, had ordained that any who blasphemed against the Prophet or criticized his teaching should be severely punished, and the governor had hit upon this method of securing his revenge, under the pretext of demanding justice.
“But I solace myself by reflecting that this state of affairs cannot last for long,” said Khalid, “for my family is more powerful than his, and has, besides, the Caliph’s ear, so that I shall shortly be liberated. That is why nobody in this ship dares to bring the whip to me, for they know that no man can with impunity lay his hand on one who is descended from the Prophet.”
Orm asked when this Prophet had lived, and Khalid replied that he had died more than three hundred and fifty years ago. Orm remarked that he must indeed have been a mighty man if he could still, after so long an interval, protect his kinsmen and decide what his people might or might not drink. No man had ever wielded such power in Skania, not even King Ivar of the Broad Embrace, who was the mightiest man that had lived in the north. “No man in my country,” he said, “lays down the law about what another man may drink, be he king or commoner.”
Orm’s knowledge of Arabic increased by leaps and bounds now that he had Khalid as his companion, for the latter talked incessantly and had many interesting things to tell of. After some days he inquired where Orm’s country was and how he had come to be in the ship. Then Orm told him the story of Krok’s expedition, and how he had joined it, and of all that had ensued. When he had recounted his adventures, as well as he could, he concluded: “As you see, much of what happened was the result of our meeting with the Jew Solomon. I think it possible that he was a man of luck, for he was freed from his slavery, and as long as he remained with us our fortunes prospered. He said that he was an important man in a town called Toledo, where he was a silversmith, as well as being the leading poet.”
Khalid said that he had certainly heard of him, for his skill as a silversmith was renowned; nor was he a bad poet, as poets went in Toledo.
“Not so long ago,” he said, “I heard one of his poems sung by a wandering minstrel from the north, in which he described how he had fallen into the hands of an Asturian margrave, who used him ill, and how he had escaped and had led fierce pirates against the fortress, storming it and killing the margrave and sticking his head on a pole for the crows to peck at, after which he had returned home to his own country with the margrave’s gold. It was a competent work, in a simple style, though lacking the delicacy of expression that we of Málaga aim at.”
“He does not belittle his achievements,” said Orm. “If he is prepared to go to so much trouble to revenge himself on an enemy, he ought to be willing to do something to help the friends who rendered him such service. It was we who liberated him from his slavery, stormed the fortress, and executed his revenge; and if he is in reality an important man in his country, he is perhaps in a position to render us who sit here a service comparable to that which we performed for him. Nor do I see how else we shall ever regain our freedom, if he does not help us.”