“Why are we obliged to submit?”
“Because we in the council of nobles are a minority and they in the oasis are the swarming majority.”
“In the wasteland, even though they were the swarming majority there too, the council never yielded to their desires.”
“The wasteland has a law and the oasis another. In the wasteland there is the desert, which is the finest coach for the desires of passionate people.”
“I never thought of that before. It seems the desert is truly sovereign over the hearts of the masses.”
“Don’t imagine that people obey a ruler merely because he’s wise. The desert, however, is a priestess on whom the leader depends more than on the prophecies of the diviner, the opinions of the nobles, or even the dicta of the ancestors.”
“I’ve really begun to share your point of view. In the past, power’s secret lay in the desert’s hand.”
“Today, though, power is in their hands, not the desert’s, because the walls of the oases nourish in people’s souls a ghoul that dozed when we lived in the desert.”
“Why didn’t I ever think of that before?”
“This ghoul is what we metaphorically and cryptically term ‘desire.’”
“Bravo! Bravo! I didn’t realize till today that you’re a sage.”
“My longtime companion, don’t try to beguile me with this praise, because when I dismissed them yesterday I told them to return to you today.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I told them they should fix on you, if the intention to select a leader from earthly folk overwhelms them, because you’re mentally the most suitable nobleman. Since my only skill is swordplay, choosing me for this august post might lead to an error it would be impossible to correct. That’s because they might find their heads falling to the ground during an angry outburst of the type generations have witnessed from heroes since antiquity. Hee, hee, hee. …”
The hero continued to cackle, and so Aghulli laughed along with him for a time. Then he stopped to ask in astonishment, “Are you serious about what you said?”
“Completely serious. I told them I would harvest their heads with my sword. So they got scared. Hee, hee. …”
“Did you really advise them to return to my house?”
“When you go home, you’ll find them at the door. I’ll bet a milch camel that they have increased in number and will shortly rush toward your house. Hee, hee. …”
He tightened his veil around his cheeks and lifted it to cover his nose. Then he said, “But let’s stop kidding around; I’ve never seen a nobleman more suited for succeeding the leader than you.”
“You shouldn’t give me so much credit!”
“Why shouldn’t I think well of you?”
Aghulli was silent for a time. He gazed at the horizon, which was washed with the forenoon’s rays. Then he asked morosely, “Have you forgotten the embarrassing episode with the she-jinni?”
The hero smiled. He rolled a stone with his sandal. He also fled to the eternal horizon. Then he said, “There’s nothing at all shameful about noblemen slipping into the bedchambers of beautiful women. We inherited this practice from our forefathers. Have you forgotten?”
“I haven’t forgotten, but fighting over a beautiful woman is shameful.”
“Here you’re mistaken. Warriors and noblemen only fight on account of beautiful women. Do you want them to fight — like the hoi polloi, of whom we were just speaking — to acquire possessions?”
“But our peers censured us in the council at that time.”
“They censured us with their tongues, but in their hearts they wished they had been us.”
“I’ve heard people define shame as one friend raising his sword against another on account of an itinerant soprano.”
“Don’t listen to everything that’s said. The only legitimate reason for a friend to raise his sword against his mate is a dispute over a belle. Haven’t you heard the panegyric poems written in our honor by young women?”
“What the women poets referred to as an exploit was called by wise men a reckless deed inappropriate for two pillars of the council of noblemen.”
“But I’m a warrior, and a warrior can’t live without passion, even if all the sages of the desert agree it was a reckless deed. Ha, ha. …”
“And what about a person who has never considered himself a warrior?”
“The whole tribe considers you a warrior, not merely because you confront enemies with a sword, but because of your splendor, which you didn’t inherit from an ancestor and didn’t receive from those before you, since it’s a gift that can’t be given. People call it nobility, and what is chivalry if not nobility?”
“You want me to forgive myself for that tomfoolery.”
“You know I’ve never said anything I don’t truly believe.”
“I know, but you exaggerate my good qualities.”
“Let’s set that aside and return to the question of leadership. Don’t forget that a crowd is waiting for you at the door of your house.”
“What do you want me to tell them when I find them there? Didn’t I tell you I’ve repeatedly dismissed them?”
“I fear you won’t be able to dismiss them this time.”
“What are you saying?”
“What’s fated is inevitable.”
“What do you mean?”
“That for you to yield to the public’s will is a thousand times better than for the people to have recourse to some adventurer and impose him on us as a sultan whose pawns we will become.”
“What moves you to this foul suspicion?”
“The law of the oases drives me to even fouler suspicions.”
“The law of the oases?”
“Yes. We shouldn’t forget that the desert hasn’t followed us to the oasis and trailed after us inside the walls. We’ve lost our ancient brace and must adopt the language of the oases and adhere to their laws, if we desire the life here.”
“I’ve actually never thought of that before!”
“The walls serve as a brace for commoners, but nobles will never be safe.”
“Amazing!”
“Walls are always the commoner’s homeland.”
“Amazing!”
“In the desert, tribes need wisdom to live. To live in an oasis, tribes need a stratagem.”
When his companion did not respond, he continued, “Indulgence toward the rabble is the first, secret clause in a stratagem’s protocol.”
“Indulgence?”
“Call it indulgence, leniency, or conciliation. Choose whatever name you like. But the obstinacy you detected in their behavior is what inspired me to think of a strategy that avoids riling or angering them.”
“Have things reached the point that we’re afraid of these people?”
“Here you forget that we’re now citizens of Waw and not residents of the desert. Here you’re forgetting that the throng knocking on the door of your house is the stronger power bloc, because the walls support them against us, granting them power seized from us. So beware!”
“I’m amazed by your words.”
The hero remained silent, and Aghulli repeated, “I’m amazed by your words.”
2
Ahallum spoke to him about splendor.
Ahallum said that he was a warrior too, because he cradled in his breast a gift he had not inherited from any forefather nor received from any predecessor.
Ahallum also said it was a gift that could not be bestowed and called it nobility. Did he believe this? If he did, was it possible for a man, in whose breast traits of nobility lingered, to plunge into the ocean of commoners, adjudicating their quarrels, settling disputes among merchants, laying down rules to restrain thieves, hooligans, and adventurers?
He acknowledged now that the insinuating whispers had grown louder whenever he had reflected on sovereign power. Even if he had not seen in the slumbering leader a model that joined nobility and wise governance, doubts would have multiplied inside him, and he would have known for certain that it was impossible to unite the splendor the hero referred to as nobility and the gravitas manifested by the minority — dubbed the elite — who received from the Spirit World power to take charge of people’s affairs.