- ARCHIVE - Sultanate Court of the Zayyanid Caliphate [Algeria]

[AugCaesar]

The gruff sailor listened to the man bellowing back and then answered with a scream his face turning red.

"TOLL, DEVIL PLAGUED HEATHENS! I'M OF THE...." Before he could finish a tall figure, veiled in a flowing golden clock came quickly up behind the man and with a shove sent him flailing overboard. As the man landed with a splash the respendently clad man turned towards the moor, and whipped his cloak over his shoulder.

"Pardon, my fellow's uncouth behavior," he paused and then continued on opulently, "I am Alsonso Garcia Carrasco de Santiago!" The boat was quite close to the dock now and the man leapt off landing near the moor. He brushed his hand through his long black hair and then spoke, "We do seek the Sultan, though we should need guidance to reach Tlemscen, could you perhaps arrange us a guide?"

 

[Mettermrck]

Almohid Throne Room, Tlemcen

OOF!

Tomas felt the sudden impact from behind and almost went for his weapon before he heard the familiar voice and the squeal of delight which was also trying to appear dignified. Setting his plans aside – and feeling a touch relieved and disappointed at the same time – he turned and, beaming, had to check himself from hugging Hasan in full view of the court, contenting himself with firmly squeezing his shoulder, full of emotion. ”My goodness, it does me good to see you, Hasan. Well, done Sharif, well done! The report can wait. And, uh, perhaps so can the camel, much as I am impressed by your foresight,” Tomas winked. He turned and smiled at the Amira, who was looking positively proud as she watched Hasan, who did appear to look a bit taller than he remembered. ”Now then, Sharif. It appears you’ve forgotten your priorities,” Tomas laughed to soften the blow. ”Go and greet the Amira, and then come to my quarters and I’ll greet this Boris and Wussy-slav. I’ll be along shortly. Good to see you indeed, lad.” He couldn’t resist squeezing his shoulder again, before finally easing himself out of the throne room. Hasan was back....excellent! He felt...reassured almost.

 

[N Katsyev]

Tlemscen
The Tale of Boris and Vseslav - Part XII​

​

Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
Part VI
Part VII
Part VIII
Part IX
Part X
Part XI
​

Boris' red and bronze skin was covered dust and grime, his eyes two wet holes, stung by the desert sands, in order to survive this he'd definitely have to find some appropriate clothing he thought as he breathed heavily amid the hay where he collapsed. With effort he looked over to Vseslav, who was a perfect mirror for what Boris himself must have looked like. Boris gave his comrade a half a smile and sat back up, leaning on his haunches.

Their new master, a commanding youth was speaking to a guard with him. Boris closed his eyes a moment, his head drooping in exhaustion, it would take a long time to learn this language. The master ran off and dissapeared and the guard approached them with a menacing expression. Boris just lifted his head weakly, to look at the large man approaching. Vseslav, seemed too fatigued to even manage that. However, soon the menacing expression on the guard turned to a grin of teeth much eroded by the desert sand and produced a water flask.

Shocked, Boris took a moment to return the guard's smile and took the offered flask, giving it first to Vseslav. Heaving a sigh Vseslav took the vessel and drank from it, keeping careful to avoid it touching his dirt covered and cracked lips which split painfully as he opened his mouth. About half empty, Vseslav handed it back to Boris who was only too happy to finish it. The guard looked pleased, and where body language is universal, indicated for the two exhausted slaves to follow him.

Boris rose first, as always, offering his hand to Vseslav whom he helped pull from the hay. Nodding to the guard, he led them into the fabulous palace. The browned outsides of the buildings that looked to possess nothing special turned into beautifully coloured, designed and carved corridors within. Everywhere were flowing garments of bright colours, gold, and beautiful dark eyes. Everything was alien, yet marvellous. Their moment of truth in line-up back at port had turned out in their favour, if one was to be a slave, it certainly seemed to Boris tha this was the place to live in servitude. To Vseslav however, looks can be quite decieving. Grandour more often than not, comes at shocking human cost. Still, he could not help but admit the magnificence of their surroundings and couldn't help but feel alien himself and improperly dressed.

After for what was Boris a terribly short inspection of the palace which was just the travel to their assigned quarters, the two men came upon a cool dark room probably somewhere near the middle of the complex that was to be their home. Arrayed on a table in the far end was food and further flasks of water. Marvelling at this, they heard the door shut behind them and lock. The lock, the clunk and thud of the metal device reminded them somewhere in their minds that though they had been fortunate, they were not free men.

Vseslav at the moment, though like Boris had the same instantaneous though, didn't much care as he rushed over to the food deciding to sample the fare of these strange people immediately. Boris for his part, looked about their large room. It could obviously fit many more men comfortably, but the bunks all looked unused, either that or there was a strick bunk making regiment... Regardless, he began to look around for somewhere to get this dust and grime off his body before he even considered relieving his sore and exhausted body on one of the bunks.

 

[Blade!]

Al-Jazir Port

"We do seek the Sultan, though we should need guidance to reach Tlemscen, could you perhaps arrange us a guide?"

*The port offical looked up and took more notice of this regal figure.*

He thought about it, and then as the Iberian tossed him a coin and he tested it between his teeth, sought a reliable man to take them to Tlemscen. The man had a few camels and often carried cargo from the ships, he also spoke the language of the Mujahiris that had come from Al-Andalus. It was he who guided the Iberians.

"I will take your money and take you by camel, but first I will counsel you not to go. Now, I am a reasonable man..and a fair one, so on our way to Tlemscen I will tell you what gossip there has been, and if you choose to head back to your ship, I will guide you quickly... this port is safe..safe enough.. safe as you can be with Mujahiri around, but the Citadel will be dangerous no matter how open minded the Sultan.

The guide told the Castellons of the current envoy in several installments... one for each hour of the journey south, the great Citadel of Tlemscen that stradled the rocks of the desert overlooking the great east west trade routes and the route tot he pagan south.

1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10

 

[AugCaesar]

Alonso shifted uneasily atop the enormous camel, fighting off the urge to pinch his nose at the smelly beasts odor. Instead he put on an intent, listening face for his guide who relayed the strange happenings at the court. After hearing and thinking on it all he spoke thoughtfully,

"Well, it seems at least that a man from Castile can survive in the Sultan's court, at least a short while," He looked away for a moment with a sigh than continued, "But there has been no word in Castile ever since my predecessor first landed in Algiers, I should like to at least learn what has become of him, and at the least inform the Sultan that a King once again rules in Castile, and that Queen Elionor is dead some many months now."

He smiled than at the guide as they bumped along, baking under the desert heat. "Ahh yes, we must go on, I fear not the Sultan's wrath for I know your people to be a most civilized kind." Alonso smiled again, even more graciously at the guide and then looked on ahead at the expanse of the land.

"It is a most beautfiul and exotic land you call home!"

 

[Blade!]

The Citadel Tlemcen, Eastern Roof Garden & Fountain

A Feast of Honor in the Name of Fez's Emir

As evening decended over the capitol of the Zayyanid Caliphate, the stars emerged in the purple sky and torches were set out throughout the gardens that dotted the eastern keep's roof. From the roof of the citadel's eastern keep, the hearth fires and harbor signal flames of Algeria's capitol, Al-Jazir, could be seen in a vague orange and brown haze far to the north. The torches brought few insects so far up from the floor of the earth, and those that did appear brought the attention of lively bats that swept in and out of the garden feasting.

Between the small plots of garden, long tables were set out, heaped high with sweetmeats, fruits, and roasts of all vareities. Especially featured were exotic delicacies from the far south beyond the great Al-Sahar. Next to the centre-piece fountain the great table of the Amira was set out, where the Amira of Tlemscen, Yasmine Mohammed, and the guest of honor, Al'Samir of Fez, as well as the other high ranking Ashraf would sit. Yasmine was already seated and in deep discussion with one of her courtiers, her Badajozian born champion, Naib Tomas, Lord of Zayyanid Cordoba, and Governor of the Chiriya Colonies. Anyone approaching would note that she was in a splendid mood, and dressed richly for the feast, a Berber mark of somesort adorning her fair Arab toned forehead.

*The Amira laughed and withdrew her hand from her lap to her mouth to cover it*

"Ah Naib, what a fasicnating tale... these Genoans are quite fussy now that they have been fattened up and given riches, are they not! Ah, the way of all merchants and bueracrats I suppose.

Your squire tells me all is well with the Chiriyas... so it is good you have the time to reformulate the ways of our taxation and harbors. When our guest of honor arrives, I hope he will see that with the Zayyanid Caliphate guarding the Maghrib, all of the Almohad provinces can come together in trade, and unity... perhaps to liberate Granada, and of course your own Cordoba.

...Tell me TOmas, are you interested in a very high profile task... one which may grant you another chance at a game which proved unfruitful when you tried on behalf of Badajoz? WOuld you like to see Morrocco again?"

Yasmine's eyes glinted with a mischevious light as if listening to her own words and hearing more than what others had heard, as if she was telling a joke which no one got but herself. Her spirits were high, and the feast was a cause for great celebration, as the dreary rule of Lady Kadija as Regent oversaw a distinct lack of merrymaking. The Lady Kadija, herself, sat across from the Amira and looked relatively relaxed; at least the dark lined eyes that peered out from her robes did not seem as hard as normal. They would not appear so carefree had she known that at the gates of Tlemscen Castelleons were dismounting, and the guards in a panic over what occured last time, snuck them in through a side gate and up towards the banquet, thus avoiding the men that Lady Kadija had placed who surely would have killed them.

 

[Mettermrck]

Eastern Roof Garden & Fountain, Sultan’s Palace

Tomas visibly relaxed as Yasmine laughed, pleased that she found his story so amusing. He felt himself lean ever so slightly closer to her, almost imperceptibly. Her scent reminded him of subtle fruits and he was drawn to the sensuous lines to the neck, almost missing her question when it came. Thankfully, the word ‘Morocco’ snapped him out of his physical reverie and he managed to recover himself in time, if a bit clumsily. ”Errr....yes, I am quite sure that Fez will see the merciful strength and wisdom of the Zayyanids. Morocco? I have been there twice now. Did you know that that was my first posting as ambassador? I spent two weeks roasting in Agadir, waiting in vain for the Sultan of Morocco to respond to my entreaty. Perhaps now that I speak for you, Your Radiance, I will have his ear.” Tomas smiled and sampled some of the dates that were in a nearby bowl. He was looking forward to the coming conference with the ambassador from Fez. It was of slight amusement that he would almost be playing economic advisor to Yasmine, who was economic advisor to the Sultan. But he wouldn’t dare presume.

”And there was, of course, Hasan and mine’s adventure. Who could forget that!” he laughed. ”Would I be interested in another task? Your Radiance....do you even have to ask? You know quite well that I serve at your lightest touch. I will gladly go to Morocco and do whatever is asked of me, of that you can be certain.” He turned and looked to see where Hasan was sitting.

 

[Blade!]

The Citadel Tlemcen, Eastern Roof Garden & Fountain

A Feast of Honor in the Name of Fez's Emir​

The bold Castelleons had been disarmed, and roughly hooded as they were escorted through dark passageways away from the main cooridors of Tlemscen. They knew they were traveling upwards, higher and higher, as if they would never stop going up. After a long time the sound of the wind began to be heard as well as that of laughter and singing. Suddenly the steps stopped, and the guards brought them towards the main table, waiting for a pause in the conversation, when they would push the men to their knees and unhood them in the Amira's presence, but away from most of the guests.

Meanwhile, the Amira's table continued to be a place of laughter, and Yasmine continued to dialogue with her Champion, the Naib of Cordoba, seated on her left.

"Yes indeed Tomas! I remembered that you had come here from Morocco with some disappointment... I think perhaps a second opportunity in my service is appropriate.. even fitting for success. You have been succesful in every burden you have shouldered so far..."

Yasmine smiled, and while Tomas was looking over his shoulder for sight of his Squire, he felt a warm hand glide across his right thigh under the table. He felt a sheaf of parchment slide between his legs, and as the hand was withdrawn, nails scratched gently along the path of departure. The hand slid back down his leg and over his knee.

Just as Tomas began to turn his head back towards what was happening in his lap, Halud Hasan popped into his field of vision with a grin on his face.

"Did I hear Auntie Mina say we are going on an adventure... I mean, an importan mission... again? Excellent, the new camel and the new servants in your quarters should prove most useful!"

Halud Hasan smiled, very pleased with himslef and the idea of a journey with his 'Pai.' He sat down, to the left of Tomas, and began to help himself to some roast lamb. The Lady Kadija's eyes wrinkled slightly in what could have been a smile beneath her heavy veil.

"A proper and hearty Berber man you are becoming."

Yasmine, just looked at Tomas mischeviously as his vision finally came back around to her face.

"Even the honorable First Companion approves of Halud's upbringing so I must have chosen you wisely, no?"

Yasmine's eyelids lowered slightly, and then peered to the side, where she noticed the hooded kneeling men being held by the guards.

"It seems as if the mystery of where our guest of honor is, is not the only mystery...

Who are these men?"

"They claim to be envoys of..."

The guard lowered his voice to a whisper

"Castille..."

*most of the people in hearing range sucked in their breath and narrowed their eyes in anger*

 

[Mettermrck]

Eastern Roof Garden and Fountain

Excruciating was simply a word, used by the scholars to symbolize great sensations of agony borne by a character or hero. For Tomas, it simply was inadequate to the task. As he turned to look for where Hasan might be, he felt the gentle hand on his thigh, and he almost squirmed at the sensations it elicited, particularly in front of so many guests. If a simple touch could enflame him so easily, he shuddered to imagine what anything more would do to him. He exhaled with a shudder as he felt the nails teasingly scrape along his leg and his clouded mind barely registered the parchment between his legs. Very quietly, he adjusted himself, both to mask his obvious discomfort, and to shift the parchment to a point where he could hide it and read it without anyone else noticing it. He snuck a look over at the Amira as he did so, but before he could make eye contact to see what she might be thinking, Hasan appeared, his boyish enthusiasm producing a sense of timing that combined immense disappointment and secret relief for Tomas. He masked his frustration with a boisterous laugh as he clapped him on the shoulder. ”Well now, Sharif! I was wondering where you’d run off to....and where are these servants of yours? Do you realize I still haven’t seen them yet? You promised to show them to me? Perhaps you could run and show them to me? Are they well-behaved enough that you think they might attend to us during the feast? They could be useful in the days ahead. Run along then, and you might not miss the ambassador!”

Tomas spotted the look in Yasmine’s eyes and flushed deeply, still surprised how very affected he was by the simplest of hidden gestures. How quickly he had forgotten the spell she had over him. You fool! But his thoughts were interrupted as he spotted the hooded men being brought into the room. Prisoners of some sort. More Genoese? He wondered if they were giving him more manpower for the project. And then he heard the guard speak. Representatives...from Castille? Instantly, Tomas’ teeth gritted and he leaned back, looking hard at the men. These were just like the men who had tried to kill him. He glanced over at the Lady Kadija, and could see that she at least had a similar hatred for them. He could make himself useful to her no doubt if he struck the right tone. He made sure to be watchful.

 

[N Katsyev]

Tlemscen Citadel - New Clothes and A Feast
The Tale of Boris and Vseslav - Part XIII​

​

Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
Part VI
Part VII
Part VIII
Part IX
Part X
Part XI
Part XII
​

There seemed to be more activity of late in the corridor outside. The sound of steps across the wonderfully finished and decorated floor outside clearly vibrated its way under the heavy door behind which the two slaves lived in seeming isolation so far. They were kept well fed, provided with about all they needed and yet still they had been put to little use. Something which in both their minds was beginning to raise suspicions. Who knew what customs persisted in these strange and alien lands?

Boris lay awake, looking upward toward the ceiling in silent thought. While his comrade, Vseslav was staring intently at carvings on a bowl that had at one time held numerous grapes. Vseslav had been doing his best to memorize the different symbols so that one day he might be able to connect them with sounds or meaning, maybe one day understand better the language of their new masters.

Suddenly, in walked the reason behind Vseslav's zeal to learn the new language, their escort and... well, translator. Though this large guards' abilities in the latter were beginning to come under question in the minds of both the Russian slaves. Boris set up immediately at Alladin's enterance, he was dressed rather more finely than usual and carried in his large dark hands two fine garments. Brilliant white tunis that silently at first he gave to both men. Then, with near-cringing predictibility, he spoke, "You two wenches, rip these on your body."

The large guard turned around and waited for the two men. The new clothes were remarkably light, and neither Boris nor Vseslav could express - that is even if they dared to talk - their gratitude and welcome at having fine new linens. Their new clothes on, each using the other as a mirror, Boris and Vseslav were led out of their large and comfortable prison.

They were led once more through the brilliant corridors, ascending steps in places tiled with amazing colourful designs. Boris and Vseslav both clearly remembered the damning desert and waste outside, it was little surprise that these people would adorn their homes so marvellously in striking contrast to the harsh world around them. Finally they came out onto a broad open surface. Surrounded with breathtaking gardens in such a wonderful atmosphere as the darkening sky above was a magnificent purple, the light of numerous torches lighting the way through the gardens to where at a large table were people of matching dress to their environment. Vibrant, colourful, exotic to these two foreigners.

Alladin with a motion of his hand halted the two men and motioned for another servant over. A striking young woman of no more than eighteen with beautiful dark eyes and hanging black hair that seemed to shine slightly by the light of the fire. In each hand was a bowl of fruit, Boris and Vseslav hoping their assumptions were correct took one each.

Vseslav was rigid with anticipation. An alien world, alien masters, and no doubt alien customs and here he was suddenly being thrown into the midst of something that looked terribly, maybe even fatally important. Boris for his part was more relaxed, part of his general demeanour, maybe his noble upbringing coming through. Alladin spoke quietly, "Service the master and mistress, give it to them good." Then nodding his large head, Boris and Vseslav approached the table, having turned white at their translator's request and simply acting on instict and response...

 

[Blade!]

Eastern Roof Garden and Fountain

Halud Hasan leapt up from the table, and tugged on Tomas's sleeve, so that he would stop looking at Auntie Mina, and look behind instead.

"Look my Naib, these are your two new servants! Some kind of White Tartars I think.... look how red their skin has become... and how white it is under their chin... like albinos!

They don't speak Arabic or Latin, but thankfully, Alladin here speaks some fairly fluent Greek and Turkish! Don't they look nice in the tunics? We will put your name in Arabic on the sleeves as embroidery, so that all will know that they are in the service of the Naib of Cordoba... also I will see that done for the guards as well."

Alladin looks pleased with himself, and smiled widely. He was possibly the least noble of the guards, but loyal and well traveled, having been a sailor. He was very proud to serve Tomas, who had impressed him greatly in the sea battles off of the Chiriya Islands.

Halud practically danced showing off the two men, and the Amira herself turned towards the show and away from the hooded Castelleons for half a moment, a small smile creeping onto her lips.

 

[N Katsyev]

Eastern Roof Garden and Fountain​

​

​

The young man... maybe more of a boy that had first picked them up at the harbour bolted to the two Russians as they made their appearance. Speaking quickly to the man that Boris recognized from the ship, no doubt showing off their various attributes, however he seemed to take a great interest in the bottoms of their chins.

However this was a little unnerving to Vseslav, who already noted the two hooded men being held by a couple very large men on the other side of the gardens. Necks and hooded men usually didn't combine to make a very pleasing effect. Boris however, his chin obligingly raised so that the young man could chatter away about something totally incomprehensible noticed that the striking woman that accompanied the man whom he was now being shown off to, had turned her gaze upon himself and his comrade for a moment. It was difficult to see many details in the flickering torch light, but he thought he noticed a momentary smile on her beautiful lips.

Maybe a good sign, maybe a bad one, it had the effect of easing Boris in a way that was not matched by his comrade Vseslav who looked with anxiety over to the two hooded men being kept hostage. There was a woman there too, exotic and beautiful herself. So many mysteries yet to unravel, Vseslav was now doubled in his determination to get a better handle on the languge and Boris was newly inspired.

 

[AugCaesar]

Alonso, had not even begun to speak when the guards quickly, and roughly pulled him from his horse. He uttered no complaint, only a faint grunt as the sack was placed over his head. The envoy had half expected such treatment, though he had hoped for better. Resignedly he plodded along blindlessly dragged by the guards. He saw nothing through the black veil, only the faint light of a flickering torch. As they continued on his deprived senses finally did encounter something other than the rattle of his jailer's blades, and pounding of their boots. It sounded like some sort of festivity, he thought, the exotic music emanating from the distance, nearly forcing a smile to his lips. The sounds of music were eventually joined by that of talking, the foreign tongue of the heathens, that Alonso grasped only partly. Finally the sounds reached their crescendo and abruptly they stopped, Alonso's eyes burned viciously as they were exposed to the light, but upon clearing he noticed that his companion Diego was beside him, fear obvious on his face. The envoy shot Diego a quick reassuring glance then looked up at Yasmine.

Once again, Alonso was tempted to smile, but he was not oblivious to his circumstances and he only gazed emptily at the woman. Unlike Diego, and most Castillians Alonso kept a closely shaved face, which had over the course of his journey acquired a bit of stubble. The dark coarse hairs traced evenly along his strong cheeks and prominent chin. His skin was dark as well, having spent much time in Grenada and at sea. He took one final glance at the exotic lady before him then bowed his head in obeyance, fearful to speak, lest he show some disrespect. He waited calmly and patiently to be addressed as Diego quivered nervously at his side.

 

[Brian Bóruma]

A man arrives with news from Marrakesh

"To my Zayyanid neighbor;

I know not why my uncle allied himself with you, or how you can claim descendency from the al-Muwahhid dynasty. However, your recent invitation to the Fezians without asking us if we supported it has forced us to choose to leave this alliance. We see them not as partners, but usurpers, and refuse to defend them should they be attacked.

-Yusuf al-Muwahhid
Sultan of the Moors"​

 

[unmerged(9384)]

The emmisary of Fez adressed the Sultan of ALgeria,
"As you are well aware there has been a sudden outburst of hostility by the Morrocan nation, obviously they have no intention of expanding islam or for the betterment of the Arabic peoples. I fear hostilities may break out and wish to make sure that you will offer your full support of your military in this eventuallity. We have no intention of insiting hostilities we only planned to work with our arabic brothers and our moorish counterparts many of wich live in Fez

 

[Blade!]

Eastern Roof Garden and Fountain

Yasmine's eyes narrowed as she read the letter that was handed to her, temporarily turning away from the Castelleons, and then as the guest of honor, the Fezian envoy, finally arrived, and said his peace, she spoke.

"Of course... I have just myself recieved a letter from Moroccans, addressed to my brother who will undoubtedly beable to make more sense of their writing; for they are under the impression I have bound them to you in allaince, and we know that has not happened. They also seem to be forgetting we are all relatives of some sort. The Zayyanid Caliphate and Algeria shall stand with our bretheren always and forever... for the Maghrib, the Almohid Empire is nothing without unity. The Moroccans surprise me, that they would act like this without regard to Portugal and Casteleeon off their borders."

The Amira turned from the Fezian envoy and looked at the kneeling Castelleons, and then indicated to Tomas of Badajoz.

"I intended to send this man to negotiate a strengthening of Morocco's position in the empire, but I suppose that is not to be.

Brother from Fez, please share any concerns you have, and know that all of the Empire's forces will be called to your aid should Fez prove to have less tha brotherly intentions to your throne.

For now, however, please sit and join this feast in your honor! I was afraid you had forgotten!"

*She smiled and motioned for him to sit, and then turned to the Castelleons with a hard look*

"I am surprised you made it this far, there would be many... most in this room that would see ill come to you... perhaps even myself, but out of respect for my brother, the Sultan... I wish you to speak your purpose. We have recieved one Castelleon envoy this year, he sits in a tower... my brother has expended considerable presence to guard his life constantly.

However... since my trip to the east and some sight of the world.. my brother has convinced me that perhaps negotiation can be had with your crusader state. Speak your words."

 

[Mettermrck]

Eastern Roof Garden and Fountain

Tomas smiled at Hasan as his squire proudly pointed out his new servants. Examining them closely, he could see, with some amusement, that they were clearly not used to the desert heat and that their skin was extremely reddened by overexposure to the sun. He was about to say something humorous when he caught one of the servant’s eyes, and something in them reminded him of something....of course...the prisoner on the Amira’s flagship! The one with the sharp eyes. But was he a liability or an asset? Tomas studied him further with a neutral expression before nodding, half to himself, and holding out his wine goblet for the man to fill. ”Greek and Turkish? Impressive. Starting tomorrow, Hasan, you will start the man on a regimen of Arabic and Latin. And if he makes progress...” and Tomas didn’t just mean language retention by ‘progress’...”...then we’ll move on to other things.” Tomas nodded to the Amira’s goblet and the servant before turning back to the feast. He leaned over to Hasan. ”And it’s high time you taught me some of your native Berber tongue, young Sharif. It’ll be more useful than you might know.”

He listened closely as he heard Yasmine address the envoys. His eyes narrowed as he heard the Moroccan delegate speak. Tomas was a bit surprised how bold the man was being. Leaning closer to Yasmine’s ear, he whispered, ”They are like siblings, Your Radiance, to be soothed and flattered and, failing that....well, like all children who act out against their parents. I’m perplexed at how disrespectful Morocco is being. Little ones rarely speak so without counting on powerful friends. It would be good to know more.” He turned to observe the Castilian envoy as Yasmine spoke to him, waiting to learn more, and preening just a little as he was pointed out by the Amira. As he sat there, his mind began to wonder just what was written on that note placed in his clothing and he bent down to get a closer look at it.

 

[von Streusser]

Latcu Eraclid jingled the small velvet bag in his hands nervously as he sat down to speak with the Lady Jasmine. She was to introduce him to the Zayyanid Sultan, but Latcu himself still had precious little idea where they were. He hoped Jasmine would provide him with some information so that he could get his bearings. He had heard rumors they were going to somewhere in Anatolia...

Pulling his eyes away from the bag, he looked up. "Lady Jasmine, I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself more fully earlier, but sea travel does not agree with me at all it seems...I am Latcu Eraclid, formerly ambassador of Moldavia to Tver, a Russian principality in the northlands." He was a young man, nervous looking yet somehow eager. He thought of the woman who had sent him here, a woman he would do anything for yet could never have. The Princess-Regent was both a beautiful woman and the embodiment of his proud home...he wondered at times which he longed to serve more.

"Regardless, when do you think we'll be able to meet with the Sultan? The Princess-Regent sent me with not only a letter of thanks and our loan repayment, but...a small token of our appreciation." He jingled the bag again, subconsciously.

The Zayyanid Sultan was going to be the first foreigner to ever be granted the Order of Moldu'c. This was probably the closest Latcu would ever get to the near-fabled award, and he couldn't deny a hint of envy...

 

[Blade!]

Zayyanid Imperial Galley, en route to Al-Jazir from Cairo

Jasmine placed her hands on her lap and listened to Latcu Eraclid, and occaisonally translating for him the polite introductions in Arabic of various Ashraf nobles. Arabic was the ligua franca of the nobles of the southern Mediterranean, and the language of the Zayyanid court. She was dressed in her Sisterhood robes, but had placed fine earrings on. They had been a gift at her adulthood ceremony from her elder cousin when she was younger, though she doubted he remembered. She wore them because today, finally, she and her Moldovian ward had gotten an appointment with her cousin.

"Latcu, today you zhall meet Akbe Mohammed. It iz unfortunate you could not meet him while we were in Cairo... and now, I zuppoze you will zee Al-Jazir, if not Tlemscen itzelf. Are you ready? I zee the zchenzal calling uz forward."

As the pair moved forward on the deck, they saw Akbe sitting on his portable throne, with a piece of canvas rigged above for shade. He sat with his chin on his fist and his face looked as if was brooding. His scimitar was strapped to his side, and his other hand fingered it idly as he sat thinking.

Jasmine bowed low, and he turned to look at her. As she spoke in Berber his eyes momentarily lit up with recognition, and his frown fell away.

"My cousin... I bow before your illustrious presence. I hope that my presence in not troubling?"

"It is I who apologize my cousin, your voice drives the burdens of rulership from my shoulders temporarily. There is talk of war, and that is never good, especially within Dar-es0-Islam... I will never attack a brother, but I will defend one if neccesary."

"Wisely spoken my cousin, the Reverend Mother would be pleased."

"Allah willing.

I see a pale man at your side, I assume that is what brings my relative to my side after such a long departure from Tlemscen? Your family is still not pleased with your departure."

"I serve Allah before all things.

Yes, this man is Latcu Eraclid, envoy of Moldavia."

Jasmine turned to the Moldavian and repeated what she said in the Vlach tongue.

"I can tranzlate for you, or if you know Latin, you can communicate directly with the Zultan"

 

[von Streusser]

Latcu suddenly realized he had not the faintest inkling of proper decorum in a Moslem court. Byzantine, Vlach, Russian...he was fairly familiar with all of these things, but had no idea what this man expected of him. However, he had heard tales of terrible savagery brought down upon men who had offended Moslem leaders, and so he decided to go as far as possible, and err on the side of caution.

Kneeling on both knees, he placed his hands together in front of his chest, and prostrated himself as he had seen done in the Roman courts of old. Dipping so low as to touch both his hands and forehead to the floor, he gave the Sultan a sign of respect often reserved for the most powerful of Orthodox Emperors.

"Most Illustrious Sultan Akbe Mohammed" he began in Latin, copying (and improving a bit) the phrase Jasmine had used "I apologize for my poor command of Latin. I mean you no disrespect, but shall have to continue through an interpreter." Turning to Lady Jasmine, he began to speak in Vlach. At no point did his eyes reach any higher than the Sultan's chest, as to make eye contact with the Byzantine Emperors was a deadly insult...perhaps here as well?

"Moldavia sends its deepest thanks to you and your people for your aid against the Venetians. I have brought with me a repayment for the loan you granted us, as well as a few presents, tokens of our gratitude."

Reaching into a pocket, he pulled forth a small golden crescent, intricately worked. "This was found in the Palazzo of the Doge of Venice, no doubt plundered from a mosque, from where exactly we know not." A ruby was inset towards the top, and the piece itself, though small, was dazzling and no doubt fairly valuable. Not wanting to unknowingly violate decorum, he handed the object to Jasmine to give to the Sultan.

"Finally, the Princess-Regent of Moldavia, Maia Litovoi, on behalf of Petru II, on whose orders I come here to serve you, should you accept me" he found himself rambling...no, not now at the most important part! "The Princess-Regent has elected to bestow upon you, as a token of Moldavia's thanks for your intrinsic role in the liberation of rightful Vlach homeland, the Order of Moldu'c, the highest award given by the crown of Moldavia. You are the first man not of the Vlach to receive this decoration, and only the second..." he wondered what the right word was, then just went for it "Moslem to receive it."

Reaching into the red velvet bag, he pulled forth the medal. On a red neck cord, a golden star with the silhouette of a wolf's head engraved on the face in bas-relief. Latcu held it forth, standing as if to personally place it around the Sultan's neck, but then suddenly stopped, hoping he was not about to commit a grave insult. "Ah, with your permission, your Majesty..." he asked sheepishly.