"Perhaps," said Orqina, while Chabi stood quietly. "The Calipah of Cairo would certainly be a fine match. But certain questions would need to be resolved. Who would be the primary wife? Is this Greek a princess, and of greater blood then an heir of Genghis? Would any children of this match be in the line of inheritance to the Abbasid lands?"
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Gnomon Garden
"In the Calipah's eyes, all are equal for he follows the verse of Allah "Marry two, and three and four, as you wish, but you must be just, and if you are not just, then one is best" He promises justice, and love, that I can assure you.He will listen to all I am sure.As for Lady Zomoroda, she is most of the time reforming the church and trapped in her library, so she is no burden in the house.As for the children, my lady , the Abbasid Caliphate has learned from the past, for siblings tend to go into warefare and break the state when the father dies.Thus we have a Knosul to choose the best among the males of the Calipah's children to rule.The Knosul is made up of family members, and high officials.If the Timurlankh Family joins the Abbasids in matramony, I am sure you will be given seats in the Knosul."
"In the Calipah's eyes, all are equal for he follows the verse of Allah "Marry two, and three and four, as you wish, but you must be just, and if you are not just, then one is best" He promises justice, and love, that I can assure you.He will listen to all I am sure.As for Lady Zomoroda, she is most of the time reforming the church and trapped in her library, so she is no burden in the house.As for the children, my lady , the Abbasid Caliphate has learned from the past, for siblings tend to go into warefare and break the state when the father dies.Thus we have a Knosul to choose the best among the males of the Calipah's children to rule.The Knosul is made up of family members, and high officials.If the Timurlankh Family joins the Abbasids in matramony, I am sure you will be given seats in the Knosul."
"I will speak to the Khan upon his return from Kabul, in a few days. I will tell you that it may take some work. He thinks too highly of us, I fear, and will be loathe to let us go anywhere. But for an alliance with the Abbasids, he may agree. I shall work on him." She rose, and refilled the envoy's cup.
The Deserts of Taklamakan
Mirza Mohammad-Reza rolled his tongue in his dry mouth feeling for some hint of the moisture left by the sparse sip of water had taken but twenty minutes prior.
Conserving water was not uncommon for cavalry forces, but the turn of events had taken conservation to a desperate level. Over the last week, the blistering heat and sandstorms had scattered and reduced the main force led by Akhutai Shirun. Soon men would have to turn to leaking blood from their horses' veins in the ancient Mongol remedy for such situations. Horses, however, needed water as well... and that is why Mirza looked upon the scene in the Marshall's tent with mixed emotions.
Khada Yesugai had made his bid for control and had won out. The former Marshall of the forces was taken bodily by two of the largest commanders at the Aghakhan's brother's command. They would be headed back towards Kabul by nightfall. While Mirza empathized with the Marshall, he knew Khada had some wisdom. The Imperial nation of the furthest east would never take seriously what looked like impoverished desert raiders.
Mirza stepped to the side of the Aghkhan's brother, and followed him as he left the yurt; The commanders had much work to do if they were to keep together what troops remained, much less find stragglers left behind. Mirza resolved to survey what he could accurately, so that on the foretold next attempt, perhaps the way would be easier.
----------------------------
Gnomon Garden
Samyar Mohammad-Reza ran, half-dressed, in his hand a scrap of parchment handed to him by a servant in the bath. A bath he had just stepped into, after returning to his father's home from Persia and his first solo diplomatic mission.
All traces of sunset were almost gone, but he halted breathless at the entrance to the garden and straightened his salwar, jamas, central asian turban, and overrobe. His other hand again picked up the delicate package it had been carrying. Catching his breath, he regained his composure.
The young man, barely twenty, strode into the garden and bowed.
"Your highness, it is my pleasure to step forward in place of my father, The Zayyanid Ambasador, who is away on the expedition to the east. Please be so kind as to exscuse my late entry, I have just left the dusty road that brought be from Istafhan. Please accept this gift as a small token of my esteem for your person."
*He bowed deeply and extended the lightly wrapped parcel*
Within the parcel was a bottle of pressed almond perfume imported to Persia by Omani traders, originally originating on the Malabar coast of Vijaynagar.
Gnomon Garden
He thanked Lady Orqina,and accepted the delictable drink "My lady, I can not blame the Khan, for you are of high value and birth, not to mention of ettiqua and manners, truly you are a treasure to any man.If you need any help my lady, I can assure you, I will lend it.I also hear the Khan values worldly sciences, so does the Calipah of Cairo, though not to the level of the Great Khan, but my Lord Hakim has been known to dabble in astronomy.Perhaps the Khan would appreciate the wealth of books the Abbasids have treasured through the centuries.Know this, if the Khan wishes anything from Egypt, we shall provide, regardless of marrige my lady.The Timurlankh empire is a brotherly nation to the Abbasid Caliphate, and this metramony will strengthen the bond"
As he finished, the words of the Zayyanid envoy struck him, they sounded familiar.He turned back "Ahhhh Samyar Mohammad-Reza Salam Alekum!"He bowed slightly.
He thanked Lady Orqina,and accepted the delictable drink "My lady, I can not blame the Khan, for you are of high value and birth, not to mention of ettiqua and manners, truly you are a treasure to any man.If you need any help my lady, I can assure you, I will lend it.I also hear the Khan values worldly sciences, so does the Calipah of Cairo, though not to the level of the Great Khan, but my Lord Hakim has been known to dabble in astronomy.Perhaps the Khan would appreciate the wealth of books the Abbasids have treasured through the centuries.Know this, if the Khan wishes anything from Egypt, we shall provide, regardless of marrige my lady.The Timurlankh empire is a brotherly nation to the Abbasid Caliphate, and this metramony will strengthen the bond"
As he finished, the words of the Zayyanid envoy struck him, they sounded familiar.He turned back "Ahhhh Samyar Mohammad-Reza Salam Alekum!"He bowed slightly.
In the Deserts of Taklamakan
Riding through the night, Khada Yesugai felt like his tongue must be dangling from his mouth, it was so swollen. He rolled the pebbles around, feeling them scratch about, trying to stir up some moisture. The sun and wind had burned his skin toward a dark brown. He felt weak from the exposure, yet strong within, as if the desert had lit a fire.
These are my lands. I came into this desert a boy, and am reborn. We grow weak in our cities.
He spurred his horse a bit, and caught up with the Zayyanid, Mirza Mohammad-Reza. He tried to speak and was ashamed at the weak croak that emerged from his scorched mouth. He coughed, tried again.
"We'll bleed the horses near dawn, before we settle into camp. Give them the day to recover. If the maps are right, we'll be at the first oasis by the next morning." He looked around the travelling party, at the warriors with pride, at the worthless mouths - imams, alims, scholars, diplomats - in disgust. "And if we're not there, we'll bleed some alims. Gods! Did Ghengis ever travel with so many useless riders? Did Kublai or Timur? Only my brother would think to send a madrassa on the march."
He looked over at the Zayyanid. "You've travelled these roads before, no? Have you any advice?"
In the Gnomon Garden
With darkness came torches, set among the fountains, so the arcs of water glowed with internal light. Orqina gave a glass of mulled peach juice to Samyar Mohammad-Reza. "Sit, envoy of the Zayyanids, and welcome to the market," she said with a lightness in her voice.
"We have been discussing the sale of goods with my Abbasid friend, Al-Mutaz Billah. Namely the price for my sister." She smiled thinly at their discomfort. "Come now. Dynastic marriages are not about romance, they are about advantage, unless one is reading old poems. Cairo has made a fine bid for Chabi. But please, do not despair, Samyar. The Khan still needs a wife, as does his brother the heir. Perhaps even I, used and damaged goods, could be of some value." Bitterness crept into her voice.
She sipped her apple juice. "As I've told Al-Mutaz Billah, I will speak to the Khan about a marriage between the Calipah of Cairo and darling Chabi. Are there any spare Zayyanids available?"
A Day's March from Samarkand
The child was asleep, the fever gone. Borte sat in her tent with one hand on her baby's chest, feeling it rise and fall. Outside, she could her the Khan muttering to his men.
Borte knew full well she was not a pretty woman, certain not beautiful to catch the eye of a Khan. Yet he had pulled her from the march, almost certainly saved the life of little Toregene. Why?
She stepped out of the tent. The land about was green, which shocked her still. Her village sat among the dust and rocks. Here all was farms and irrigation canals. She stood in the damp night air, breathing the life into her. Then she turned to find the Khan.
He was lying on a blanket, staring up at the sky. She heard him speak in a soft voice. "Query. Retrieve my observations of the sky below Parvin from a fortnight ago, in the hills above Kabul." Some of the scribes flipped through papers, found the correct one.
"Great Khan. You noted a new small object there. There is a drawing." The Khan took the sheet, held it over his head, looked back at the sky. He spoke again.
"Observation. The object has moved, is brighter, is somewhat fuzzy. A comet is coming."
Borte gasped, felt a chill. Comets are omens of doom and deaths of kings. Even a peasant girl knew that. Suddenly she realized, as the chill grew, that the Khan's scribes were looking at her. One moved forward to shoo her away.
"No," said the Khan, "bring her forward." She was escorted to the blanket, lay down, buried her face in the deep pile. "What do you want, Borte?"
"Great Khan. I have not thanked you yet for your kindness." Her voice sounded small, the chirp of a trapped bird.
"And you want to know why?" His voice carried amusement. She nodded mutely.
"Borte. I sent over one hundred thousand people, some warriors, some women, some babies, into the desert, to find China. Many will die, and Allah will judge me for it. Perhaps you and little Toregene will balance the judgement in my favor by some small bit." He paused. "Do you wish to go home?"
For a Khan, he can be a fool. I'll be stoned to death if I return home. "I cannot return, Great Khan. You are my home now, if you will it."
He sounded pleased. "Then you are at home, Borte. You and your daughter will live in the palace. I will find a role for you. Now, my observations await. Return to your tent."
Riding through the night, Khada Yesugai felt like his tongue must be dangling from his mouth, it was so swollen. He rolled the pebbles around, feeling them scratch about, trying to stir up some moisture. The sun and wind had burned his skin toward a dark brown. He felt weak from the exposure, yet strong within, as if the desert had lit a fire.
These are my lands. I came into this desert a boy, and am reborn. We grow weak in our cities.
He spurred his horse a bit, and caught up with the Zayyanid, Mirza Mohammad-Reza. He tried to speak and was ashamed at the weak croak that emerged from his scorched mouth. He coughed, tried again.
"We'll bleed the horses near dawn, before we settle into camp. Give them the day to recover. If the maps are right, we'll be at the first oasis by the next morning." He looked around the travelling party, at the warriors with pride, at the worthless mouths - imams, alims, scholars, diplomats - in disgust. "And if we're not there, we'll bleed some alims. Gods! Did Ghengis ever travel with so many useless riders? Did Kublai or Timur? Only my brother would think to send a madrassa on the march."
He looked over at the Zayyanid. "You've travelled these roads before, no? Have you any advice?"
In the Gnomon Garden
With darkness came torches, set among the fountains, so the arcs of water glowed with internal light. Orqina gave a glass of mulled peach juice to Samyar Mohammad-Reza. "Sit, envoy of the Zayyanids, and welcome to the market," she said with a lightness in her voice.
"We have been discussing the sale of goods with my Abbasid friend, Al-Mutaz Billah. Namely the price for my sister." She smiled thinly at their discomfort. "Come now. Dynastic marriages are not about romance, they are about advantage, unless one is reading old poems. Cairo has made a fine bid for Chabi. But please, do not despair, Samyar. The Khan still needs a wife, as does his brother the heir. Perhaps even I, used and damaged goods, could be of some value." Bitterness crept into her voice.
She sipped her apple juice. "As I've told Al-Mutaz Billah, I will speak to the Khan about a marriage between the Calipah of Cairo and darling Chabi. Are there any spare Zayyanids available?"
A Day's March from Samarkand
The child was asleep, the fever gone. Borte sat in her tent with one hand on her baby's chest, feeling it rise and fall. Outside, she could her the Khan muttering to his men.
Borte knew full well she was not a pretty woman, certain not beautiful to catch the eye of a Khan. Yet he had pulled her from the march, almost certainly saved the life of little Toregene. Why?
She stepped out of the tent. The land about was green, which shocked her still. Her village sat among the dust and rocks. Here all was farms and irrigation canals. She stood in the damp night air, breathing the life into her. Then she turned to find the Khan.
He was lying on a blanket, staring up at the sky. She heard him speak in a soft voice. "Query. Retrieve my observations of the sky below Parvin from a fortnight ago, in the hills above Kabul." Some of the scribes flipped through papers, found the correct one.
"Great Khan. You noted a new small object there. There is a drawing." The Khan took the sheet, held it over his head, looked back at the sky. He spoke again.
"Observation. The object has moved, is brighter, is somewhat fuzzy. A comet is coming."
Borte gasped, felt a chill. Comets are omens of doom and deaths of kings. Even a peasant girl knew that. Suddenly she realized, as the chill grew, that the Khan's scribes were looking at her. One moved forward to shoo her away.
"No," said the Khan, "bring her forward." She was escorted to the blanket, lay down, buried her face in the deep pile. "What do you want, Borte?"
"Great Khan. I have not thanked you yet for your kindness." Her voice sounded small, the chirp of a trapped bird.
"And you want to know why?" His voice carried amusement. She nodded mutely.
"Borte. I sent over one hundred thousand people, some warriors, some women, some babies, into the desert, to find China. Many will die, and Allah will judge me for it. Perhaps you and little Toregene will balance the judgement in my favor by some small bit." He paused. "Do you wish to go home?"
For a Khan, he can be a fool. I'll be stoned to death if I return home. "I cannot return, Great Khan. You are my home now, if you will it."
He sounded pleased. "Then you are at home, Borte. You and your daughter will live in the palace. I will find a role for you. Now, my observations await. Return to your tent."
In the Gnomon Garden
Samyar Mohammad-Reza bowed towards the white-robed black-turbaned man, though he could not remember ever meeting the gentleman, though the other man knew his name.
“Alekum asalaam.”
The young man turned back to slightly older Orqina, and her delicate Persian face, with reminded Samyar of his own, though in a court heavily Mongol bred.
“Market, my Lady?
I would blush to speak that way. For thoughts of love, and the scents of the flowers blossoming as night falls, fills my moon-struck heart with the very essence of the poems you dismiss.
As for you my Lady, I must repudiate your words, for seeing the dark plait of your hair, which is like the darkest clustering of bees which is perfection in Farsi poetry… I must regret that the gift I brought is so insufficient… for no scent could even strive to distract one from your very presence.”
Young Samyar actually blushed slightly as he bowed again, and then sat at the low table. He brought a cup of oriental tea to his lips to cover his slight embarrassment at his own romanticism, his inner poet emerging, and to buy a moment or two to compose his next thoughts.
“While my honored sire, Mirza, would be the one to arrange such high affairs, I must declare that I expect the Almohad Emperor of the West will be, as always, concerned with holding the Empire of the East in highest esteem. Our two nations have been in such coordination over the whole of his fifteen year rule, and he was most impressed with the astrological plate that was conveyed unto him from your brother… that a place for a honored daughter would be sought. My only fear is that, war is upon the Emperor and he sits with his commanders at the front lines of battle… I do not know how that would affect the Aghakhan’s thoughts… but I would venture… if I might be so bold… that a marriage is a concrete and carefully considered thing; a thing that, as you rightly implied, comes with many political consequences…. a marriage could be as hindering and dangerous as advantageous. Certainly, my lady, a marriage between my Master’s house and the House of Timur is well founded in long history and interests, I have no doubt a match is a likely strength on both houses. In fact, I do not know what became of one Prince Kaidu who was sent to Algiers in the time of the last Aghakhan, but it was considered that he might have been matched with the Lady Kajol Khan, cousin-sister of the Emperor, though her tale has been a tragic one of many hardships… and undoubtedly the Sultanate of Delhi will pay one day.. but that is another story…”
In the Deserts of Taklamakan
Mirza chuckled discretely upon Khada Yesugai’s remark about bleeding the Alims. He leaned in his saddle toward the Timurid prince.
“Indeed, I doubt it. Your ancestors did not master the crossing of the sparse step and endless riding by bringing clerics and scholars on the trail of war. And while I have little interest in the affairs of clerics, I have a respect for scholars… still, that does not mean they should be on the campaign march. As much as this march was to secure a bride for your brother, it certainly was to be a show of force… and a force cannot be shown if it cannot make the ride… it cannot make the ride carrying the infirm and old, when it is not necessary. Next time, we will have to have a leaner force… and perhaps, in the spring… though I must admit this unseasonable drought… would have hit us in any season… it is almost as if it is an accursed force of nature… as black as a Castelleon soul.
I think, however, that soon we will be back to the land of your fiefs, and... to that drink of life… water. Allah willing.”
Orqina looked at Samyar with softening eyes, while Chabi raised her eyes to stare at him as well. "You speak beautifully," said the older sister in a quiet voice, "but perhaps with too much flattery. But we were discussing possible marriages. How old is this sister of the Emperor? And why do you mention Delhi?"
Prince Umar of Fez, had grown tired of the long debates in Angora and of procedures and protocols, and waiting for people who never came. He had left Alim Omar Al-Andalus, Fez's representative on the Grand Council of the Alims in the hands of lesser scholars from Fez and raced towardthe courts of the Khan.
What was it about this far away land that appealed to him so? His brother Adbul-Halim had told tales of its splendor and of the Khan's generosity. But Umar was seeking no charity, no hand-outs. He sought something more, for himself, not for Fez. The surrogate who held his father's throne, the "Emir-Elector", had approved his request, and now he was but days away from his destination.
Would the Khan grant an audience for such a bold entreaty? Would he be turned away to return back to the debates and recitations of old men? Who cared about the replacement of Caliph Hisham ibn al-Watik? Name old Omar Al-Andalus and there would be a new election within a year, no more than two. Name an Alim of the Khanate and would things be so different than under old Omar? Perhaps the Mongols would not be so passionate about the restoration of Al-Andalus, but that was more of a quest for this Abd el-Maliki, not for himself.
The man on the throne was not his father, and the steward's claim to power was held credible only through the graces of the Almohad Emperor. What did this mean for the line of succession? He and his brothers were still referred to as successors, but would that continue? Or would the sons of the Emir-Elector rise up in their place?
"So much distance, so far a ride, so much time for bitter thoughts", he thought time himself. He bore Abd el-Maliki no ill will. For an outsider he had treated the princes quite well, and kept their counsel and shared what power he could. But it was not enough to satisfy Umar. He was unlikely to rule, that he knew, his brothers would hold the throne before he would. He was looking for something else, something else made him restless and for some reason he thought he would find the answer......here.
In the Gnomon Garden
Orqina turned to Al-Mutaz Billah. "I thank you on behalf of the Khan, friend, for this meeting. His party will be arriving in Samarkand tomorrow, and I will bring our discussions to his attention then. I would speak with Samyar Mohammad-Reza for a moment longer, but it should not detain you. And Abu Bekr? Escort my sister back to her room." Orqina waited until the Gnomon Garden was nearly empty. A single guard stood in a dark corner, nearly forgotten, when she turned back to Samyar.
In the Deserts of Taklamakan
The sun was setting. The men began to stir slowly from beneath their horses. The order had gone out. Bleed the mounts for liquid. Khada Yesugai stroked his horse's mane for a moment, then took out his knife. He croaked around his parched tongue: "I'll repay you at the oasis." He, and twenty thousand horsemen, opened veins on their steeds, and the cries of frightened horses filled the desert evening.
Just the sight of the blood almost drove Khada mad. He locked his lips over the cut, felt the warm salty liquid flow down his throat. Each pulse of the horse's heart forced more into his mouth. It was like drinking fire.
His heart raced. He finally pulled his head back, staunched the wound with his hand. "Thank you," he whispered. Then he climbed into the saddle.
This is what it was like. No useless mouths, just man and horse. This is how we conquered.
The coppery taste in his mouth made his head swim for a moment, and he could hear the far off drums. He stood in the stirrups. He shout carried across the open desert.
"They say the ghosts of many riders still wander these bleak sands! Today we salute them, but we do not join them. We ride! We ride for the water that lies ahead, and then to Kabul and home."
He could hear his words echoing back, as riders further off shouted them to the others. Soon all would hear him.
"And then we will ride again! Back into this hell, but this time we shall come through the haunted sands, into the lands beyond, and each of you can find a Ming wife, and all the treasure he can carry!" As his words spread, cheers followed, then his name, shouted from twenty thousand throats, "Khada! Khada! Khada Yesugai!"
And the horses set off across the dunes.
Orqina turned to Al-Mutaz Billah. "I thank you on behalf of the Khan, friend, for this meeting. His party will be arriving in Samarkand tomorrow, and I will bring our discussions to his attention then. I would speak with Samyar Mohammad-Reza for a moment longer, but it should not detain you. And Abu Bekr? Escort my sister back to her room." Orqina waited until the Gnomon Garden was nearly empty. A single guard stood in a dark corner, nearly forgotten, when she turned back to Samyar.
In the Deserts of Taklamakan
The sun was setting. The men began to stir slowly from beneath their horses. The order had gone out. Bleed the mounts for liquid. Khada Yesugai stroked his horse's mane for a moment, then took out his knife. He croaked around his parched tongue: "I'll repay you at the oasis." He, and twenty thousand horsemen, opened veins on their steeds, and the cries of frightened horses filled the desert evening.
Just the sight of the blood almost drove Khada mad. He locked his lips over the cut, felt the warm salty liquid flow down his throat. Each pulse of the horse's heart forced more into his mouth. It was like drinking fire.
His heart raced. He finally pulled his head back, staunched the wound with his hand. "Thank you," he whispered. Then he climbed into the saddle.
This is what it was like. No useless mouths, just man and horse. This is how we conquered.
The coppery taste in his mouth made his head swim for a moment, and he could hear the far off drums. He stood in the stirrups. He shout carried across the open desert.
"They say the ghosts of many riders still wander these bleak sands! Today we salute them, but we do not join them. We ride! We ride for the water that lies ahead, and then to Kabul and home."
He could hear his words echoing back, as riders further off shouted them to the others. Soon all would hear him.
"And then we will ride again! Back into this hell, but this time we shall come through the haunted sands, into the lands beyond, and each of you can find a Ming wife, and all the treasure he can carry!" As his words spread, cheers followed, then his name, shouted from twenty thousand throats, "Khada! Khada! Khada Yesugai!"
And the horses set off across the dunes.
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In the Gnomon Garden
Samyar Mohammad-Reza flushed at Orquina's compliment, and turned his own eyes downwards.
After a brief moment, as he reflected on answering the Aghakhan's eldest sister about Kajol Khan. Her story had never been conveyed to him directly, but the parts he had heard were like whisps of tale and fancy. She was a influential woman in the service of her cousin the Amira of Algeria, and thereby had great influence over her cousin the Almohad Emperor as well.
“Delhi, my Lady? The Sultan of Delhi is most disfavoredby the Emperor's cousin... the Lady Kajol. Her tale is one of interest perhaps.”
Samyar allowed his tale wax romantic and drew it out as he told what little he knew of such distant lands, so distant they might seem mythical.
“She walks a lonely road.
Though surrounded by kith and kin, surrounded by wealth, grace, and liberties, she walks alone.
If you saw her face it is beautiful but it is a cold beauty, with eyes like fire. Great anger burns within it seems, yet there is much reason for that…. and in great part it lies with the Delhi Sultanate.
The Lady Kajol is a cousin to the Amira of Algiers and the Almohad Emperor. She was born in Tunis in the 1420s to a daughter to the Emperor's eldest aunt and of a noble-cum-scholar from the Delhi Sultanate, Sher Khan. When she was young, her father had taken them back to the lands of Hindusthan where he assumed the position of Naib, or Nawab as they called it there, of Oudh, an eastern vassal of the Delhi Sultanate. Some decade later, their palace was sacked and her mother taken and killed, after her father had been killed in battle trying to subdue a rogue vassal of the Delhi Sultanate which proclaimed a "sultanate" in Bengal run by decadent Turks. The Lady Kajol herself only escaped through the ferocious fight her Maghribi eunuchs put up in the palace of Oudh and their long escape ride to Delhi. There, however, she had been at the mercy of the court, and the Sultan held her in captivity rather than aiding the noble daughter of his fallen vassal.
Naturally, during this time, her correspondence with her cousin had halted, and Yasmine Mohammed, now ruler of Algeria, had sent aid, eventually bringing her back the Maghrib. In Tlemscen, she was reunited with her long separated cousin, and has become greatly influential at court. Now as Amira Yasmine has become ruler of Algeria, Lady Kajol has become greatly powerful… yet… I cannot help but think she is not quite content.”
In the Cutting Room
The Khan was in the cutting room when the letter from the Caliph of Egypt arrived. His arrival back in Samarkand had been marked with small fanfare, and now he was watching his Hindu doctors dissect the bodies of condemned criminals. Islam prohibited dissection; the Khan hoped that Allah was looking the other way those late nights when he picked up the knife himself and went exploring down the byways and canals beneath the skin.
He read the letter with some passing irritation. What has she been doing while I was gone? He turned to Abu Bekr. "Send for my sister. First, though, show the man from Fez." He turned back to the bodies lying flayed before him. "Observation: the heart is not in the center of the body. It is not likely to be the seat of reason, and its messages should be ignored."
In the Gnomon Garden
Orqina listened raptly to Samyar's tale. "She sounds like some desert djinn, haunting the sands, singing a mourning song. She sounds beautiful."
She rose, and glided over to the Algerian. She leaned close to him (in the distant shadows, the guard stiffened, ready to act), and whispered: "Would she like to return to Delhi? In the van of the Khan's armies?"
On the road between Kabul and Samarkand
After the army had reached the first oasis, Khada picked twenty men, Mirza Mohammad-Reza and his retinue, and the Marshal, and ridden west. The army moved too slowly out of the desert, but it was safe now, with nothing more than a march ahead of it. Khada, on the other hand, with his small group could move swiftly, back to Samarkand, back toward his brother, the Khan, who had sent them into the desert.
Each fall of the hoof that brought him closer to home darkened his mood. His sensible side told him it wasn't Abu Sa'id's fault. His sensible side told him to be calm. But Khada Yesugai was still young, and found it easy to ignore his sensible side. He had (he believed) grown ten years in the desert, and the accolades of the horsemen had given birth to something inside of him, a man's concerns of power and justice, harbored inside a boy's impetiousness.
Soon he would be in Samarkand, to present the Marshal to his brother the Khan, and to demand justice for the unnecessary sacrifice of his horsemen.
The Khan was in the cutting room when the letter from the Caliph of Egypt arrived. His arrival back in Samarkand had been marked with small fanfare, and now he was watching his Hindu doctors dissect the bodies of condemned criminals. Islam prohibited dissection; the Khan hoped that Allah was looking the other way those late nights when he picked up the knife himself and went exploring down the byways and canals beneath the skin.
He read the letter with some passing irritation. What has she been doing while I was gone? He turned to Abu Bekr. "Send for my sister. First, though, show the man from Fez." He turned back to the bodies lying flayed before him. "Observation: the heart is not in the center of the body. It is not likely to be the seat of reason, and its messages should be ignored."
In the Gnomon Garden
Orqina listened raptly to Samyar's tale. "She sounds like some desert djinn, haunting the sands, singing a mourning song. She sounds beautiful."
She rose, and glided over to the Algerian. She leaned close to him (in the distant shadows, the guard stiffened, ready to act), and whispered: "Would she like to return to Delhi? In the van of the Khan's armies?"
On the road between Kabul and Samarkand
After the army had reached the first oasis, Khada picked twenty men, Mirza Mohammad-Reza and his retinue, and the Marshal, and ridden west. The army moved too slowly out of the desert, but it was safe now, with nothing more than a march ahead of it. Khada, on the other hand, with his small group could move swiftly, back to Samarkand, back toward his brother, the Khan, who had sent them into the desert.
Each fall of the hoof that brought him closer to home darkened his mood. His sensible side told him it wasn't Abu Sa'id's fault. His sensible side told him to be calm. But Khada Yesugai was still young, and found it easy to ignore his sensible side. He had (he believed) grown ten years in the desert, and the accolades of the horsemen had given birth to something inside of him, a man's concerns of power and justice, harbored inside a boy's impetiousness.
Soon he would be in Samarkand, to present the Marshal to his brother the Khan, and to demand justice for the unnecessary sacrifice of his horsemen.
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PRINCE UMAR ARRIVES BEFORE THE KHAN IN THE CUTTING ROOM
Prince Umar of Fez presented himself to the Khan.
"I am Emir Umar Abdul-Haqq II, son of Sultan Abu-Mohammed Abdul-Haqq II and Vizier to Emir Elector Abu-Mohammed Abd el-Maliki of Fez.
I thank you for so graciously receiving me. My brother Abdul-Halim spoke of the wonders of your court, and his descriptions, though generous, still barely do it justice.
First, I would like to present to you this gift:
I bring you the swords of two great heros of the Al-Andalus, heroes who fought for the Nasrid Kings of Granada, before the fall of Cordoba. These weapons, though crafted centuries ago, represent the fine craftsmanship, the detail and art of these people, and they serve as reminders of the golden age when Al-Andalus was ruled by the people of Allah.
The Emir Elector would like me to present them to you in gratitude for your support of our people's efforts to restore Al-Andalus, and secure a homeland for the oppressed Muslim people who remain in Iberia.
And I would like to present myself, as a servant of your court. If you would accept me I would serve as the voice of the Emir Elector in your court and work for the closer ties and friendship between our people. I bear instructions to offer favorable conditions for trade and for whatever agreements you would seek to tie our lands closer in gratitude for your past support and aid."
He bowed low and remained there. He had done as he had been asked. He had remembered, he thought, all he had been asked to do. He was continuing to faithfully serve the man who had replaced his father.
Yet, there was more that he wanted. And it would not conflict with his duty. And he wanted it and believed in his heart it was right, so that, should this prove to be a mistake and one that endangered his official mission, then it simply validated that he was not fit for it to begin with.
His heart pounded a moment then he looked up, still on one knee, and made his request.
"Great Khan, there is more to my appearence before you than this which I have presented. I am the son of royalty, yet no rule awaits me in Fez. I am a warrior, yet the new leader of my people entrusts others with leading our armies into battle. I want to serve loyally, but have not found the way to best serve my country.
Great Khan, I would ask that you accept me as an officer of your court, but moreso I would beg to enter into your service, to learn from any whom you could spare to instruct me, to share what little I have to share about our culture and people and history.
If I remember my history correctly, but for the deaths among the Great Mongol leaders in the East, and the delays caused by choosing new leaders, the armies of your fore-fathers would have crushed the Mamluks and likely rode on to the shores of the Atlantic Ocean. I do not know if you have ever seen the great expanse which ends the world, but I have seen it daily from the towers of our palace, and if you will not reach it from Samarkand by force of arms, allow me to take your there through my words and descriptions.
Great Khan, I have grown tired of the long debates in Angora and of procedures and protocols, likewise, there is only so much that I can do waiting with my brothers in the service of the Emir Elector. Let me stay here and serve you and learn what your people may teach me, and teach them what I might know.
I see from your activity an interest in the sciences. In my land we have built a university and teach scholars the secrets of the body discovered by not just the sages of Al-Andalus, but of the ancient Greeks, translated from their native tongue to benefit our people. We have exchanged texts with the Italians, and have made great advances in medicine, mathematics, and astronomy. We improve our engineering and our navigation.
Allow us to exchange our knowledge for your own. Send to Tangiers your advisors or your sons, and let them learn what we can teach, and let me ride along those whom here whom you would assign me to.
I humbly ask you this of my own accord. "
Umar returned to his low bow, and awaited the Khan's reply.
The Khan took the swords from Umar and examined them critically. Behind him, the dissectors continued their work, unravelling a long string of veins from the leg of a hanged rapist.
"The weapons are beautiful, Prince Umar, and I can almost see the beauty of al-Andalus within their sheen. I thank you for this generous gift, and Samarkand will continue to support the war to regain this lost paradise."
As he spoke, his older sister Orqina stepped quietly into the room. She looked at the flayed bodies with mild distaste, then over at the Prince with veiled curiousity. She glided to a spot behind her brother and watched.
The Khan nodded curtly to his sister, some annoyance on his face, then turned back to the Prince. "You are of course welcome in Samarkand, Prince Umar, as the voice of Fez. We shall find you rooms in the Palace, or a place nearby, if you prefer. As to your other request . . . ."
The door to the cutting room flew open in a sudden burst of violence. A group of dirty, weather-stained men stormed in. The Khan's guards began to pull their weapons as the intruders cast a bound man at the Khan's feet.
Abu Sa'id stood. "What is the meaning of this intrusion?," he bellowed. "Who are you . . . ." The Khan's voice faltered as Khada Yesugai, his younger brother, rose battered and sun-blasted before him.
"The weapons are beautiful, Prince Umar, and I can almost see the beauty of al-Andalus within their sheen. I thank you for this generous gift, and Samarkand will continue to support the war to regain this lost paradise."
As he spoke, his older sister Orqina stepped quietly into the room. She looked at the flayed bodies with mild distaste, then over at the Prince with veiled curiousity. She glided to a spot behind her brother and watched.
The Khan nodded curtly to his sister, some annoyance on his face, then turned back to the Prince. "You are of course welcome in Samarkand, Prince Umar, as the voice of Fez. We shall find you rooms in the Palace, or a place nearby, if you prefer. As to your other request . . . ."
The door to the cutting room flew open in a sudden burst of violence. A group of dirty, weather-stained men stormed in. The Khan's guards began to pull their weapons as the intruders cast a bound man at the Khan's feet.
Abu Sa'id stood. "What is the meaning of this intrusion?," he bellowed. "Who are you . . . ." The Khan's voice faltered as Khada Yesugai, his younger brother, rose battered and sun-blasted before him.
In the Cutting Room
Mirza Mohammad-Reza, and the rest of the travel worn retuine, followed Khada Yesugai into the well lit but windowless room. It was cold, and his nostrils flared at the scent of death and eviceral fluids. He eyes glanced to the bodies on the table and the men who applied knieves to their flesh. He shuddered briefly, before turning his attention back to the Timurid brothers.
Between them lay Akhutai Shirun, Marshall of the ill fated Eastern expedition. The man's emotions could not be read on his face, but Mirza felt sad within at the position the great man lay in now.
----------------------------
Weeks Earlier in the Gnomon Garden
Samyar Mohammad-Reza's heart began to race as Orqina rose and began to approach him. She walked with the grace born of palace life. As she bent down and leaned in close to him, Samyar's vision began to swirl as her scent penetrated his senses.
As she whispered to him, he felt her warm breath, and he was glad it was growing dark, for he knew his skin was flushing. He looked for the younger sister, but Orquina filled his view. He saw the guard tense, but it was what she told him that surprised and intrigued him.
"Your highness, I cannot think of few things that would please her... or her relatives, the Algerian Amira and the Almohad Emperor. I... do the Timurids plan to march on the Delhi Sultanate? You truly are powerful, and graceful.. do you jest? I am almost certain the Emperor would send funds should the war in the west settles. The Lady Kajol might indeed be interested. I..."
Samyar felt the heat and impropriety of Orqina's close presence, and knew that his young man's body was reacting, he tried to calm himself, wondering if he would feel sorrow or rejoice if Orqina herself were married to Akbe Mohammed.
In the Gnomon Garden
With a sad smile, Orqina stepped back from Samyar. She looked at the ground. Her voice was soft and low. "Forgive me, Samyar. I am a widow. I tend to forget that I am still a woman." She looked up at him, her face now carefully neutral. "I believe that upon the return of our expedition against China, the Khan is strongly considering an expedition of conquest against Delhi. If the Lady knows of the lands and people, she would be of use on this march."
With that, she turned away. "Good evening to you, Samyar Mohammad-Reza," she said as she glided off into the gathering darkness.
With a sad smile, Orqina stepped back from Samyar. She looked at the ground. Her voice was soft and low. "Forgive me, Samyar. I am a widow. I tend to forget that I am still a woman." She looked up at him, her face now carefully neutral. "I believe that upon the return of our expedition against China, the Khan is strongly considering an expedition of conquest against Delhi. If the Lady knows of the lands and people, she would be of use on this march."
With that, she turned away. "Good evening to you, Samyar Mohammad-Reza," she said as she glided off into the gathering darkness.
IN THE CUTTING ROOM
Prince Umar of Fez felt the adrenalin rush through him as the expedition members were assisted.
Insenstitive to the potential loss he may be about to witness, his mind was filled with images of a great trek East, to ride against the armies of Dehli, or some rebel Khanate.
He knew not to say a word, and to remove himself as best possible from the immediate presence of the Khan, so as not to intrude on what was clearly a matter of greater importance.
However, secretly, he hoped for a quick resolution, so that he could negotiate whatever future might be shared by Fez and the Timurid Empire, and whatever future might lay ahead for himself, personally.
The Cutting Room
Unfortunately for Prince Umar, his path out was blocked by the road-stained men of Khada's company.
Abu Sa'id Yesugai rose silently and faced his brother. "I sent a weed into the desert, and a tree returned," he said, his voice shaking slightly. He saw Orqina slide in from the side and move to hug Khada. Khada shook his head violently and motioned her away.
The Khan looked at the bound man, quickly recognizing Marshal Akhutai Shirun. "But what is this? Why is my Marshal returned to me in ropes? What happened on the march, Khada?"
His brother raised his angry eyes to the Khan, and Abu Sa'id almost stepped back as if slapped. "You burdened us with too many worthless mouths, and a leader to aged to command. The women and babies and old men mark our road to the Ming with their bones, but I brought you back this failure of a leader to dispose of."
Abu Sa'id sat down heavily on his chair. "Then the expedition failed. Why? Marshal? Someone cut him loose." One of the Khan's guards quickly stepped forward to cut the bonds. Two of Khada's companions moved to stop him, but the boy shook his head. Soon the Marshal stood before the Khan.
"My Khan," he said, in a voice thick with thirst, "unseasonable conditions stopped us in the sands of Taklamakan. I would have led on but . . . the men would no longer follow me. They follow your brother now."
Out of the corner of his eyes, the Khan saw Orqina's dark eyes widen. Why is she crying? "Is this true, Khada?"
"It is, my brother. Twenty thousand followed me out of the Taklamakan. Off the road of death that this man led them on. The ten thousand horsemen and their steeds, and untold number of your people, died, and they demand his blood for theirs, or their ghosts will haunt the Taklamakan!" Khada puncutation the last word by spitting on the Marshal, who calmly let it run off his burned face.
"Khada!" Abu Sa'id was up in an instant, closed the space between them with two quick strides, and slapped his younger brother across the cheek. As he brought his hand about to do it again, Khada caught it and stepped forward, mere inches between them . They stood there for a moment, frozen, as Orqina slowly approached.
Unfortunately for Prince Umar, his path out was blocked by the road-stained men of Khada's company.
Abu Sa'id Yesugai rose silently and faced his brother. "I sent a weed into the desert, and a tree returned," he said, his voice shaking slightly. He saw Orqina slide in from the side and move to hug Khada. Khada shook his head violently and motioned her away.
The Khan looked at the bound man, quickly recognizing Marshal Akhutai Shirun. "But what is this? Why is my Marshal returned to me in ropes? What happened on the march, Khada?"
His brother raised his angry eyes to the Khan, and Abu Sa'id almost stepped back as if slapped. "You burdened us with too many worthless mouths, and a leader to aged to command. The women and babies and old men mark our road to the Ming with their bones, but I brought you back this failure of a leader to dispose of."
Abu Sa'id sat down heavily on his chair. "Then the expedition failed. Why? Marshal? Someone cut him loose." One of the Khan's guards quickly stepped forward to cut the bonds. Two of Khada's companions moved to stop him, but the boy shook his head. Soon the Marshal stood before the Khan.
"My Khan," he said, in a voice thick with thirst, "unseasonable conditions stopped us in the sands of Taklamakan. I would have led on but . . . the men would no longer follow me. They follow your brother now."
Out of the corner of his eyes, the Khan saw Orqina's dark eyes widen. Why is she crying? "Is this true, Khada?"
"It is, my brother. Twenty thousand followed me out of the Taklamakan. Off the road of death that this man led them on. The ten thousand horsemen and their steeds, and untold number of your people, died, and they demand his blood for theirs, or their ghosts will haunt the Taklamakan!" Khada puncutation the last word by spitting on the Marshal, who calmly let it run off his burned face.
"Khada!" Abu Sa'id was up in an instant, closed the space between them with two quick strides, and slapped his younger brother across the cheek. As he brought his hand about to do it again, Khada caught it and stepped forward, mere inches between them . They stood there for a moment, frozen, as Orqina slowly approached.
A letter arrives
To his Majesty Odchigin Sacha, Caliph of All Islam and Almohad Emperor
"I would like to inform your majesty that I did not ordered my troops to attack you, nor I did order my troops to kill the Sultan of Algeries, your predecessor. My troops where sent to Granada to Defeat the Rebels, the religion of those rebels do not matter. Nor does it matter what they want to do with their land. I sent my troops to Granada because my friend and ally asked me to do it. Not to kill muslims or Cristians, but to put down the uprising. As I am sure your grace would do the Same. If a friend of your majesty asked for help? I am sure your majesty would do the same. And I repeat the Religion of the Rebels is not my problem. And the dead of your predecessor is a very sad thing, I did not ever want the armies of your empire to fight, but when your predecessor landed in Granada."
Signed, João Duarte the Second, King of Portugal and the Algarves, King of Near and Far sea in Africa
To his Majesty Odchigin Sacha, Caliph of All Islam and Almohad Emperor
"I would like to inform your majesty that I did not ordered my troops to attack you, nor I did order my troops to kill the Sultan of Algeries, your predecessor. My troops where sent to Granada to Defeat the Rebels, the religion of those rebels do not matter. Nor does it matter what they want to do with their land. I sent my troops to Granada because my friend and ally asked me to do it. Not to kill muslims or Cristians, but to put down the uprising. As I am sure your grace would do the Same. If a friend of your majesty asked for help? I am sure your majesty would do the same. And I repeat the Religion of the Rebels is not my problem. And the dead of your predecessor is a very sad thing, I did not ever want the armies of your empire to fight, but when your predecessor landed in Granada."
Signed, João Duarte the Second, King of Portugal and the Algarves, King of Near and Far sea in Africa