When Kazimain appeared the next morning, I was amazed and distressed to watch my late-night resolve crumble and melt away like a clump of sand overswept by a sea wave. One look at her and the desire I felt at our kiss rekindled instantly, and flared brighter and hotter than before. The glance of Kazimain's dark eyes as she came into my arms let me know she felt the same.
I clasped her to me and breathed her perfumed essence deep into my lungs, as if I would inhale her into my being. I wanted only to have her, to hold her, forever. The raw force of this feeling struck me with such intensity that it made me weak. I could only stop my limbs trembling by clutching her more tightly. I fell back on the bed and pulled her onto me. We lay there for a time, our bodies shaking with passion. She lay her head against my chest and entwined her arms around me. I felt her gentle weight upon me, and marvelled that I could have existed so long without knowing this simple pleasure and indulging it every moment of every day.
We might have remained like this all day-indeed, I would have been content to remain so for the rest of my life-but the sound of footsteps in the corridor outside roused us. Kazimain smoothed her clothes and we hastily adopted the pretence that we had simply been talking to one another as I broke my fast.
I took up a bit of bread, tore it, and began eating, swallowing my first bite as Faysal stepped into the room. His eyes flicked to Kazimain, who was pouring water from the jar into one of the cups. "Greetings," he said, "I have come to tell you that Lord Sadiq is returning. He arrives in Ja'fariya in two days' time."
"Greetings, Faysal; it is good to see you again. Please," I urged, "Sit down and eat with me. I would hear what news you bring."
He smiled to hear me speaking Arabic so well. "It would be a pleasure," he said, inclining his head. As Faysal folded himself upon a cushion beside the tray, Kazimain poured him some of the sweetened lemon water, and then, rising, made a small bow of deference and left the room, taking my heart with her.
Faysal and I ate together and he told me that the amir and Abu Ahmad had indeed spent many long hours in council, trying to decide what best to do in light of Komes Nikos's treachery. "And did they reach a decision?" I asked.
"It is not for me to say," Faysal replied. "I think, however, my Lord Sadiq will be most anxious to speak to you upon his return."
We talked of other things then-the heat and dust of desert travel, the remarkable abilities of camels in this regard, and the interminable southern rebellion. At mention of Abu's campaign, Faysal shook his head. "Word is not good, my friend," he said. "The revolt has quickly become a war and the khalifa's forces have not been able to contain it as they hoped. Many have been killed on both sides, but the rebels are growing in strength, while Abu's numbers decline."
Although Faysal did not say it, I reckoned by this that the peace with Byzantium was more important to the Arabs than ever before. The rebellion was taxing the caliphate heavily; the Arabs could not fight two different wars on two such faraway fronts and hope to survive, much less win the conflict. I understood very well the predicament the Arabs faced.
After Faysal had gone, I sat and contemplated the curious opportunity this information had created for me. As I sat thinking, it came into my mind that I was in a rare and privileged position: perhaps only one other person in all Byzantium possessed the knowledge that I possessed. And that person was the traitor Nikos, and perhaps even he did not guess how much the Arabs needed the peace treaty. Certainly, no one in Byzantium knew of both Nikos's treachery and the Arabs' need. This knowledge gave me power. True, I would have to return to Constantinople to realize this power-a detail which imposed its own difficulties.
But that aside, if I were to reach the emperor and inform him that an attack on the Sarazens just now would win back in one campaign all that the empire had lost to the Arab predation over the years, how long would Basil the Macedonian hesitate? To crush an enemy that has for generations bedevilled the empire would be too sweet a victory to resist. The reward would be mine to name. But could I do it? Could I betray the amir and his people-those who had saved my life-just to satisty my bloodlust?
Oh, there was power here; I could feel it. Where power exists, danger lies close at hand. I did not cozen myself with illusions that the Sarazens would leave anyone alive who could, with a word, destroy them. I would have to act quickly to protect myself.
When Mahmoud came for me a little while later, I told him that I did not want to go into the city with him today. "Instead," I said, "I want you to tell me about the customs of marriage observed by the Arabs."
His smile was quick, and his reply suitably oblique. Glancing at my new sandals, he said, "Would this knowledge have for you a practical application, my friend?"
"I am ever curious, Mahmoud, as you know."
"Then I will enlighten you," he said, and made to sit down.
"Not here," I told him quickly. "Come, let us go to the roof garden and enjoy the day before it grows too hot."
Once on the roof, I led the way along the more secluded pathways so that we would not be overheard. As we walked in the shade of small, fan-leafed palms and flowering creepers, Mahmoud began to instruct me in the marriage customs of his race. "It may surprise you," he said, "but there is no single practice which all Arab peoples observe. We are a nation of tribes, you see; each tribe will hold to its own particular rites in such matters."
"Then let us take the amir's tribe-for example."
"Very well," he agreed, "the people of the amir's tribe, for example, come from the southwest where more primitive customs even now prevail. The marriage rite itself is exceedingly simple: a man and woman make vows before their kindred and the woman goes to live with the man in his house. There the marriage is consummated in the usual way, a great celebration ensues, and the two families concerned are ever after united-a unity which is further enhanced by the exchange of gifts."
"What sort of gifts?" I wondered.
"Any sort at all," he answered. "The gifts can vary greatly, depending on the wealth of the respective tribes: horses and camels, for the wealthy, in addition to gold and silver; or, if the young people have no riches they may exchange tokens only." He paused, regarding me critically. "It may serve you to know that to this very day, many of the desert tribes hold to an ancient belief in the chieftain's right to grant or withhold the marriage of his kinswomen. For this reason, the prudent man always seeks to win the tribal leader's approval. Sometimes, he acquires this approval even before asking the young woman. Sometimes, this permission is granted without the bride's consent. The practice remains the same, whether a man has one wife, or many."
"I see."
"If I were to find myself in the position-for example," he mused pointedly, "of wishing to marry a woman of the amir's tribe, it would be to the amir I must address my request. Whether my appeal was granted would be entirely the amir's decision."
I had suspected that this might be the way of it. Similar customs were not unknown in the royal houses of Eire, where, it was held, certain queens in ancient times had kept more than one husband.
"You see," Mahmoud continued, "each marriage forms a bond not only between husband and wife, but between the families, and between tribes, too. The bond thus created is exceedingly strong, surviving even death, and can be broken only by the most extreme acts of violence or repudiation. The law of Islam recognizes this bond and considers it both sacred and holy."
He paused, regarding me curiously. "Touching that, I have naturally assumed both husband and wife are to share a single faith in Islam."
"Naturally," I agreed.
"Otherwise," he added delicately, "the union would not be possible. By Allah, it is strictly forbidden to marry outside the faith-and, of course, to renounce Islam is unthinkable."
"I understand," I replied, and spent the rest of the day pondering how I might gain the amir's approval. I was still deep in contemplation when Kazimain brought me my evening meal. She brought me far more than that.
"You are unhappy, beloved," she said. Putting down the tray, she knelt beside it.
"I have been thinking," I replied, leaning forward to caress her cheek with my hand. She allowed me to stroke her cheek for a moment and then kissed my palm before bending to her work.
"It is said: too much thinking," she replied, pouring my drink into a silver cup, "can bring a man to distraction, and distraction to ruin."
"I truly hope not," I said, "for I have been thinking about our marriage."
"And this has made you unhappy?" She began breaking bread.
"But I am not unhappy," I insisted. "I have been speaking to Mahmoud, who tells me that I must obtain Lord Sadiq's approval to marry you."
"This is so," she affirmed, her chin jutting in agreement. "You must go to the amir and beg on your knees if you wish to marry me."
"I will crawl over burning coals for you, Kazimain," I replied, "if it will secure the amir's approval."
"He will surely give it," she said, smiling.
"I wish I could be certain."
"Has not Lord Sadiq said that you are a guest in his house?" she said. "Hospitality decrees that the requests of a guest cannot be refused. Anything you ask will be granted."
"Anything?" I wondered. Could the claims of hospitality be made to stretch so far?
"Anyway," she continued, "it is not as if I were a woman of no account who must depend upon my kinsman for a bride gift. My father was a wealthy man-"
"So you have said."
"-a wealthy and far-thinking man who provided handsomely for his daughter. I own lands and riches in my own right, and they are mine to do with as I will." She smiled with sweet defiance. "The man who marries me will gain far more than a wife."
"Kazimain, marry me," I said, seizing her hand and kissing her palm.
"I have already said that Allah wills it." Her tone was primly impassive.
"I have nothing to give you," I warned lightly.
"Give me but yourself," she said, "and I will be satisfied." She made to rise. "And now I must go."
"So soon? But-"
"Hush," she whispered, placing her fingertips to my lips. "We must not be found out now. If anyone were to suspect, they might hinder us." She rose and hastened to the door, glanced out into the corridor, and then looked back at me. "I will come to you tonight…" She paused teasingly then added, "in your dreams." She kissed her fingertips and raised her hand to me, then disappeared into the corridor.
I ate my meal alone and watched the evening sky deepen to dusk, listening to the muezzin's chanting call to evening prayer. This day, I thought, had gone very well. I had risen early with the firm intention of ending our proposed union, and now I sought it more ardently than ever.
I did love Kazimain, I swear it. But it was not love for her that wakened or nurtured my desire. Christ have mercy, even as she stood offering me the gift of herself, I saw but a way to fulfill the promise I had made to my friends. Revenge was all that mattered to me. Poor Kazimain was merely a convenient means by which this vengeance might be achieved. This, and no kindly regard for that beautiful, trusting soul, is what kindled my passion. I do freely confess this so that all may know what manner of man I had become.
Of my priestly vows, I had no qualm whatsoever. God had forsaken me, and I him. That part of my life was over; insofar as I was concerned, it was God, not me, who had died in Byzantium. So be it.
The next day I prepared for the amir's return, practising what I would say to him. Kazimain and I saw each other only once, and that briefly. She said that to avoid suspicion, she had arranged for another to bring my evening meal. We parted then, and I spent a restless night turning the matter over and over in my mind.
Lord Sadiq returned as expected at midday, and his arrival threw the entire household into a flurry of excitement. I kept myself out of sight, watching the activity from the roof garden, which had become my haunt as no one else seemed ever to go there. The horses of his bodyguard clattered into the street, clearing the way. Two of the rafiq dismounted and went inside to announce their lord's arrival, while the others ranged themselves outside. Meanwhile, servants, slaves, wives, and children hastened out into the street to bid him welcome. They shouted greetings and waved squares of coloured cloth as he rode into view.
Even from my rooftop roost I could tell that the amir was in no gentle mood. Without a word he threw himself from the saddle, bowed stiffly to his wives, and then strode rapidly into the house. This, I thought, boded ill for my plans. True, I did not know what was on his mind to upset him so, but in all likelihood my request would not be greeted with delight.
Still, I did not see any other course open to me. I could wait until the amir was in a better mood, but depending on what was troubling him, I might wait in vain. In the meantime, my position as a guest in his house could change at any moment. Regardless of the outcome, my best chance was to act now.
I prepared myself for the encounter. When I heard footsteps rushing up the stairs to the roof, I knew that the moment had come.
"Lord Sadiq demands your presence," said the servant who had been sent to fetch me. "You are to come at once."
I inclined my head in submission to the request. "I am ready," I told him. "You may lead me to him."
The servant bridled at this. Was I not a slave, like him? But I had schooled my manner well. No more would I behave as a slave. Mine would be the imperious demeanour of the amir himself.
Nevertheless, as the doors were flung open to his reception room and I glimpsed the amir sitting on his great chair, his face contorted by a vicious scowl, my new-found resolve deserted me. Faysal stood behind him, arms crossed over his chest, the frown on his face matching that of his lord's. I gulped down a deep breath, gritted my teeth and forced my feet to shuffle ahead. The servant saw my dismay and smiled in derision. This angered me, and I plucked up my flagging courage and strode into the glaring amir's receiving room as if I were the Holy Roman Emperor himself.
The first words out of the amir's mouth, however, all but destroyed my fledgling determination. "You did not tell me you were a spy for the emperor," he charged. "I should have let them kill you. It would have saved me the trouble." He clapped his hands sharply, and three of his warriors rushed forth, seized me by the arms, and forced me to my knees. Another warrior approached, carrying a curved axe on a pole.
"Well?" demanded the amir. "Have you anything to say before you die?"