And the World Changed (23 page)

The Wazir looked perplexed. He could not confide in a stranger, even if that stranger was sworn to be his champion. What if he was the Emperor's agent provocateur and not Samira's ambassador at all? He shook his head sadly. He felt a father's warmth for the boy, but barely knew him.

“There is something about you that I feel I can trust, but I cannot betray my Emperor,” he said firmly. “He has commanded me to say nothing.”

“Father!” cried Samira, removing her turban. “Don't you recognize me? I am your daughter! Please let me help you.”

The old Wazir's eyes filled with tears. Tears of sadness, tears of love, tears of pride. And for a while he could not bring himself to speak.

“My child,” he said eventually, clutching her to him, “you have cut your beautiful hair, the legacy of your mother, and you've given it up for me. It must have broken your heart.”

Samira nodded. “Yes, but I would rather serve the living than the dead,” she replied. “I have lost my mother, I am desperate
to keep my father. So please, tell me why you are here.”

The Wazir sighed. He was bursting with pride at his daughter's bravery and quite overcome by her devotion and determination.

“Then listen,” he began. “One day some merchants from Badakshan visited our court with gifts for the Emperor. Among them was a wonderful ruby. It seemed to hold the depth of an ocean, an ocean at sunset when it is red and luminous because it has sucked the fire from the sun itself. And every time Azad Bakht looked at it, he forgot everything else. There is no doubt this was a rare gem. It captivated everyone who saw it.

“You know how it is with emperors—they often lose the distinction between the important and the less important. They are easily diverted by games and women and trinkets. Then it is up to their servants to remind them of the important things. And we tried, many of us, to point out to Azad Bakht that the ruby was excessively distracting—but would he listen? He began to suspect that we had our eyes on the ruby, that we wanted it for ourselves. Even that we were jealous of this inanimate stone. It was almost as if—God forgive me and cast dust in my mouth, but it must be said—it was almost as if Azad Bakht had begun to worship it. He could not bear to be without it. He would abandon meetings with important emissaries in order to have a quick peep at the stone. He would hold up vital proceedings to show off the gem to state visitors. Inevitably, one day matters went too far.

“A neighboring king was visiting to ask for Azad Bakht's support in a war against another king. The battle was a personal one and Azad Bakht would never have agreed in the normal course of affairs because this third king has always been faithful to us. But the visiting king saw his chance and seized it when Azad Bakht flaunted the ruby to him, and in tones at once awed and arrogant, demanded, ‘Tell me, have you such a jewel in your possession?' Well, from then on they talked of nothing but the great gems of the world and how this ruby must be among the
greatest. Before the meeting had ended, the clever visitor had procured Azad Bakht's help to fight his personal battle—our forces for his battle against a king who had never done us harm. Well, it was too much to stand by and accept. The king left, knowing he had outmaneuvered our young Emperor. It would be terrible for his reputation.

“That night when I went into the streets, the story had already got around. The people are forgiving, Samira, but not when their lives and their beloved country are at stake. They talked that night; talk to shame the bones of an old servant like me. Azad Bakht may be young, they said, but we've had boy-emperors before now who have brought great glory to the land. Little do they know, a boy-emperor is more likely to achieve glory than a young man, for his ego is not yet full blown and his ears more open to the wisdom of older men.

“I knew that night that I must tell the Emperor as bluntly as possible how the ruby was affecting him, that he must put his passion in perspective or he would do himself and his empire dreadful harm. That night, alone with Azad Bakht in his bedchamber and after all the courtiers had left, I had my chance to speak.

“I admit I was nervous, but the Wazir is the servant of the Emperor, and the Emperor of the State, and the State of the people, and the people of God. So you see, I was at the bottom of a long chain. Soft words and gentle advice had no effect on Azad Bakht and, I don't know—I suppose it was partly the anger of hearing my Emperor criticized, partly the humiliation of withdrawing our word to the visiting king, partly my own earlier failure—but my blood was boiling and nothing drives a man to greater risk than simmering rage. Well, whatever it was that night it drove me to an action that has reduced me to this.

“I stood by the elbow of Azad Bakht and I said in as firm a voice as I could muster, ‘Your Majesty, Shadow of the Eternal, Refuge of the World, Recipient of the Wisdom of the Almighty,
I have something important to tell you, but it will fall heavy on your gracious ear.'

“‘What is it?' said Azad Bakht, growing a little crabby, for it was late at night. He rubbed the great ruby against his cheek, then reached out and placed it in a niche directly above his bed. I noticed that the exquisitely inscribed calligraphy of a verse from the Quran had been removed to make room for the wretched stone. It saddened me.

“‘I will tell you,' I said, ‘if you promise to spare my life.'

“‘Yes, yes,' replied Azad Bakht, getting impatient, ‘Your life is safe. Now get on with it.'

“Well, you can imagine how I felt. Clearly the Emperor was in no mood to hear criticism—and then not as harshly as I meant to put it—but I had no option because I had decided carefully on my words and methods.

“‘Well, Your Majesty,' I said, looking boldly into the Emperor's eyes, ‘it is about the ruby.'

“Quite unselfconsciously, Azad Bakht reached out and clutched the stone, holding it defensively to his heart.

“‘Oh, you're not still complaining about my fabulous ruby, are you?'

“‘It does not become a great Emperor like you to give such importance to a mere stone,' I continued.

“‘A mere stone?' shouted the Emperor, holding up the ruby for me to see. ‘Look how it sparkles and casts its light! It is sublime, it is supernatural. How can anyone but an idiot describe it as a “mere stone”? The like of it was never encountered anywhere else.'

“‘Not so, my liege,' I quaked to hear my voice clipped and curt, but say it I had to, ‘for I have heard tales that a merchant of Nishapur has a dog whose collar is studded with twelve rubies, each one as large and as perfect as this one.'

“Azad Bakht gasped and clutched his throat. Horrified, I rushed up to help him. I thought he was going to choke. It was as if my words had knocked the breath from him. But he pushed
me away. He spluttered and turned the color of the luscious quinces of Lebanon. Then quite suddenly he regained control.

“‘You have insulted me and that makes you a traitor,' he said in a voice that was quiet and very deadly. I have never seen my Emperor so cold and so terrifying as he was at that moment. ‘Traitors die a hideous death, but you have served my family faithfully and wisely for many years and I have given you my word. Therefore, you will live out the rest of your life in the dungeons of the old fort.'

“‘My liege,' I whispered, throwing myself to my knees, ‘your wish is my command. But will my daughter be safe?'

“‘Your daughter is my sister,' the Emperor told me. His words were spoken like a true monarch. ‘She will be under my protection and may, if she chooses, move into the royal palace for her own security. If she prefers, however, she may stay in your mansion and I will pronounce her a ward of the Emperor.'

“Thankfully, I rose and opened the doors. At my own command, the Royal Guard escorted me to the prison where I am today. And if it were not for the graciousness of my Emperor, my punishment could have been horrendous. I could have had my eyes gouged out with hot pokers, been subjected to several hundred strokes of the lash, had my tongue amputated. . . .”

Samira shuddered and put her hands to her father's lips.

“Please, Father,” she begged, “we need not dwell on such horrors now.”

The Wazir shook his head. “It is important for us both to acknowledge how lucky I am. The Emperor has been merciful. My body is whole though I am growing weak, and a life in this cell is no great hardship when you send me wonderful food each day and all the parts of my body are intact. I haven't many years of life left—those I can eke out in relative peace, praying and repenting and nourishing my soul.”

Samira stood up and walked back and forth for a while, building up the courage to put her question to her father. She could feel his eyes watching her, alert for her request. No, her
father had not lost any of his faculties, physical or mental.

“Father,” she said at last, “I want your blessings.”

“You have those always,” cut in the wily Wazir, before she could proceed with her request.

Samira began to lose her nerve, but recovered and spoke with greater determination than before. “I want to go to Nishapur to find the dog with the ruby collar. I want your permission and your blessings.”

“Do you know what you're asking?” demanded the Wazir. “The city of Nishapur is far, far away, in Khorasan. You have to cross tracts of desert and face fighting hordes who know as little of mercy as they do of palaces. Only an army has any chance of getting past them.”

“Two strangers stand more chance than an army,” retorted Samira. “An army would put them on their guard. A caravan would alert them to infinitely greater treasures than one body can carry. But a single young man with an old attendant will pose no threat to warrior tribes. Besides, we know from the stories of the great minstrels that wit wins many a battle before it is ever fought.”

“Ah, Samira, Samira,” lamented the Wazir, “the lack of a mother has done you more harm than I ever imagined. You read books on battles and look deep into the Mirror of Princes and you talk back to your father. Well, I brought you up so I must take the blame. It would have been wiser to hand you over to my sister, then perhaps I would not be in this dilemma today.”

“Father, you have given me everything I ever needed. You have nurtured in me the creativity and determination of a woman and a heart as brave as a she-lion's. In archery and swordsmanship I was the best among my companions. But people think a woman's body is frail and vulnerable—I concede that. That is why I have to dress like this. Isn't it ironic that I have to dress like a man in order to discover my potential?”

The Wazir looked at his daughter with new eyes. He could not deny this young woman, this brave and wise young woman,
the chance of self-discovery. He sighed so deeply that his frail frame shuddered with the force of it. He would probably never see the girl again. Flesh of his flesh, fruit of his loins, beloved gift of his dead wife.

“But,” he thought, “the greatest gift a parent can give a child is the approval to do what she must. Yet how difficult it is to give. Yes, and I bless her efforts—how hard it is to say those words. Yet I must say them because it is quite obvious Samira has thought a lot about the matter and I have no wish to stop my daughter from fulfilling herself.”

The Wazir raised his hand and laid it on Samira's head.

“Go with my blessings,” he said, “and never forget who you are and why you go.”

Samira threw her arms around her father. Tears filled her eyes and, promising him she would remember all the advice he had given her over the years, she left the dungeon.

Up in her castle she made ready for the journey. She would need a few spare sets of clothes. A trusted servant was sent out to acquire these. She would need provisions, merchandise for trade, gifts to pacify the nomad robbers and other brigands. And gold coins and gems, which she had sewn into the stiffened hems of her coat and other robes. Finally, accompanied by the faithful servant, she set off on her journey.

The road was long and arduous and there were nights when they slept between the vast skies and the shifting desert sands, as huge, radiant stars hung in clustering branches above them, bright as the torches that lit the richest mansions of Constantinople. Occasionally, they would hear the tinkle of a hospitable camel bell and a kindly tribesman would raise them from their sandy bed and take them to his home. Then there were the easier nights in plush and humble caravansery, travelers' inns built along the trunk roads. Finally they arrived in Khorasan, traveling on, frequently asking for directions until they reached the city of Nishapur where they took rooms in a modest but comfortable inn. At breakfast on the very first day, Samira spoke to the landlord.

“Is there a particular quarter in this town where the jewelers have their shops?”

“There might be and there might not be,” replied the dour fellow. “What is it that you seek? To sell or to buy?”

“To look, at first,” responded Samira jauntily, “and then, if I find your Nishapuri goods worthwhile, perhaps to trade. A little buying, a little selling. That's where the fun of business lies.”

“Oh, the arrogance of the young,” grumbled the innkeeper. “Don't be so proud of your wealth and your youth, for the colors of such garments fade soon enough. As to your cheeky remarks—you'll not find better jewelers anywhere than in our Nishapur bazaars.”