The Legend of the King (2 page)

It hadn't occurred to Dinadan. "What, stop at that point in the music? In the middle of the secondary theme?"

Palomides' smile broadened. "Yes, of course. Unthinkable."

"I was just lulling them, you see."

"That much you did, certainly," Palomides replied. "I believe your horse is tied nearby. Shall we gather your possessions and leave? I do not know exactly what the bey intends for you, but I think it would be better if you were free."

As they left the prison house, with Dinadan's possessions in their arms, Dinadan asked, "Were you just passing, or did you know I was here?"

"I did not know it was you, although I wondered. I knew only enough to make me curious. Yes, here's your horse, just where the agha said it was."

"Agha?"

"General, captain, lord. The officer who brought you here. I was with the bey when he gave his report. He said that he had thrown into the dungeons several whimpering old men who claimed to be emissaries from the empire, and that with them there was a man with fair skin, a strange language, and the nobility of God. Naturally, I thought of you."

Dinadan rolled his eyes. "Naturally," he said. "Is it acceptable manners in this country to tell one's friend that he's speaking rot?"

"I only repeat what the agha said. The bandits who captured you told him how you carried one of the men yourself and gave him your last drop of water."

"I was holding out for a nice glass of French wine," Dinadan explained.

"Of course. To continue, the agha said that he could not put such a man as you in the dungeons with the whiners, so he brought you to this house, which is reserved for noble prisoners."

"I see," Dinadan said. "So I gather my companions didn't sleep in a bed and have breakfast brought to their rooms on a tray?"

"A stone floor, and breakfast lowered to them in a bucket, more likely."

Dinadan knew he should feel sorry for the ambassadors, and he even tried to summon some sympathy, but feelings didn't always behave as one wished them to, and after a moment he abandoned the attempt. He hoped that they hadn't been too miserable, but the truth was that he didn't care for any of the emissaries, even the old man whom he had supported.

"And so," Palomides continued, "I listened until the agha told where your prison was, then strolled around this morning to see for myself this fair man with the nobility of God. The rest you know. I heard your playing, knew it was you, and decided to set you free."

"Will it be awkward for you, freeing me? I mean, aren't you in the employ of the bey?"

"No," Palomides replied imperturbably. "I am in no one's employ. It does appear that when the bey invited me to bring a troop of Moorish warriors for a visit, he had some notion of hiring us to make war with the empire, but he has a mistaken idea of me. I do not fight for hire, however insulted the bey was."

By this time, they had located Dinadan's horse, stowed Dinadan's gear, and were several streets away from his former prison. "Tell me about that insult. I gather that Alis said something witless in a letter. Have you seen it?"

"I have."

"And?"

"It was, ah,
very
insulting. The only explanation is that this Alis wished to provoke a war."

Dinadan shook his head, puzzled. "I just can't believe it," he said. "I know Alis a bit—just attended his wedding, in fact—and while he's a priceless ass and more than a little mad, I'd swear that the last thing he wanted was war."

"Would you like to see the letter?"

"You could arrange that?"

Palomides smiled. "I have allowed the bey to think I may still fight for him, and while he has such hopes, I have a privileged position at court. Come."

Palomides led Dinadan through the streets of the city—which, as Dinadan learned, was called Angora—to the rear of a magnificent palace. "This is the bey's castle?" Dinadan asked, whistling admiringly.

"One of his smaller ones, yes," Palomides replied. "I'll take you up the back stairs to the council room. If we're challenged, I'll do the talking."

Dinadan sniffed. "You don't think I talk goodly?"

"Not even in English, let alone in Arabic. Besides, we may be challenged with weapons, not words."

"And you don't think I fight goodly?"

"No."

"Oh, right."

Despite Palomides' warning, they met no one. In fact, the entire castle seemed deserted. By the time they entered the bey's official council chambers, they still had not seen a soul. Palomides went to a carved desk and found a roll of parchment. "The original letter was written in Greek. This is a translation into Arabic. I'll have to read it aloud and put it into English for you."

He cleared his throat, and began: "'Oh, little Phoenix, I write again to you.'"

"He calls the bey
little Phoenix?
" Dinadan asked.

"Yes, all through the letter. Phoenix is the name that Tugril Bey has taken for himself. His crest is a bird rising from the ashes. He did not, however, like being called
little
Phoenix."

"I suppose it does come across as a tiny bit odd."

Palomides raised one eyebrow. "If you think
that's
odd ... well, let me read on. 'Oh, little Phoenix ... again to you.' Here we are. 'I think of your shapely form and supple skin and how fragile you are as you rise from the bath. You are so small, so delicate.'"

"What?"

"'Your lips, so perfect and round, haunt my dreams. Every man wishes to kiss them, but I alone shall smother them with my passion.'"

"All right, I need you to stop now," Dinadan said.

"Are you sure? There's much more."

Dinadan made a nauseated face. "Out of curiosity,
does
the bey have a shapely form and supple skin?"

"No. Nor is he small and delicate. He looks like a shaved ox, but fatter. Are you quite certain you've heard enough? In the next part, the emperor says that a strand of little Phoenix's hair, which shines like spun gold, shall be snipped off and kept in a locket."

"Please, no. I'll do anything you say."

"But you see why the bey took offense. The emperor describes Tugril Bey as a defenseless girl who will soon be ravished by the empire."

"Girl," Dinadan repeated slowly. "Hair like spun gold. Oh, Lord,
little Phoenix!
"

"What is it?" Palomides asked.

"You know I said I had been to the emperor's wedding? Well, the child he married, a German princess with golden hair, was named
Fenice.
"

Palomides stared at him for a long second, then said quietly, "I see. And the translators, not recognizing the name, thought it said Phoenix."

"Alis sent the wrong letter. He sent the bey a love note he had written to his fifteen-year-old bride."

For a long moment, Dinadan and Palomides looked blankly at each other. At last Palomides said, "How ... how unfortunate."

That was enough. A moment later the friends were roaring with laughter. For several minutes they could hardly breathe, let alone speak. Palomides recovered first and said, "We must tell the bey. It will make the emperor look like an utter fool—"

"Which is true," Dinadan pointed out.

"But it should avert a war. Follow me."

They left the council chamber and once again found the corridors and rooms of the palace completely deserted. It took them several minutes to locate an elderly servant who was sewing alone in a room. Palomides asked her a question in Arabic, listened to her reply, then turned grimly to Dinadan. "She says that everyone in the palace is in the center court to watch the executions—some ambassadors from the empire."

Dinadan lost all desire to laugh. Without another word, Palomides turned and ran down the hall, with Dinadan at his heels. Down one flight of stairs, through a magnificent open hall supported by huge marble pillars, outside and through a portico, and they were in a crowded courtyard, pushing through a throng of courtiers and servants toward the raised platform at the center of the square. Dinadan saw with relief that they were not too late; the ambassadors were still alive, lined up on the platform, blindfolded, and looking very gaunt and very dirty.

Palomides vaulted lightly onto the platform, drew his sword, and called out a challenge in Arabic. Not to be outdone—or, rather, not to be left alone in the crowd—Dinadan leaped up beside him and called out in English, "That's right! Whatever he said!" He wasn't wearing his sword, having left it on his saddle in the palace stables, but he had slung a short knife at his belt, which he now drew and began cutting free the ambassadors' hands. There was a movement to his left, and from the corner of his eye he saw a soldier leap toward him, sword raised to strike. Dinadan ignored him, relying on Palomides, and a second later, as he'd expected, the attacking soldier stopped in his tracks and fell backwards, clutching his arm. Dinadan went on freeing the ambassadors. "Thanks," he said over his shoulder.

Palomides nodded briefly, then began speaking to the crowd. Dinadan finished with the ambassadors' hands, helped them with their blindfolds, then stood back to look around. Directly across the courtyard, on a balcony draped with silks and ornately woven hangings, sat a large, nearly spherical man. From his jewel-encrusted turban, Dinadan guessed that this was Tugril Bey, Phoenix of Araby. Palomides finished his speech, and Dinadan said, "Did you tell them about the letter?"

"Not yet," Palomides replied. "I simply reminded them that the Prophet and the Noble Caliphs of Islam would never execute prisoners without a trial, then told them I had proof that the empire did not intend war. Now we wait to see if the bey wishes to listen."

"And if he doesn't?"

Palomides shrugged. "There is no one I would rather die beside than you, my friend."

Deliberately, the bey heaved himself to his feet and walked to the edge of the balcony. All eyes were on him as the court waited. Glancing around, Dinadan guessed that about a hundred red-clad soldiers were in the courtyard. The bey spoke in a deep, rich voice, and Palomides let out his breath in a sigh of relief. "He'll listen," the moor muttered quickly.

Producing Emperor Alis's letter, Palomides began his explanation. For a minute there was no sound, but the crowd didn't look convinced. Then Palomides began to read excerpts from the letter, and a low titter began to spread through the courtyard. Dinadan glanced at the imperial diplomats, who were also listening closely, and saw shame reddening their cheeks. In terms of the dignity of the empire, Alis's adolescent gushings were probably difficult to listen to. But the Greeks had sense enough to see that the more foolish Alis looked, the better their chance of living, and they said nothing.

The laughter spread and grew more pronounced as Palomides read longer and longer excerpts from the letter. At last even the bey began to chuckle, then to laugh openly. He held up one hand, spoke briefly to the crowds, then turned and disappeared. Palomides smiled and looked at Dinadan, saying, "The bey says that there is no honor in making war with a ... what is the English word?"

"Idiot? Buffoon? Madman? Priceless ass? Thickwit? Blithering beetle-brained booby?"

"That last one is good."

"So how does an Arab say blithering beetle-brained booby?"

"Beginning today,
Alis.
The bey says that the ambassadors are to be escorted to the border and released, but I hope you—" A horn sounded from a distant part of the castle. "Wait. That's an alarm," Palomides said. "Not of danger, but of news." The crowd in the court grew still, and the bey reappeared on the balcony.

A moment later, several guards arrived, leading a man on horseback. The man's clothing was that of a courtier from Constantinople, and Dinadan heard old Paulos, beside him, exclaim, "Loukas!"

The courtier began speaking in slow and halting Arabic. When he was done, he sighed and almost fell from his saddle in exhaustion. Palomides said, "He says that he was sent from the imperial court to bring further news to the bey and to assist the nobles who had already come to seek peace. Emperor Alis is dead, and with no adult heir, the empire has been placed in the care of a regent. I did not catch the regent's name—Acor-something."

"Acoriondes," Dinadan said. "A good friend and a man of honor."

"To be one is to be the other," Palomides said. "Anyway, the regent Acoriondes sends his deepest honor to the bey and hopes that they will have peace for this generation and for generations yet unborn."

"Poor Alis," Dinadan mused. "One couldn't help liking the old loony, but his death does seem rather like good news. It makes a tidy ending to this story. Now the ambassadors can return triumphantly, bearing news of peace that they did nothing to achieve."

"To go back to what I was saying when the messenger arrived," Palomides said, "I hope you do not need to return with them. I have been given quite spacious rooms in the castle, and I would love to show you around Angora."

Dinadan smiled. "I didn't come on tiresome state business. I came to see you. Of course I'll stay."

About eight hours later, Dinadan leaned back on his cushioned chair and gazed from Palomides' airy balcony at the sun setting in a peaceful red glow. The towers and domes of Angora loomed black against the sky, but the dark silhouettes were outlined with gleaming gold threads, reflections of the light beyond the blackness. Dinadan took a second experimental sip of the hot bitter drink that Palomides had given him. He would have preferred a cup of wine, but Palomides drank no liquor.

"Try it with some sugar," Palomides suggested, sitting beside him.

"Anything," Dinadan muttered. "Look, seriously, what is this stuff?"

"It's made from roasted African beans, ground up and boiled."

"Do you ever wonder who first thought of roasting beans, grinding them up and boiling them, and then drinking the water? I mean, it doesn't leap to the mind as a good use for beans. Was it some African village idiot, wandering about mumbling to himself and doing bizarre things? 'Hey, you there! Fool! Stop grinding up those beans! What do you think you're doing?'"

Palomides took a sip of his own drink. "I rather like it."