Shame of Man by Piers Anthony
The apparel of the city folk was surprising too. Huo was of course garbed in loose trousers, loose shirt, loose jacket overall, and a turban on his head and scarf wrapped around his lower face, so as to keep the sun and sand out, and An'a was covered just as thoroughly. But the people of Damascus ranged from Bedouin style to garish Christian style, with many of them completely and shamelessly barefaced. Their clothing was of every color, and some young women exposed so much of their wrists and ankles that it was hard not to stare.
But all were unified at the five times for universal prayers. At dawn, noon, afternoon, sunset, and darkness all Moslems faced Mecca, went to their knees, and down on their faces, all together. It was a phenomenal synchronized display of the worship of Allah, the one God, and devotion to his prophet Muhammad. However else the city might be strange, this proved it to be familiar in the faith.
It was familiar, in a less comfortable way, to Huo. The left hand was considered to be a thing of impiety. The left was used in the performance of the cruder bodily functions, and the right for all elevated tasks. The difference between superficially similar hands was like that between the manners in which the body expelled air: a belch after a good meal was excellent form, while an inadvertent breaking of wind was a social horror of the grossest magnitude. Thus Huo had to eat and write with his right hand, though it was clumsy for him. Only when alone with An'a, who understood, and when playing music, where both hands were equal, could he relax. Often he wished he could be in some other culture, where he could be himself. But that was a pointless dream; everything that he valued was here in the land of the faithful.
But they could not spend too much time gawking at the wonders of the city. They had to locate the promised lodgings before nightfall.
A man approached Huo. “Are you the musician from Arabia?” he asked.
“I do answer to that description,” Huo agreed cautiously.
“Here is a letter from the caliph.” The man handed him a scroll, saluted smartly and departed.
An'a and the children stared after him. “A what?” she asked.
“I seem to remember that the caliph has established a postal service,” Huo said, bemused. “And a system for archiving and protecting official documents. I had not expected to encounter it so quickly.”
“What does it say?” Chi'ip asked.
Huo broke the seal and read the ornate text. “It says that we have been assigned a residence in the elite section, with a servant who knows the city to take care of routine matters. It gives the address, and requests an audience tomorrow.”
“Who requests an audience?” An'a asked.
“It is signed ‘The Barking Bitch.’ “
Both children burst out laughing. But An'a was thoughtful. “Doesn't Muawiya's name mean that?”
“Yes,” Huo said. “But I never thought he would use it himself. I fear that this may be a false message.”
“Unless the caliph has a considerable sense of humor.”
“I think we shall just have to check the address, and see what we can discover,” Huo said.
They made their way to the lodging, and it was a nice section of the city, clean and without dangerous-looking people. Huo approached the door, and was met there by a young woman. “Are you the musician?” she asked.
“I am. I received a letter—”
“Yes. Come in with your family. I am your servant Mou'se. I will do your shopping, take care of your children, and guide you wherever you need to go. Tomorrow you must see the caliph.”
“The letter was signed ‘The Barking Bitch.’ That couldn't be the caliph!”
Mou'se smiled. “It is the humor of the scribe. Caliph Muawiya is tolerant of such jests, so long as they are not uttered by powerful enemies. He is also called the brother of a bastard, and accused of having enormous buttocks. All true, of course, but—”
“But we shall not call him anything but Caliph,” Huo said firmly, looking at his children, who were starting to giggle. They sobered immediately.
“What is your family, and how did you come to be assigned to this chore?” An'a asked Mou'se.
“Oh, I like helping folk,” Mou'se said. “My family lived in the country, but the drought made us move to the city. So my father and mother, and my two older sisters, and my brother and his lovely wife Se'ed all came here, and we remember how hard it is to get used to at first. Even twenty years later. And I love music.”
That seemed to cover it. They entered the house and Mou'se made them feel right at home. She had food ready, and quickly acquainted them with all the necessary things to know about the city. This was their first experience with a servant, but in just a few hours it seemed as if she had always been with them.
“Do the Bedouin still value eloquence, archery, and horsemanship above all else?” Mou'se inquired shyly. “I was only five when—but that is of no interest.
“The old values still hold,” Huo agreed. “Our proverb states that the three great boons to a clan are the birth of a son, the foaling of a mare, and the discovery of a poet.”
“I remember!” Mou'se exclaimed. “And music is like poetry. I hope I hear you play one day.”
“Perhaps,” Huo agreed, flattered but wary. It was true that his ability with the double clarinet had lifted him from the commonplace to the rare, and given him access to prominent families and courts. Until his implication in the death of a caliph, and banishment from recognition. Now his reputation had been restored, but he retained a certain nervousness about what could happen in a royal court.
In the evening they found themselves too tired to go back out into the city, but still too tense from travel and new experience to relax. The children were showing signs of becoming cranky, and An'a feared they were about to make a scene that would embarrass them in front of an outsider.
But Mou'se, alert to exactly that, stepped in. “Let me tell you a tale of Persia,” she said. “It is a wondrous story that always enthralled my sisters and me.”
Chi'ip looked doubtful, afraid that Huo and An'a might be planning to go out and leave him and Miina with the servant.
A tale of Persia. Huo found himself intrigued. “We'll all listen,” he said, taking a comfortable seat. That reassured the children, and they relaxed.
Mou'se began the tale of “The Enchanted Horse.”
There was once, in times of yore and the passage of ages, a great and wise king of the Persians named Sabur. He had a son who was handsome and bold, and three daughters who were like three moons or three wonderful flowers in their beauty and delicacy. He had a great love of science, geometry, and astronomy, and encouraged these disciplines in his kingdom.
One day during a spring festival three sages presented themselves before King Sabur. They had come from several far countries, and each spoke a different language. The first was a Hindu from India, and the second was a Christian from Constantinople, and the third was a Persian from a distant province of the king's own realm.
The Hindu sage brought a truly royal present: a man formed from gold encrusted with diamonds, with a golden trumpet in his hand. “If you set him up at the gate of your city, he will be a sleepless guardian. If an enemy approaches, the golden man will blow a blast which will paralyze your foe with fear and alert your entire city to the danger.”
“As Allah lives,” cried the king, “if this is true, I will grant you your fondest wish, whatever it may be.”
Then the Roman sage came forward, and presented the king with a basin of silver, in which was a peacock of gold, surrounded by twenty-four gold peahens. “Each time that an hour passes, of the day or night, the peacock pecks one of the peahens, and mounts her, with a great beating of his wings, thus marking the hours, until all the females have been mounted and the day and night are past. Further, when a month has passed, he will open his mouth and the crescent of the new moon will appear in his throat.”
“If you speak sooth,” said the king, “I will give you whatever you may desire, if it be in my power.”
The Persian sage approached. He presented the king with a horse made from rare black ebony, inlaid with gold and diamonds, and with a saddle. “When this horse is mounted, it will carry its rider through the air with such speed that it covers a year's distance in a day.”
“By Allah the Omnipotent, if this is true, I will reward you most splendidly!” the king exclaimed.
For three days thereafter the king tested the three marvelous devices, and all of them worked exactly as specified. “O illustrious sages,” the king said, gratified, “now that I have proved the truth of your claims, I will fulfill my promise. Ask what you will, and I shall grant it on the instant.”
The three replied that they wished the king to bestow on them his three daughters in marriage, for they had heard of the beauty of the damsels. The king agreed, and summoned the officials and witnesses so that the ceremony could be performed forthwith.
Now it happened that the king's three daughters, being curious by nature, were circumspectly witnessing the interchange. They were seated behind a curtain in the reception hall and heard what was said. Two of them did not object, for the sages were of fair countenance and mannerly, but when the youngest looked closely at the sage who would be her husband, lo, he was an old man, looking to be a hundred years of age, with his hair frosted, his forehead drooping, moth-eaten eyebrows, a nose like an eggplant, teeth jutting like those of a wild pig, lips like a camel's, and the rest of him less fair to behold. He was a compost of monstrous ugliness, supremely deformed. In truth, his aspect would have put a terrible demon of a haunted house to shame.
The princess, in contrast, was the fairest and most beautiful girl of her time, like a gazelle in her grace and symmetry, putting even her two lovely sisters to shame. She was truly formed for the games and works of love, outshining the full moon in luster. When she saw what was to befall her, she fled to her room, tore her robes, strewed dust on her head, and flung herself down in a dreadful fit of weeping.
The king's son, just returned from a prolonged hunting excursion, knew nothing of the events of the past three days, but happened to discover his sibling in her misery. His name was Prince Kamar al-Akmar, and of all the people in the world, he loved his little sister the most dearly. He was most grieved to find her in such distress. “What has happened, O my darling sister?” he inquired.
“O my dear and only brother,” she responded tearfully, beating her fair breast, “I will hide nothing from you. Our father has resolved upon a foul thing, and I think I must flee this court forever, rather than suffer this odious union, for I would far rather die. Know that he has promised me to a vile senile ugly magician who brought him a gift of black wood.” And she told him the whole story.
“This shall not be,” Kamar said, and went to reprove their father.
He found the king and braced him forthwith. “What is this I hear of a magician to whom you have promised my little sister in marriage? What gift could be so precious as to warrant slaying her with grief? This thing must not happen.” No ordinary person would dare speak to the king thus, but Kamar was his prize, and trained to be decisive in the manner of one who would one day rule.
The Persian was nearby, and heard what the prince said. The words infuriated him, but he pretended nonchalance.
“My son,” the king said, “you must see this marvelous horse. Then you will understand.”
“I think I had better,” the prince replied grimly.
They went to the court where the horse stood. The prince was amazed by its beauty. “I must try this steed,” he said, and jumped into the saddle, for he was an accomplished horseman. He thrust his feet into the stirrups and spurred the horse forward, but it did not move.
“Tell him how it works,” the king told the sage.
The sage wanted to be rid of the prince, so he took advantage of the young man's impetuous nature by telling him only part of the truth. “Do you see that gold peg on the right side? Turn that to make the horse rise.”
Kamar immediately did so, and behold, the horse rose in the air with the quickness of a bird, for the prince had turned it too far for caution. In a moment the horse was far above the palace and soaring away, out of earshot.
“What is this?” the king demanded, alarmed. “How can he bring it down again?”
“O master, he did not give me time to explain the use of the peg on the left side, which governs descent. I can do nothing.”
King Sabur was no fool, and he suspected the sage of deliberate mischief. But he was not sure. So he compromised by indulging a middle path: instead of slaying the man immediately, he had him beaten and thrown into the darkest dungeon of the city until such time as the prince should safely return. Then he cast the crown from his head, beat himself in the face, and tore out handfuls of his beard. He went to his youngest daughter, who was in similar state. “Indeed you shall not marry that vile sage,” he said. “I rue the moment I considered such a thing, for now my son is lost.”
The princess was quick to forgive her father, for she was of a sweet nature, and of course the loss of a son was a much greater affliction than the loss of a daughter. She consoled him as well as she could, but she grieved for Kamar herself, for she loved him as dearly as he loved her.
Meanwhile the prince found himself high aloft on the reckless steed, which would not respond to his directives. The peg caused the ascent to speed or slow, but would not bring the horse down. Kamar was impetuous, but also no fool; he realized that there had been malice in the sage's limited instruction. But since the sage himself was able to control the horse, there had to be a way. “Surely there is a second peg,” he said.
So he felt all over the horse, and finally found a tiny peg, no more than a pin, easy to overlook. He pressed down on it, and the horse leveled, then began to descend rather too swiftly for comfort. The ground was rushing up, and the prince feared a crash.
But he experimented with the two pegs, and found that by touching them together with different motions, turning one slowly while pressing the other lightly, he could achieve complete control of the horse's elevation and velocity. Then he could affect its direction of motion by using the normal signals of his legs and feet. He was now in charge, and no longer in danger. He brought it to a gentle landing, and then caused it to rise again, going forward and backward, learning its nuances, until he was as expert with it as he was with a natural horse.
But he was now in a far realm, for the horse had flown most swiftly at the beginning, and that day was ending. He realized that he would not be able to find his way home in the dark, so decided to find a place to stay for the night. He rose high enough to gain a good view of the local landscape, and spied the lights of a sizable city surrounded by a formidable wall, and the turret of a palace in the distance. “That should be a good place,” he said. “Surely they will have fitting food and lodging.”
He flew the horse to the palace, and landed on a terrace. But now it was dark, and the lights here had been doused. So Prince Kamar left the horse and descended a stair in search of the proprietors, or at least some servants who could help him, for he was now quite hungry and thirsty. He came to a courtyard paved with marble and alabaster, and marveled at the intricacy and beauty of the building, but found no living person. “There is no help here,” he concluded. “I had better return to the horse, and pass the night there.”
But as he started back, he spied a light, which turned out to be a torch set in the wall. He went to it and found a huge black slave asleep on a mattress before a closed door. There was a bag of food beside the slave, so Kamar quietly took it, opened it, and found a loaf of good bread. He ate this with relish, then returned the bag and took the slave's great sword. He hoped that the slaves of his father's palace were not this careless, but was nevertheless thankful that this one was. He went to a nearby fountain and drank deeply.
Much refreshed, Kamar explored farther, and came to a second lighted door, this one not guarded. It was covered by a velvet curtain. He drew aside the
Kamar gazed at her in wonder, for she was the loveliest creature he had seen, other than his little sister, and indeed was like a twin in the luster of her flower-white brow, anemone-red cheeks, and perfect symmetry.
The prince was overcome by emotion, for love was burgeoning in his heart at the sight of her, and he bent to kiss her right cheek. The girl woke, surprised. “Who are you?” she demanded.
“I am the slave of love,” he replied. “For never have I seen a creature of such exquisite perfection.”
The girl might have been frightened or angry, but there was something about the way the man expressed himself that appealed to her. She saw that he was handsome, and clothed in the manner of a prince. “Are you the one who sued yesterday for my hand in marriage, but my father rejected on the pretext that he was ugly?” she asked. “If so, I must say I differ from my father, for you are by no means ill favored in my eyes. I am the Princess Shams al-Nahar, called Sun of the Day, of the Kingdom of Arabia.”
“I am not he,” Kamar said. “But surely I shall sue likewise for your hand, for you are surely she who I thought existed only in my dreams of rapture. I am Kamar al-Akmar, Prince of Persia.”
The slave girls woke, and overheard this exchange. “Indeed, this is not the one, mistress,” one informed the princess. “For that one is indeed hideous of aspect, while this man is handsome.”
“Then I choose to be with you,” Princess Shams said, and stepped into Kamar's embrace. He welcomed her approach, and in a moment it seemed that they had exchanged a thousand caresses and compliments, being instantly in love.