“Ivory is every year more scarce, and the call of the infidel for more always greater.” In a great part, the markets on Zanzibar and Lamu relied on the pagan black tribes of the interior to supply their needs. The tribes did not have muskets with which to hunt the giant pachyderms. Their method was to set primitive pitfalls, lined with sharpened stakes, into which they tried to sTampede the herds. There were a few intrepid hunters among them who were capable of bringing down the elephant with bow and arrow, but their harvest was meagre.
“Perhaps we should sell muskets to the chiefs to help them to gather greater quantities?” a courtier suggested cautiously, but the Prince shook his head vehemently.
“That is too dangerous,” he said.
“It may encourage them to revolt against our authority. We would be opening the door of the lion’s cage.” They discussed the question at length, and then the Prince turned his attention to the slave trade.
“As we harvest the slaves from coastal areas, they are driven further into the interior.
Like the elephants, they become wilder and more wary. Each season the numbers we are able to obtain fall off.” As with the ivory, the Arabs relied on the more warlike chiefs of the interior to fall upon their neighbours and to capture slaves from their traditional tribal enemies, then to bring them to the gathering points on the shores of the great lakes.
“We might consider sending our own warriors into the forests to capture slaves,” someone proposed.
The Prince stroked his beard thoughtfu Ily.
“We would have to send good men and bold. We cannot know what they will encounter out there in the wilderness. We can only be sure that it will be dangerous and hard.” He paused to consider the suggestion further.
“I will give you my decision on this later, but in the meantime draw up a list of the names of fifty men who might be relied upon to lead such an expedition.” He dealt with each of these matters concerning trade, but before he went on to other more serious topics, he dismissed the least important members of his council, and kept only five of his most senior and trusted men with him to hear the outcome of his visit to Muscat.
This was perilous ground, which reeked of conspiracy and treachery.
The Caliph, alUzar ibn Yaqub, was older than the Prince by forty years, born of one of their father’s wives when he was a young man.
AlMalik was the child of his father’s dotage and his father’s last favourite, but as every horseman knew, “An old stallion and a young mare breed the finest foals.” The tiny Omani empire was under grave threat from the conquering Ottomans, that mighty empire that had its capitals in Istanbul and Baghdad, and which sprawled across most of the Arab world. The only states that had so far resisted them were a few small principalities beneath the notice of the Turkish caliphs in the north, or those who had succeeded in defending themselves from the depredations of the Ottomans.
Oman was protected by its strong fleet against attack from the sea. Any aggressor who tried to come at it overland from the north would be confronted by the ferocious sands of the Rub Al Khali, the Empty Quarter, and by the desert warriors who made up the small Omani army, and for whom the desert was home.
Oman had defied the Ottoman conquerors for a hundred years, and could do so for another hundred, if only it were led by a strong and resourceful man. Ibn Yaqub was not that man. He was past seventy years of age, and given to convoluted political intrigue and conspiracy, rather than the rig ours and hardships of war. His chief concern was always to safeguard his own position of power, rather than hold together and protect his small nation. In the process he had lost the respect of his tribes, for the Omani were made up of many, each under its own sheikh. Without firm direction these hard desert men were losing their sense of purpose and resolve, they were beginning to squabble among themselves, resuscitating ancient tribal blood feuds, and spurning the rule of the vacillating, cruel and scheming old man in Muscat.
Ibn Yaqub’s authority still held only close to his stronghold, but as it reached out into those burning deserts and across the endless waters of the Ocean of the Indies it ew ever more dilute and insubstantial. The desert sheikhs grand the dhow commanders would follow only a man they respected.
Already some had sent secret emissaries to alMalik, for he had proved himself a mighty man and a warrior without peer. They all knew that the Caliph had banished him to the outpost of the empire at Lamu because he was fearful of his half-brother’s influence and popularity.
The messengers promised that if he returned to Arabia, to the Omani, and headed a revolt against his brother then they would rise behind him. With him at the helm of the state they would once more unite against the Ottoman.
“It is your duty and your God-given right.
If you come to us then the mullahs will declare jihad, righteous war, and we will ride behind you to overthrow the tyrant,” they promised.
These were dire matters, and fraught with terrible perils. If they should fail, none of the six men seated on the terrace could doubt what the consequences would be for them personally. They sat long, debating the chances of success, and the justice of their cause.
When the council began, the dhows on the beach below them had been stranded by the ebb, high and dry and heeled over. Long lines of slaves had wound out across the exposed sand to unload their cargoes.
While the council talked, the tide began to flood, and gradually the ships righted themselves and floated free. They spread their matting sails and tacked out into the channel. Fresh arrivals from the mainland, heavily laden with cargo, came in to moor above the beach.
Still the six men on the terrace talked and debated, and the tide reached high t slack, then began its ebb.
All this time alMalik listened, and spoke little, while he allowed each of the others to say what was in their hearts without check or restraint. Carefully he sifted the gems of wisdom from the dross.
They reviewed the order of battle of those forces on which they could rely, and made lists of those sheikhs who were uncommitted or doubtful. They compared these to the powers that ibn Yaqub commanded.
Only when he had heard all they had to say did alMalik make his decision.
“It will depend upon the tribes of the deep desert, the Soar, the Dahm. and the Karab. They are the greatest warriors of all the Omani.
Without them our cause cannot prosper.
Yet we have not heard from them. We do not know in which direction they will point the war lance.” His councillors murmured agreement, and alMalik said softly, “I must go to them.” They were silent for a while, considering this bold course Of action, and then al-Allama said, “Your brother the Caliph will not allow it. If you insist, he will smell danger on the wind.”
“I will make the haj, the pilgrimage to Mecca, taking the ancient desert route to the Holy Places, the road that passes through the territory of the tribes. The Caliph cannot forbid a pilgrim, under penalty of eternal damnation.”
“There is great risk,” al-Allama said.
“There is never great gain without great risk,” alMalik replied, “and God is great.”
“Allah akbar!” they replied.
“Surely, God is great.” AlMalik made a graceful gesture of dismissal, and one by one they came to embrace him, kiss his hand and take their leave. Al-Allama was the last, and atMalik said, “Stay with me. It is the hour of Maghrib, the prayers at the setting of the sun. We will pray together.” Two slave-girls brought pitchers of pure sweet well water and the two men performed the ritual purification, washing their hands in the water that the girls poured for them from the silver pitchers, rinsing their mouths three times, snuffing water cupped in the right palm three times and blowing it out of the nostril with the fingers of the left hand, then going on to bathe their faces, arms and feet.
The slave-girls left and al-Allama stood and faced the Kabaa in Mecca, thousands of miles to the north. Cupping his hands behind his ears, he began the call to prayer in a loud voice.
“God is great. I bear witness that Muhammad is the messenger of God. Come to prayer!
Come to your own good!” Below them in the courtyard and under the palm trees along the head of the beach, hundreds of robed figures assembled quietly and took up the posture of reverence, all facing in the same direction.
“The prayer has begun!” chanted al-Allama.
When it was ended, alMalik gestured for the mullah to take a seat on the cushion close to his right hand.
“I saw the boy, al-Anihara, on the beach when I arrived. Tell me how he has fared in my absence.”
“He grows like a tamarind tree, strong and tall. Already he is a fine horseman. He has a quick mind and a ready tongue, sometimes too ready.
He is often prone to lack respect for his elders and betters. He does not take readily to criticism or restraint. And when he is angry or thwarted, his choice of invective would make a sea captain pale,” alA llama said primly.
AlMalik hid his smile behind the rim of his coffee cup What he heard only made him like his infidel son the more.
He would make a leader of men.
A Al-Allama went on, “He has come to manhood, and been properly circumcised by Ben Abram. When the time comes for him to accept Islam, he will be ready.”
“That is good,” the Prince said.
“And tell me, holy father, have your teachings borne fruit in that directional “He now speaks our language as though born to it, and he can recite long sections of the Holy Koran from memory.” Al-Allama looked uneasy and evasive.
“Has he made any progress towards submitting himself to God?”
alMalik insisted.
“Without that the prophecy can have no effect.
“The Prophet Himself has said that no man can be forced to convert to Islam. He must come to it in his own way and in his own time.”
“So your answer is no?”
“He glories in argument. Sometimes I think the only reason he memorizes the Koran is the better to argue with me. He glories in the religion of his own people and boasts that one day he will be inducted into some Christian religious order, which he calls the Knights of the Order of St. George and the Holy Grail, like his grandfather and his father before him.”
“It is not for us to question the ways of Allah,” atMalik said.
“God is gread” Al-Allama endorsed his assertion.
“But there is more to tell concerning the boy. We have had an enquiry from the English consul in Zanzibar concerning him AlMalik leaned forward earnestly.
“I thought that the consul in Zanzibar had been murdered over a year ago?”
“That was the man named Grey. Since his death the English have sent another to take his place.”
“I see. What form did this enquiry from the new man take?”
“He describes the boy accurately, his age and colouring.
He knows that alAmhara was captured by al-Auf, and that he was sold into slavery. He knows that he was bought My Your Excellency. He knows the name that we have given him, alAmhara.”
“How has he learned all this?” Worry lines creased alalik’s brow.
(I do not know, except that Ben Abram has told me much about the boy’s lineage. He met and spoke to at, Amhara’s elder brother when the Franks captured him at al-Auf’s base.” The Prince nodded.
“What does the doctor know concerning the boy?”
“His family is noble, close to the English King. Despite his youth, alAmhara’s brother is a formidable fighting mariner, and he has sworn a mighty oath to find and rescue his younger brother. Perhaps it is this family who is behind these enquiries from Zanzibar. We do not know this for certain, but it would be wise not to ignore these questions.” Al -Malik pondered this, then asked, “The English are buyers and owners of slaves. How can they object to the same practice in others? What can they do to force us to their will? Their land is far away, at the end of the earth.
They cannot send an army against us.”
“Ben Abram says that the Franks have perfidious ways of making war. They issue fir mn to the captains of their armed merchant ships against their enemies. These men are like sharks, or barracudas. They come for plunder.”
“Would the English King declare war on us over one child?”
“Ben Abram fears that he might. Not only for the sake of the child but also for the excuse to send their ships into Our waters, to seize the territory and the riches of the Omani.”
“I will think on all that you have told me.”
AlMalik dismissed him.
“Bring Ben Abram and the boy to me here tomorrow after the Zuhr prayers.” arian came to his audience with the Prince consumed by both trepidation and excitement at the prospect.
When he had first met the Prince, Dorian had been possessed of no such qualms: alMalik had been only another Mussulman, an enemy and a pagan chief However, he had learned much since he had been under the instruction of al-Allama and Ben Abram. He now knew that the Prince’s claim to royalty stretched back as far as that of the English King, he knew of his exploits as a sailor and a warrior, of the reverence his subjects felt towards him. In addition to this, the spiritual umbilical cord that bound Dorian to England and Christianity was unravelling and eroding with time and great distance.
These days he never had opportunity to speak his own language, he thought in Arabic, and had difficulty recalling the English words for even the simplest ideas. Even his memories of his family were fading.
He thought of his brother Tom only on occasion, and all ideas of escape from Lamu had been abandoned. He no longer thought of his state here on the island as one of captivity. Slowly he was being absorbed into the Arab world and the Arab way of thought.
Now, confronted with the Prince again, he was overcome with awe and reverence.
When he knelt before alMalik on the coral stones of the terrace and asked for his blessing, his heart ran faster with surprise and pleasure at the form in which the Prince returned his greeting.
“Come and sit beside me, my son. We have much to discuss.” This regal and impressive man had reaffirmed him as his son in front of these witnesses. Dorian felt proud, then experienced a sharp pang of guilt.