The Hakawati (23 page)

Baybars kissed the top of Latifah’s head and thanked her for the
story. And on the seventh day, Baybars descended with three sheets of amareddine and a bugle. When al-Awwar finished eating, Baybars played “al-Khayal”: “I am the rider, let us ride.”

And Baybars rode al-Awwar out into the desert. He rode far from Damascus, rode until he reached the mountains west of the city, until both he and his horse were encapsuled in a sheen of sweat. Upon their return, as they neared the city, the sword shook. Baybars placed his hand upon it and felt it quiver once more. Al-Awwar stopped. Four men waited for Baybars to approach. He nudged his horse and rode slowly and warily forth.

“Greetings, traveler,” the leader said. He was Damascene, but his three slaves were as dark as oak bark. They were muscular and huge; their horses looked like ponies beneath them. They were mighty warriors from the land of the rivers on the far coast of the enigmatic continent.

“Greetings, but I am not a traveler,” Baybars said. “I am returning home.”

“No matter,” the man interrupted. “To continue on this road, you must pay a toll.”

“This is a public road to Damascus. Does the ruler of the city know about this?”

“Commander Issa is my cousin. He suggested I earn a living, and I have taken his advice. Consider your payment a kindness tax. It is my generosity that allows you to breathe. Pay tribute to my benevolence or my African slaves will cut you and set free your captive soul.”

Baybars bowed his head. “Then I fear I must repay your kindness,” he said. When Baybars lifted his head back up, al-Awwar charged the men. The sword unsheathed itself, its action moving faster than its master’s will. The leader quickly retreated behind his slaves and cowered. Al-Awwar understood which of the men was the target. The stallion squeezed between the slaves’ horses and attacked the leader’s stallion, causing its rider to fall off. Al-Awwar stomped the coward dead.

And then Baybars’s sword had to parry the attacks of the three powerful warriors. With each blow, Baybars felt his bones rattle, yet his weapon would not give or break. One warrior attacked from the right, one from the left, and the last tried to get to Baybars from the front. Al-Awwar shoved the first horse and drove the second to the ground.
He frightened the third enough that it jerked back; Baybars’s sword thrust forward, past the warrior’s defenses, and stopped before his heart. A drop of blood appeared on the sword, but it did not pierce farther. The warrior looked down upon the weapon and saw his doom.

“A dishonorable cat plays with its prey before the kill. Finish this.”

“I choose not to,” Baybars said, “for I have no quarrel with you or your friends. I wish to return home. Leave me be and you are free to do as you please.”

“If the situation were reversed, you would not be alive.”

“Then I am happy it is not,” Baybars replied. “If you wish to die, so be it. I am providing an alternative.”

The warrior’s chest inflated; Baybars’s sword retreated but did not disengage. “If you do not kill us,” the African said, “then we will become your slaves.”

Baybars put his sword in its scabbard. “I cannot own you, for I myself am owned. Go,” the future slave-king said. “May God guide your path.”

“He has,” the mighty warrior said. “We choose to serve you till our dying days.”

The ruler of Damascus, Issa al-Nasser, called for Baybars and demanded information about his cousin. “He did not return to his house last night,” said the commander, “and yesterday you entered the city with his slaves.”

“The man sought to rob me,” Baybars replied. The commander was horrified to hear the news. He called on his vizier to imprison and try Baybars for murder. The vizier explained that no crime had been committed: Baybars acted in self-defense, and there were witnesses. They could not arrest Baybars in daylight. Syrian justice needed to be meted out surreptitiously.

That evening, as Baybars walked through the yard toward the outhouse, six soldiers jumped over the wall and attacked him from behind. They covered him with a large burlap sack soaked in an anesthetic potion. They carried him over the wall and took him outside the city gate. The soldiers rode into the desert until they arrived at a Bedouin camp. One of them told the chief of the tribe, “Here is the boy, and here is the promised bag of gold. The commander wishes never to see this ugly boy’s face again. Take him with you to the holy desert, and sell him to a ruthless owner. Or kill him. The commander does not care, as
long as he gets rid of the troublemaker. The boy is wily. Do not let him escape.”

“Escape?” the chief asked. “We have killed men for lesser insults. We have transported boys across the deserts for generations. Go. Return to your corrupt city, and tell your master the boy has vanished for all eternity.”

The Bedouins did not have a full understanding of the concept of time. Eternity did not last the night. When Baybars did not appear for dinner, Sitt Latifah called her servants and asked if anyone had seen him. None knew the whereabouts of their master. The three African warriors announced that they would search for Baybars.

Baybars awoke to the feel of a hand covering his mouth. He could not move his roped arms. The face of a man coalesced before him, and the mouth said, “Be quiet.” And the man untied Baybars. “Come with me,” he said. “Quietly.”

Baybars followed the man out of the tent. At the opening, a Bedouin lay on the ground. An ear-to-ear gash spoke of the Bedouin’s immobility. The rescuer led him away. Shortly thereafter, Baybars heard the whinnying of al-Awwar, and he felt joy. The African warriors held the reins of Baybars’s stallion. “I believe you should never be separated from this,” one of the warriors said, handing Baybars his sword. Baybars thanked him and mounted al-Awwar.

Baybars’s savior climbed into his saddle. “You may not have recognized me.”

“I may not have recognized you at first,” Baybars said, “but even in such poor light, no one can mistake the beauty of your glorious roan. I am grateful, Sergeant.”

“The gratitude is mine,” Sergeant Lou’ai said. “When your warriors inquired about you, I was thankful to be given the chance to be of service. Finding you could never be a problem. All I had to do was ask your horse.”

Baybars suggested they return to the city, but the sergeant and the warriors objected. “These Bedouins are now your mortal enemies,” one of the warriors said. “They will never rest until they avenge the dishonor of your escape. You do not leave enemies behind. There are only thirty of them.”

“But we cannot kill them while they sleep,” Baybars said. “Do we have to wait till morning?”

“Not at all,” another warrior said. He struck a flint and lit a torch.
He unleashed a burning arrow high into the night. The warrior unshackled a ferocious war cry. “Wake up, cowards,” he shouted. “You are about to die. Arise, heathens, and face your death.”

Baybars led the mighty warriors into battle. As his sword killed its first victim, and the first drop of an enemy’s blood stained his tunic, our hero banished the child he once was. The warriors massacred the Bedouins. Upon his return to the city, Baybars split the battle’s spoils among the five of them, but he handed the bag of gold to the sergeant. “Would you please inform the ruler of Damascus that I believe he may have misplaced this?”

We ate in all kinds of positions, standing, seated, kneeling, silverware clanking, shoulder to shoulder, back to back, crowded in a hospital room, as good an Adha meal as the family had ever had. Loud followed by sated quiet. My sister kept her eyes fixed on my father to gauge his condition. Tin Can, wiping lamb sheen off his black beard, announced that he had better get back to work. “I’m too stuffed to walk, but I have to,” he said.

Everyone took this as an exit cue and began to leave. Finally, only Lina, Salwa, Hovik, and I remained with my father. He clutched the oxygen mask in his hand a little tighter. “Are you all right?” my sister asked him. She took the mask from his hand and placed it on his face. He wasn’t. The panic in his eyes startled me.

Thirty minutes later, we had to call Tin Can back, because my father’s breathing became labored, and water had resettled in the swamps of his lungs.

Commander Issa lounged on a divan and contemplated the bag of gold on the brass table. He gulped his wine. He was entertaining the king’s emissary, who had arrived from Egypt to collect taxes. A feast of delicacies lay before them. “I do not understand why you are allowing an inconsequential matter of an errant boy to trouble you,” his guest said.

“Inconsequential?” the commander huffed. “The damned boy killed my cousin.”

“But you were about to kill your cousin,” the taxman mumbled with his mouth full. “You said he was an embarrassment to manhood. The boy did you a favor.”

“I can kill my cousin if I wish, because he’s family. This boy, Baybars, is impudent.”

“Why not do what everyone does with impudent boys? Send him to Cairo. Let him become the king’s problem. Invite him for lunch, and I will impress him with the glory of Cairo and its court. I have yet to meet a boy who does not wish to be king.”

Every cook in the palace worked on the following day’s luncheon. Baybars could not believe his eyes or his nose or his tongue. The king’s emissary said the feast was nothing compared with the grandness of the king’s meals. He talked of the excitement of the holy court and regaled Baybars with tales of honor and glory. “The riches of Cairo,” the emissary said, “are beyond a mere boy’s imagination. Every hero from across the seas sails for the city to prove his mettle. It is the only home for men of worth.”

“I must visit,” Baybars said.

“You must.”

“I must ask my mother’s permission.”

“You must.”

Sitt Latifah was not happy to have her son leave, but she realized that he was smitten. “You have an aunt in Cairo,” she told him. “Her husband is an important vizier. I will write my sister so she may care for you. Ask all those who believe in you to follow you there, so you will not be alone. I will pack enough so you will want for nothing in Egypt. And ask God, the merciful, to watch over you.”

And Baybars prepared to meet his destiny.

BOOK TWO