The Sleeper in the Sands (18 page)

He discovered it set against the furthermost wall, but as he approached it he felt his courage start to fail. He could not explain this effect, for the idol was nothing, in the darkness, but a silhouette. Impatient with himself, Haroun muttered a prayer beneath his breath, then turned and reached for a brand of burning wood. He turned back to the idol, and raised the flames up to its face. His first thought, on gazing upon it, was that he had never before seen a woman of such beauteous perfection, for the statue had been sculpted with unearthly skill, so that the marble appeared softer than the softest skin and he was almost tempted, gazing upon her lips, to crush them with his own. But then he blinked and shook his head, and when he gazed at them again he saw -- as he had not done before -- how the curl of their smile was mocking and cruel, as though hinting at secrets too monstrous to pronounce and depravities too terrible for mortal contemplation. Even her head-dress of gold appeared deadly, for it bore the image of a spitting cobra and Haroun, gazing upon it, suddenly imagined himself trapped, as though he were nothing but a morsel of prey. He began to feel himself melting with the strangest thoughts, desires which he would never have known that he possessed. Nearer and nearer to her bright mouth he drew, more and more he felt himself lost. . . and then he closed his eyes and brushed her lips with a kiss. At once, though, he shrank back in horror and wiped at his mouth, for the statue had been cold and damp to the touch, so that to kiss it had seemed like kissing a serpent indeed; and Haroun struck it with his sword, and sent it toppling to the ground.

Still it smiled up at him, but all Haroun’s desire had now been transformed into disgust. He could see how the flagstones on to which it had fallen were a glistening crimson, and when he glanced round it was to find that the hallway was damp with a flowing tide of blood, lit every shade of orange and red by the flames. Haroun turned back to the idol. For a moment his arm was frozen by its gaze, but then he shuddered and brought his bright sword swinging down. The neck was shattered by the impact, and the head rolled across the floor. Haroun followed it and again he brought his arm down, this time hacking at the smile. Only when it had been obliterated did he turn and hurry from the hall, wading through blood, passing between twin walls of roof-beating fire.

Returned to the streets, he issued his commands. ‘Burn the city and all its dead. See that its foundations are sown with salt. Let nothing be left to show where it stood.’ Then he turned and rode out through the gates of Lilatt-ah. For a long while he stood upon a nearby hill, gazing at the inferno of the City of the Damned, as its towers were consumed by red lashes of flame, its walls and pyramids and alabaster domes, until at last all was blackened, and silent, and still.

‘It is done,’ Haroun whispered. He bowed his head in prayer. ‘But never more, I here swear it, shall I spill such blood again.’ And pulling out his sword, he snapped the blade in two.

In the throne room of the palace of the Caliph al-Hakim, Haroun al-Vakhel bowed low before the throne. ‘In obedience to your wishes, O Commander of the Faithful, I have destroyed the city of Lilatt-ah, so that not a brick of that monstrous place survives. Its treasures, loaded upon a caravan of many camels, have been brought to you here, that you may employ them to succour the sick and the poor.’

‘The sick and the poor?’ The Caliph raised an eyebrow. ‘I had not thought, O General, you were grown so compassionate.’

‘I serve you best, O Caliph, by serving your people.’

‘You serve me best, O General, by fighting my wars.’

Haroun bowed his head, but then from under his cloak drew out the pieces of his sword.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ the Caliph demanded.

‘I am sworn, O Commander of the Faithful, by a terrible oath, never again to shed mortal blood.’

Once again the Caliph raised a single eyebrow. ‘Then we must consider,’ he murmured in a silken tone, ‘some new and fitting position for you.’

‘It is my ambition now, O Prince, to study the ancient sciences, that I may grow wise in the magic of the Angels and bring life, Allah willing, where before I brought death.’

For a long while the Caliph did not reply, but rose instead to his feet and crossed to a window, where he gazed out at the gateways which led to his palace. Upon three of them corpses could be seen, almost skeletons now, exposed to the hunger of the vultures and crows. Upon the fourth gate there stood a stake which was still without a corpse. The Caliph shuddered violently through all his frame. ‘I cannot think clearly on this matter,’ he exclaimed in sudden anger, ‘not now, not now!’ and then he stamped his foot and stormed out from the room.

Haroun was left alone. All that day, he was in hourly expectation of being seized and taken to his death. At last, late in the afternoon, he was approached by two guards. For a moment he felt that all was over, and he committed himself to Allah’s grace, but the guards bore only a command from the Caliph that he was to wait by the gateway to the palace gardens. Haroun did as he had been ordered. Afternoon deepened into purple dusk, and then dusk into beauteous and star-encrusted night. At last, when the moon stood full in the sky, he heard the gates behind him open, and he turned. It was the Caliph, heavily cloaked. He had with him only a single companion, Masoud, the blackamoor.

‘Come,’ said the Caliph, taking Haroun’s arm. ‘For there is nothing finer, nor more instructive, than to walk through the night and trace the ways of man.’ So saying, he began to lead the way out past the palace wall, and then down into the maze of the city’s narrow streets. Soon all was stench, and clamour, and filth, and yet the Caliph’s eyes shone -- to Haroun’s mind at least -- much brighter than they had ever done amidst the splendours of his palace. ‘So,’ he hissed suddenly, pinching Haroun’s arm, ‘you would no longer kill?’ He gestured towards a row of butcher’s shops. Although it was night, there was still a cloud of flies shimmering above the shopfronts, the visible particles of an even thicker cloud of odours, formed from the sweetness of rotten meat and spices. The Caliph laughed with delight, and clapped his hands. ‘All must kill!’ he exclaimed. ‘For have you not understood, O General, how the lesser must ever be the prey of the greater? Why, it is the eternal law of this world! And so it is that I order you’ -- he pointed to a butcher - ‘to kill that man now!’

Haroun frowned. ‘What harm, O Caliph, has he ever done you?’

‘Ask rather, what harm he has done to the innocent cows, the wide-eyed calves who now lie dismembered across the flagstones of his shop.’ The Caliph paused, and his eyes began to roll. ‘Kill him!’ he shrieked suddenly. ‘Kill him, kill him now!’

But Haroun shook his head. ‘O Prince, I cannot.’

A shudder passed all the way through the Caliph’s body. He turned to Masoud; he clapped his hands, and the blackamoor at once bared his teeth in a grin. He crossed to the butcher who, turning round and seeing such a giant, let out a cry of terror and sought to back into his shop. But Masoud seized him easily and, having gripped him by his hair, forced his face into a slab of stinking meat. The Caliph, as he had done before, clapped his hands with delight, then crossed to the shop and picked up a cleaver. He brought it down hard upon the butcher’s head, and did not cease to wield it until the dead man’s corpse had been riven in two and hung amidst the other carcasses from hooks. Only then did he turn to the watching Haroun. ‘You see,’ he shrugged, ‘what an easy matter death can be. Had you done as I ordered, I would have granted you half of the treasure which you brought from Lilatt-ah. As it is, however, you shall have not a dinar.’

They continued to walk together through the streets. After a short distance, they passed by a further row of shops. A large crowd had gathered around one of them, and it soon appeared that a baker had been discovered employing false weights. Again, the Caliph pinched Haroun’s arm. ‘Redeem yourself he ordered. ‘For here is a thief, caught in the very act of his villainy. Kill him!’ he shrieked suddenly, ‘kill him, kill him now!’

But again Haroun shook his head. ‘O Prince, I cannot.’

The Caliph stretched and shook himself like a hungry cat. He turned to Masoud, who once again began to grin. He crossed to the baker and seized him by the hair, then forced his face into the mud by the Caliph’s feet. The Caliph stepped upon the wretched man’s head, stamping upon it very hard, then nodded to Masoud. The blackamoor at once raised the hem of the baker’s robe and then, having loosed the cord which bound his trousers, began to inflict upon the baker that sin which should never be named. The wretched man shrieked uncontrollably until Masoud, with the vigour of his assault, succeeded in rending the baker in twain. He then dropped the body into the mud, and stuffed its mouth with a loaf of bread.

The Caliph turned to Haroun. ‘Again,’ he shrugged, ‘you see what an easy matter death can be. Had you done as I ordered, I would have spared you your home, your slaves and all your worldly goods. As it is, however, you shall have not a dinar.’

They continued to walk until at last they neared the city’s most northerly wall. Here, by the Bab al-Futuh, there came the sudden sound of women laughing and shouting. The Caliph froze at once, and his face grew black with indignation and rage. ‘What is this?’ he cried. He turned towards the source of the noise, and saw a bath-house tiled with many-coloured marble and fretted with delightful patterns of gold. ‘How can it be,’ the Caliph shrieked, ‘that women should dare to stain a place of such beauty with their filth? Have I not ordered them never to leave their homes? Have I not, to make good this command, forbidden the manufacture of shoes for them to wear? How could I have served to make my desires more clear?’ He turned to Haroun. ‘I am the Caliph, the Beloved of Allah! I shall be obeyed!’ He pointed to the bath-house. ‘Kill them!’ he screamed. ‘Kill them, kill them all now!’

But again Haroun shook his head. ‘O Prince, I cannot.’

The Caliph chewed upon his lip, and his face grew pale. ‘Beware, O General, for you have nothing left now to forfeit, nothing in all the world save only one thing.’

But Haroun bowed his head and did not reply, and so the Caliph turned to the blackamoor. ‘Do it!’ he shrieked. Masoud went to a brazier by the Bab al-Futuh and seized a brand from it. He crossed to the bath. First he locked the doors, then circled the building, setting fire to all he could. The laughter of the women soon began to change to screams and Haroun, who had been standing in motionless disbelief watching the actions of Masoud, could endure to watch no more. He ran to the doors. Unlocking their bolts and venturing into the bath-house, he was able to save some few of the women who had been trapped inside, but many more were already in their death throes, boiled alive within the hissing waters of the baths. Desperately, Haroun sought to reach them through the flames, but even as he did so, he was seized by Masoud and dragged back to the Caliph.

‘In Allah’s name,’ Haroun cried, ‘O Prince, what are you doing?’

The Caliph drew himself up tall but made no reply.

Haroun gestured back wildly at the blazing bath-house. ‘Are you not the Commander of the Faithful?’ he cried. ‘Is it not your duty to protect those weaker than you? Are we not, all of us, the children of Allah?’

A flicker seemed to pass through the Caliph’s every limb. He motioned Haroun to be silent, but still Haroun spoke.

‘The women you have boiled alive, O Prince, were mortals just like you. They could have been your own flesh and blood.’ He shook his head in disbelief, then exclaimed at the top of his voice, ‘Why, they were like your sister, the Princess Sitt al-Mulq!’

The Caliph’s face twitched violently, and again he was racked by a strange convulsion. He bit very hard on his lower lip, so that blood began to flow, and then he moaned and hit his head with his hands. He gazed up at the blackamoor. ‘Well,’ he screamed suddenly, ‘what are you waiting for, you accursed lump of offal, you dog bred from whores?

Extinguish the flames!’ Then, still shuddering, he reached for his purse. Opening it up, he began to hurl coins at the survivors of the fire, where they stood shivering beneath the archway of the Bab al-Futuh, desperately clutching scraps of clothing to themselves. The Caliph gazed at them, his eyes very wide, and then he turned back to Haroun. ‘Who would have thought,’ he murmured, ‘that flesh could look so sweet?’

Haroun did not answer, for he had turned and averted his gaze. The Caliph followed him, and took him by the arm. ‘O Haroun al-Vakhel,’ he said, ‘do not leave my side, for I would sooner be parted from a man of your wisdom than from my own existence.’

Haroun gazed at him in surprise. ‘I had thought it was your intention to impale me on a stake, and abandon me to the crows.’

‘So I would have done, had you broken your vow and spilt blood, for a man untrue to his own words will surely prove untrue to his Prince. But now you shall discover how I value good faith. I here grant you the treasures of Lilatt-ah, and then I double them again.’

But Haroun shook his head. ‘O Commander of the Faithful,’ he replied, ‘I cannot accept.’

Again the Caliph’s brow began to grow dark. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You have said that a man should be true to his vows. I am sworn, from this point on, to be a student of the high and magical arts, for it is my wish to have the power to banish all mortal sickness and to heal the injuries of all those who are wounded. What need shall I have for wealth in such a life?’

Still the Caliph frowned, but then suddenly he seized Haroun in his arms and kissed him on both cheeks. ‘Blessings be upon you,’ he cried, ‘for as Joseph was to Pharaoh, so you have been to me! I shall indeed grant the treasures of Lilatt-ah to the poor. And here, so that my memory may be ever more preserved and my goodness recalled, I shall build a holy mosque, where the Faithful may hourly offer praises to my name.’

He pointed to the ruins of the bath-house. The flames had been extinguished, and men were starting to sift through the steaming, blackened rubble. One heaved up a corpse on to his shoulder, and Haroun would have turned away, but the Caliph was gazing at the body with fascination, his eyes gleaming brightly. Then suddenly, as he had done before, he began to shudder and turning to Haroun, clung to him with an implacable grip. ‘O Prince amongst counsellors,’ he whispered, ‘tell me the magic which you hope to seek out.’