Читать книгу A Persian Tale - Kevin J. Todeschi - Страница 13

Croesus toyed with the miniature castle held firmly in the palm of his right hand. It was a beautiful piece, skillfully crafted—an exact replica of the emperor’s Lydian fortress. Though his mind had wandered from the silver object itself, he continued to visualize one of the women who strolled within the palace walls. He imagined Serena, whose beauty was beyond description, as she walked through the chambers of the Temple School. Her pale flesh appeared molded by the desert gods and his mind filled with thoughts of pleasure that were not those of an uncle toward his niece. The emperor was certain that the day was fast approaching when Serena would become his and he would discover for himself whether the fantasies of his mind equaled the realities of the bedchamber.

In the midst of his daydream, Croesus remained completely oblivious of the fact that Eliot eyed him with an uneasy combination of fear and total apprehension. Croesus’s neck was swollen with tension and his reddened forehead was beginning to sweat. Since Bestreld had not requested a morning’s audience, Eliot knew there could be but one thought on the emperor’s mind.

The strains of Eliot’s position had begun to affect the man’s body, for he trembled ever so slightly. Because of the emperor’s erratic behavior, the duties of personal guard were not vied for amongst any of the palace slaves.

While Eliot looked on nervously, Croesus allowed the rest of the school’s maidens to prance through his head. He tried to imagine the temple baths in the midst of their antics—though he had heard the echoes of their laughter and the sounds of water against marble walls, he had yet to discover a way to see the ritual firsthand. The thought of the girls made a pleasing diversion, though Serena’s image continued to replace that of the others. Croesus knew that even as emperor he could not avail himself of the women. It would not do to anger the girls’ families. Besides, his citadel employed women for such recreation—although not all so employed had aspired to be part of such labors.

“Eliot!” the emperor bellowed finally, placing the silver castle ever-so-gently upon the arm of his chair before wiping the moisture from his brow.

“Yes, my lord,” came the nervous reply.

“I shall be in my chambers; I wish to meet with one of the Aaibzan women.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And Eliot,” Croesus added as an after thought.

“Yes, my lord.”

“See if an Aaibzan can be procured who resembles my niece.

The years had been harsh but despite hunger, wind-storms and occasional attacks from rival settlements, Margi had managed to remain relatively content, exceedingly plump, and devoted to caring for the many that needed her. Her life had been full and not without frequent male companionship, for even a fat desert woman was better than no woman at all. She was as comfortable staking a tent or corralling the goats as she was rocking a youngster to sleep in her ample lap, for time and her girth had molded her into one of the settlement’s strongest women.

She had never married, nor birthed any children of her own, but she had often tended to the offspring of others and thereby found herself the beloved Mamyu of many people. Her duties as nursemaid were performed with devotion and an intensity rivaled only by her lovemaking, for even now she was a frequently-sought consort. She was also respected for her knowledge of herbs and the medicinal value of Taro, and found herself—because there had been none other—the city’s authority on the fever. She did not relish the job, but it was hers nonetheless, and her experience with it had been harsh enough to shatter the girlish joyfulness with which she and had approached her youthful task as Sumi’s handmaiden.

The years had passed quickly, and in the interim Margi’s life had weathered many changes. Perhaps, most notably, Sumi had become her dearest friend—the two sharing much between them. Their respect for one another was immense, although it remained exceedingly difficult, even now, for Margi to understand why Sumi remained with a man who was such an inferior lover.

She paused outside the tent flap, taking in one last breath of palatable air before entering. The stench of the fever permeated the bodies, the clothing and even the bed coverings of those afflicted with its final stages. In spite of her many experiences, the odor was quite difficult to tolerate.

She was generally unaccompanied on her rounds, although on occasion Sumi had assisted her when the fever had reached epidemic proportions. Most frequently, however, she was alone, ignoring the hastily painted symbol for contamination upon the door—a mark that blackened numerous desert dwellings—advising all but Margi to keep their distance.

She inhaled a final breath before pushing aside the tarp’s flap and entered the shadowy chamber. The room was warm, heavy with moisture from unabated sweats and bodily fluids that could no longer be controlled. Her own movements towards the cot were cautious, for it was not unusual for a fever victim to imagine the woman an approaching adversary in the midst of desert warfare. However, Margi sensed the man’s time was near, giving him not the strength to sit up, let alone enough energy to prove much of an opponent.

The man before her was a warrior, yet he lay like a child with his legs pulled up to his chest, shivering in delirium beneath soaked blankets that added more to the stench of the chamber than they did to the warmth of the man. He muttered uncontrollably, speaking in hurried, broken syllables that could not be deciphered, to companions who were not to be seen. Mercifully, the fever took a man’s mind before his body.

Margi leaned over—her own massive breasts nearly touching his bed coverings—and wiped his forehead and face with a fresh cloth; the warrior remained completely unaware of her presence. His face was pale, spotted with open blisters about his mouth. But Margi chose instead to hold the healthy image of a rugged warrior in her mind, whose leathery flesh had once caressed her own.

The sores upon his face glistened with moisture, but the infection was too far gone to be treated, even with Taro. He continued to speak in a language she could not understand, though she imagined his madness provided recollections of the past. His eyes remained open and glazed, with a look of vacancy, yet his shivering limbs and garbled sentences assured the woman that he was still very much alive. Although not religious, Margi mouthed a brief request to the gods that his passing might come shortly, for a warrior should not have to undergo such dishonor. She neglected to change his blankets, for they would be wasted, and instead wiped his face one more time—she knew it would be the last.

And as she turned to leave the heaviness of the room, she took but one final thought with her: though she loved life to the fullest, there was absolutely no doubt in her mind that, when the occasion arose, she would choose death rather than dying.

Bestreld walked cautiously through the darkened alleyway, waiting for the lone nomad to make his appearance. The man was unmistakably late for their appointment and the fact only added to the exchequer’s nervousness. Although Bestreld’s ever-present smile and composure disguised his tension, within the folds of his sudeh he carried enough gold to ransom a king, causing him all the more anxiety. Much still needed to be accomplished—and Croesus, as usual, would be angered by the delay.

From the shadows, two of the palace guards watched him closely with their bodies pressed firmly against the brick building for Bestreld was far too wise to wander the city streets alone. The exchequer had acquired nearly as many enemies as Croesus himself, and even the best of plans could find themselves prey to accidental misfortune. For that reason Bestreld had kept most of his intentions to himself. Even the emperor knew only the sketchiest of details, culminating in Lydia’s rule of the plains. The exchequer wandered further, a short distance down the alley, keeping within sight of the guards, before turning directly into the path of his appointment.

“Did you bring the gold?” the shadowed figure whispered gruffly without any semblance of greeting.

Bestreld held his composure and smiled slyly, “I have yet to neglect it, or to overlook its significance to your loyalty.” He paused momentarily, eyeing the lone nomad with suspicion, “Have you made the arrangements?”

“In part; what remains merely awaits your readiness.” Although hidden by the lack of sunlight, the intensity of the nomad’s face remained clear. Whiskers the color of ash were his only beard and his dark, weathered eyes glared angrily, providing quite a contrast to the exchequer’s neverlacking smile.

“Within this fractured tribe, have we found a likely ally?”

“Even among fools the man is a champion. The gods themselves could not have created a more perfect accomplice.”

“You are certain he can be persuaded?”

“It is not I who is doubting . . . ”

“Never mistake caution for doubt,” Bestreld counseled matter-of-factly. “This is far more consequential than you might imagine.”

“Perhaps,” the nomad relented for only a moment, “but were I treasurer to an emperor, I might not so easily underestimate my associates.”

“Is this fool’s fool capable of moving a small group against us? I would choose not to take on the entire settlement, just yet.”

“Exactly as we discussed. He has few allies among his own people, though with the allure of palace women he might persuade a dozen.”

The exchequer glanced about cautiously; he was certain that the nomad’s words had been heard only by himself, but he was nervous. “Is there a chance this man might suspect a deception?”

“None,” the nomad was as confident as he had ever been. “By the time this city of two tribes realizes what has occurred, it will be too late.”

“Excellent,” Bestreld nodded approvingly as he removed the cloth pouch from the fold of his garment. “As ever, you will receive the other half upon completion of the task.”

“Fine,” came the gruff and greedy reply, “I trust we will not find too many obstacles barring our entrance to the Temple School?”

“As we agreed, I will send a message to the square when the time has come.” Without any further acknowledgment, the nomad turned and moved swiftly before disappearing down an alleyway.

As Bestreld moved to go himself, heading in the direction of the palace guards, one thing became quite clear—unfortunate, but clear: once the plan had reached fruition, he would be forced to have the nomad executed.

And the remaining gold might somehow find its way to Bestreld’s own personal supply so that even Croesus would not be the wiser.

After announcing to Midias that the city was to remain stationary, Ravi was left alone with his thoughts. There was much to be done. Although he was uncertain how best to begin, it was obvious that a lack of water was their greatest problem. Certainly the issues with food, trade, filth, and ongoing rivalry remained, but initially the city had to be assured of an ample water supply. The issues facing them proved so numerous that even thoughts of Egypt were pushed from his mind.

Ravi had heard rumors of water in the hills to the east but there couldn’t possibly be enough to satisfy the needs of all the people. Some water could be drawn off the irregular cactuses that sprouted out of the sands, but the tribespeople would have to be careful or the plants would wither and die. Water would have to be gathered in many small quantities, for a single sufficient supply wasn’t likely. To provide reserves for a city, their plan would have to encompass every imaginable source.

From Remai’s chambers, Ravi imagined how they might solve the problem. He would send small caravans to each oasis and to the hills to bring back the liquid. He would instruct them to take no more than was necessary. They would never survive if the water sources were depleted. Groups of women and children would be sent to extract the vital moisture from the desert shrubs and cacti, but only a small amount would be taken—allowing the plants to survive. He would make certain each tent and lean-to had a tarp with which to collect the rain when it fell. Every drop was important. He would ask Sumi and Joell (providing the man was even capable) to direct all phases of the project.

The city might be brought together with a common goal. Women could sew smooth hides into large flasks. Jugs and gourds might be collected into one place. A central tent would be constructed of the sturdiest hides. Within its walls, he would instruct the tribesmen to dig a deep pit into the sand. The hole would reach until the earth was cool and it was there that they would store the flasks, bottles, jugs, and gourds. The entire water supply would be centralized; it would require the help of most of the people, but it could be done. The work would constantly be in progress. Caravans would always be en route to the hills and oases, or returning from them. The women and children would often be out on the sands, searching for new sources. The water stores would be strictly regulated, but all would have what they needed to survive. Even livestock would be filled, for a fat goat brings far more in trade. When the animals were healthy, the children would have milk. It would take constant effort. It would be slow but it might succeed.

Later that afternoon, Ravi found that word of the city remaining stationary had spread rapidly. The change in the mood of his people and their sudden excitement confused him. It was as though the windstorm had never occurred, that their problems were nonexistent, and that the people were full of health and vigor. Yet, in reality, nothing had really improved. Nevertheless, that evening a celebration broke out in the encampment. Children, women, and warriors (save for Chochi and a few others) were overjoyed. Even those amongst the council found time to lift a jug in celebration.

Laughter, music and dancing started at one end of the settlement and quickly spread throughout the remainder of the city. Tribesmen who previously had hardly wished to know one another suddenly exchanged enthusiastic plans as to how even the livestock and crops might benefit. Even rumors of an irrigation system that Ravi hoped to erect were passed between many of the dwellings. People embraced their own families, as well as strangers who passed by spreading the news of what the city’s permanence might mean. Children joyfully clapped tiny hands together as dogs barked and jumped up and down on hind legs at the hysteria.

After the fall of eventide, the city remained in an uproar. The cooking flames were fueled until they became large bonfires and burning clusters dotted the entire settlement. Citizens gathered together on the open sands to share ideas and to commune with one another. Women from both tribes felt inspired to converse. Some of the most energetic continued dancing until twilight, and a feeling of fellowship took hold in parts of the community.

And it was while the merrymaking continued that Sumi and Ravi found themselves alone on the outskirts of Remai’s tents. The lingering sounds of revelry still filled the air, carrying voices of desert song and joyous laughter throughout the city upon a gentle breeze. The sounds pushed even the thought of Aithea’s latest outburst from his mind, for Ravi was concerned that the people had misunderstood. The water crisis had not been solved. All he had done was to formulate a plan, one which the city had yet to act upon. His fears were voiced to his mother:

“I believe that these people have been deceived,” he said slowly. “I have not offered them an end to the drought. I have merely stated the obvious: the city’s wanderings are the cause of much that ails it. For that reason, we must choose anew. I have done nothing.”

His mother looked up at him and shook her head no. Her eyes sparkled with the clarity they had always possessed: “You have given them hope. Tomorrow, they will realize how much work is involved. For now, let them celebrate their good fortune and their promised ruler.”

“I am only a man, mother,” he said softly.

“You are wrong,” Sumi replied solemnly, her eyes gazed upon him with a mother’s love, “for like all rulers you will never be seen by your people as merely a man. In their eyes you will be a god or you will be a tyrant, but never a mere mortal. Their minds tell them you must be different in some way or you would not be their leader. My son, they have built a rift between you and them and for as long as you live, you will never be able to cross it.”

“Enough!” Lila yelled as though her entire body was about to burst. “I will hear no more of this! Father is a man by birth, not some god who controls our very existence. He rules by fate, nothing more.”

“He rules by consent of the gods,” Serena replied firmly. She refused to look at her cousin, continuing instead to bathe her hands in the alabaster bowl placed on the table between them. The warm oils permeated the air with the scent of flowers and, in spite of Lila’s stubbornness, she was thankful for their time apart from the others. “The emperor is responsible for us.”

“He would aim to control us!”

“The emperor will choose our way so that we won’t have to.” For a brief instant Serena looked up from the table, her smooth complexion nearly pleading for her cousin’s obedience, “We should rejoice in having the freedom to not make these decisions.”

“I would choose my own way!”

“How can you be so completely unaware of the emperor’s wisdom?” Serena responded in near exasperation. “Croesus rules an empire, surely he will not be mistaken in choosing for the two of us? Besides, this time you fear is far off . . . the emperor has yet to make these decisions.”

“I just know that I will not like it,” Lila frowned like a child, folding her dark arms in irritation in front of her.

The room—decorated with fine lace throughout, displaying richly imported fabrics upon the walls—served as the common chamber for the temple maidens. Silver brushes and ivory combs lay scattered about as carelessly as embroidered pillows. The other maidens had taken the opportunity to venture out into the palace gardens with Irenan. Though Serena and Lila were often in contention in matters of the emperor, their dislike of constantly being in the company of the others was unanimous. They were alone, giving the emperor’s daughter the opportunity to broach the subject she had raised more than a fortnight previously.

“Something must be done,” Lila stated more to herself than to her cousin, “I will insist upon an audience with my father.”

“The emperor’s schedule may be too full for him to calm childish fears,” Serena replied solemnly. Though she regretted not having the opportunity to see Croesus more frequently herself.

“His schedule has allowed for more than one Aaibzan . . . ,” Lila’s glare was one of complete disgust, but Serena’s own startled look stopped her cousin in midthought. “What is it?” she asked nervously.

The expression on Serena’s face suggested they were not alone and at the same moment she whispered, “ . . . behind you.”

Lila whirled around expecting to see Bestreld or Irenan, or at the very least one of the temple guards. Yet, what she beheld amazed her even more than if Croesus himself had stumbled into their chambers. “Myra,” she whispered in awe.

For the first time ever the two saw Myra as an old woman. She stood before them not in the silken robes of a queen but in a simple gown that might have been more appropriate for one of the servants. Her hair appeared as though she had slept on it since last being touched by one of her handmaidens, and the sparkle was gone from her eyes. Her hands were old and spotted, and her face was white—as though she had suddenly become very much afraid.

“I have to talk to you,” she replied hoarsely, with the voice of an old woman.

Lila jumped to her feet while Serena quickly reached for a cloth with which to dry her hands. “What is wrong?” she asked nervously.

“I had to escape my chambers in order to see you,” Myra replied with much effort.

“What?” Serena questioned with disbelief.

“Are you ill?” Lila placed her hands on either side of her aunt’s shoulders, halfway convinced she needed to summon the court physician.

“Not ill,” Myra replied slowly. She took a few deep breaths, calmed herself, and managed to regain her composure. After a moment she stood taller and looked at each of the women directly, giving her a regal stature even though she was robed in simple attire.

“I have to talk to you,” Myra repeated calmly, though she felt anything but calm. Both Serena and Lila looked at the old woman with complete amazement. Neither had seen her for a very long time. Finally, Myra was able to voice her concern, “You have to believe me,” she shook her head with certainty. “You just have to believe me . . . you are both in grave danger.”

With the morning, the potentials of a new day was bright with promise. The Bedouins arose at daybreak in spite of their lack of sleep just as they had for centuries. But today would be different. Much had to be done and there was an anxiousness to get started.

Already Jenda with the Dakhyu had begun their labors; the early hours of morning proved to be the most advantageous, for by midday the sun was much too hot and the flies far too numerous. Thankfully, the youth had little trouble directing his men in the new procedure—all refuse was to be buried far outside the settlement’s boundaries. The older workers found Jenda’s orders easy to follow for several reasons: his enthusiasm, his seriousness, his willingness to work right alongside with them, and the fact that either Oman or one of the other warriors had watched them for much of the day.

All over the camp a majority of the people found themselves engaged in the activities that the ruler had ordered, except for the grumblers who did not feel up to the effort. A cluster of women and children searched each tent and lean-to for every empty gourd jar and unused flask that could be found. A few of the men began marking off the area that Sumi had designated for water storage. Joell had decided to watch, for a time, before committing his own involvement. After much debate and final consensus, they decided to construct a large tent with thick walls of hides and parchment, beginning their digging within the walls of the structure itself.

Throughout most of the households, uncommon activities had created a new sense of anticipation. A few mothers rallied together to watch the tiniest youngsters, allowing some of the other women to join in the work. Young men and warriors alike forgot for a time their desire for women, and began herding all of the livestock into one place. Ravi had ordered all animals to be roped off on a stretch of land set apart from the people. No longer would goats and camels and sheep wander unhindered throughout the settlement, though dogs and chickens were exempt from the arrangement and Ravi’s own horse would not consent to be corralled. A portion of the Dakhyu was responsible for gathering manure and human waste, as well, placing it far from the camp to be buried or dried—any dried waste would be used as fuel for the fires.

Ravi and his sister joined with members of the council to inspect the crops. For much of the morning they walked throughout the city taking careful note of the conditions they saw. Most of the vines of the wild grapes had become withered and straggly. To their surprise, however, the tiny berries were still moist. It was Ibsen who speculated that the grapes could do with little water but they had been damaged by the windstorms. The scarce crops all had problems.

The few stalks of corn were shriveled and barren; the plants needed more water. The pungent pepper vines were hearty but produced little fruit, causing Ravi to suggest the shrubs were too close together and needed, instead, to be suspended on thin twines of rope. The dates and figs were sparse and the melon plants produced stringy vines but no melons. Only a steady water supply could reverse the condition of the crops.

While the crops were being examined, two caravans of fourteen tribesmen each left the settlement on the first water journey. One traveled to the hills in the direction of Lydia and the other to the nearest oases. The exodus caused Oman to issue cautionary orders to his warriors: the city’s borders were to be continuously guarded, lest a rival settlement or desert bandits attacked while a full one-fifth of their ablest were preoccupied elsewhere.

Two full days would pass before the first caravan returned from the closest oasis, and it would be the third evening before the camels and horses returned from the source in the hills. Yet it was not a time of waiting, for there was much to be done: the gathering of the animals, the digging of the pit, the clearing of refuse, even the pruning of dead crops and the planting of new. Late in the afternoon, however, Margi found time for rest in her labors and her footsteps led her toward the tent of their ruler. It wasn’t long before she found the one for whom she had been looking.