The Hakawati (33 page)

Baybars and his groom arrived at Najem’s stable. The instant the other stable hands laid eyes upon Othman, they scattered in every direction. Baybars said, “This is al-Awwar. I can see that he likes you, which is an excellent indication of your good nature. Take care of him, wash him, and feed him.”

Alone in the stable, Othman thanked God for His glorious gift. Equestrian equipment, more valuable than anything he had stolen before, hung from hooks on the wall; beautiful, intricately stitched leather saddles lay in order on a wooden bar. What would he take first? He filled his coat pockets with golden bridles and silver bits. He found a large sack, in which he placed two saddles and five silver reins. He mounted his horse and rode out of the stable.

“Where are you going?” asked Baybars, leaning against the side of the stable.

“I am going to wash the equipment,” Othman replied. “It is the groom’s job. I do not yet trust the servants here. I shall hire people I have used before.”

“But I cannot have you spending your own money on my equipment,”
Baybars said. “I will give you ten dinars, and you can pay your cleaners with that.”

Greed forced Othman off his horse, and Baybars hit his new groom with the hilt of his sword. He dragged the rascal back into the barn by the hair. “You will learn your lesson, you lying ingrate.” Baybars tied Othman up and hung him from a pole. He noticed that the thief’s belt was a whip. “You wear this to inflict pain,” Baybars said. “Now, then, you will be pained by my righteous anger.” And Baybars whipped Othman until the groom fainted.

Othman awoke to find a multitude of eyes upon him. “Help me down, brothers,” he said, “for I suffer.” The other grooms did not move. “You,” Othman called to the youngest groom. “Come help me down. Let me rest for the night, and in the morning you can hang me up again.” The groom untied Othman and helped him down. Othman hit the boy, tied him up, and hung him in his place. All the other grooms hid. “Fools.” He climbed back on his horse and escaped.

In the morning, Baybars found the young groom hanging instead of Othman. He untied the boy and saddled al-Awwar. He called the grooms and asked if any knew where Othman lived. One said, “He lives in the Rumaillah quarter, in the Sharbeel neighborhood, next to the long well. I do not know the house. He has threatened to kill anyone who says where it is.”

Baybars rode out, and the African warriors emerged behind him. When he reached the neighborhood, Baybars asked a passerby if he knew Othman’s house, and the man ran in the other direction. A second man shouted, “Beware the evil eye,” and he, too, scurried away. A third refused to answer, and a fourth wet his pants and fainted. Baybars walked into the neighborhood bakery. He yelled at the baker, “My master Othman claims you cheated him out of a dozen loaves of bread, and unless you clear this up, he will burn your store down.”

“That is not possible,” the baker replied. “It was only yesterday that I sent a dozen loaves with the boy here.”

“You had better explain it to my master, then, because he is furious.”

The baker told the boy to go to Othman’s house and find out what happened. The boy said to Baybars, “You can ride ahead. I will walk there. It is a shame to make your horse trot at my pace.” But Baybars said, “I have a better idea. Since you like my horse so much, ride him, and we will follow you.” The baker boy could not believe his good fortune.
Al-Awwar allowed him to ride, and the boy led the men to Othman’s house. He was about to knock on Othman’s door when Baybars stopped him. The boy realized he had been tricked into revealing the house, and his mind flew in panic. “I will not tell,” Baybars whispered. “Go now.” The boy raced back to the shop. Othman’s mother opened the door and asked Baybars what he wanted. He said he wanted Othman. “And who is looking for him?” she asked, and Baybars replied, “His master. He works for me. I intend to make an honest man of him, to lead him onto a path of righteousness.”

Othman’s mother glared at Baybars and said, “It is about time. I have been waiting so long. My son is in one of the caves of the imam. He is with his men, planning their revenge upon your family, I presume. Find him, and inspire him to virtue.”

“Where do I find these caves?”

“They are near the tomb of the imam, of course. Ask someone. I cannot do everything for you.”

No one would tell Baybars and his companions where the caves of the imam were. From a vendor, he bought ten watermelons and asked that they be delivered to the tomb of the imam. The vendor called an old porter with a donkey. The porter put the watermelons on the donkey’s back and began to march toward the tomb. “Where exactly is your house, sire?” the porter asked.

“I need to go to the caves. I shall pay you double if you lead me there.”

The porter trembled and shook. The donkey, his companion of many years, stopped and moved closer to his master to comfort him. “I cannot take you there,” the porter said. “My soul would be forfeit. Only thugs and murderers roam the caves.”

“If you do not take me to the caves,” Baybars said, “I will claim your life myself.”

The old man took a couple of steps and then whispered into his donkey’s ear, “My penis is bigger than yours, friend.” And the donkey laughed so hard that his knees buckled under him. His stomach reached the ground, and his braying reached the sky. “Look, master,” the porter exclaimed. “My poor donkey is in pain. He cannot go any farther. Please, I must unload him and let him rest here.” He pointed east and added, “The caves are there. You will not miss them. Let my miserable donkey rest.”

Baybars and his companions moved on, leaving the porter and his donkey behind. “He has gone, has he not?” asked Baybars, and one of his warriors, looking back, replied, “Yes, he is riding his donkey toward the city as swiftly as he can.”

There were numerous caves in the hill, and Baybars did not want to search every one of them. One of his warriors unbridled a threatening cry. “Othman, groom of Baybars the bold,” the warrior yelled, “your master demands your presence.”

Othman appeared at the mouth of a cave with eighty men backing him up. “Why did you follow me here?” he asked.

“You are my groom,” Baybars said, “and I am your master. You will either serve me or die.”

“Begone,” Othman shouted. “Leave, or I will have my men tear you into tiny pieces and cook you in unclean water over a slow-burning fire.” The warriors trotted slowly toward the brigands, and, just as slowly, the brigands began to disperse. “Stay here and fight,” Othman commanded. “We outnumber them twenty to one. They only look frightening.” And Othman unsheathed his sword and yelled, “Follow me,” and ran unfollowed toward his nemesis. “May I?” asked one of the warriors. He jumped off his horse, did not take out his sword. He waited for the running Othman and unleashed a slap like fire upon the groom’s face, knocking him to the ground. The warrior tied Othman’s hands and threw him onto the back of the stallion.

When they reached the gates of Cairo, Othman began to whimper. “Please,” he begged, “do not take me into the city with my hands tied and my head uncovered. It is not becoming.”

“You are afraid of being mocked,” Baybars said, “and I am afraid you will run away and break your promise of service.”

Othman vowed to serve his master. The African warrior untied him and offered him a headdress. They reached Cairo, and Othman said, “Please, wait. I pray at the Lady Zainab’s Shrine for good luck each time I enter the city.” And Baybars allowed him.

Othman entered the shrine, knelt on the ground, and prayed, “Dear Lady, mother of us all. I place myself in your protection. Save me from this man.” Othman felt Baybars’s hand on his shoulder. “Smite him, mother of faith. Clobber him now.”

Othman heard Baybars kneel beside him. “You followed me,” Othman whined.

“I will follow you wherever you go,” Baybars said. “My soul will leave me before I leave you.”

“Smite him,” Othman screamed. “Crush him, my Lady. This insane man will not leave me alone. Help your servant.”

And before them appeared the Lady in all her magnificent glory. She shimmered in blue, shone in silver. And her bewitching voice said, “I am happy with you, Prince Baybars. This groom is one of mine, and I will watch over him forever.” The Lady paused, laughed. “The groom has been serving God for years. Let him now serve and obey you.” She placed her hand upon Othman’s head. “I will make sure he follows the virtuous path and fulfills his destiny.”

And a weeping Othman said, “On my honor, I now repent.” He reached for his master’s hand. “I will be your servant.” And a weeping Baybars returned, “And I yours.”

The vizier Najem was livid when he saw Othman on his property. He drew his sword. “Stay your hand, Uncle,” Baybars said, “while I explain. This man has repented. He swore obedience to God. I have taught him proper ablutions and prayers.”

The vizier studied Othman and witnessed faith in his eyes. He congratulated Othman on achieving wisdom and Baybars on finding an honest groom. He then said, “The king hunts in Giza every spring, and all the honorable men follow him. The season is upon us. Our house will begin to make preparations. You are welcome to stay in our tent or bring one of your own.”

Baybars wanted to go, and he wanted his own tent. “I want a big one,” he told Othman. “I want a pavilion worthy of a king. Go and buy me one.” Othman said that a tent that size had to be ordered in advance and there was no time. A disappointed Baybars said, “Well, then, procure me the best you can find. I do not wish to be mocked.”

Othman decided that the best place to find a pavilion worthy of a king was in a king’s court, so that was where he went. He found the servant in charge of the king’s tents, introduced himself, and asked how many tents the king owned.

“Only the chamberlain would know something like that,” the servant said. “There must be hundreds. We have only used ten since I have been here.”

“Well,” Othman said, “if they have been stored for so long, how do
you know they are still usable? How do you keep moths away? Are they fresh, or do they smell? Our glorious king should not have flawed tents. I will examine every one of your tents and make sure they are worthy. It will be my duty and honor to serve my king.”

“But there are so many of them,” the servant said.

“True,” Othman replied. “I might be doing this for the rest of my inoffensive life, but I feel it is what I was born to do. Let me start with the biggest pavilion you have.”

“The biggest one is immense. We cannot open it within the palace.”

“That is surely the one I must start with,” Othman said.

And Othman led twenty of the king’s servants out of the palace, carrying a large, bundled pavilion, which could not be unfurled except in pieces.

Baybars exclaimed, “You have outdone yourself, Othman. This is fit for a king.”

“For an old-fashioned king,” Othman said. “Tan is too bland a color. We must change it.” He did not add that, unless the color was turned, the king’s chamberlain might recognize the tent.

“Well,” Baybars said, “do with it what you will. Take it to Giza, and have it set up before I arrive. I am happy to have a tent of my own.” And he left his servants.

Othman told the African warriors, “You three should paint the canvas. Your lands are known for their opulent and bright colors. You would do a much better job than I.”

“A mule would do a much better job than you would,” the first warrior said.

The second added, “So would a dog.”

And the third, “But that does not mean we should do it. It is middling work.”

“Brothers, you insult me,” Othman said, “and I will not defend myself. Yet you swore to serve Baybars as I did, and if his social standing is improved by the painting of this tent, then it is not middling work. I will have the servants of the house do it. We will dye it.”

“Dye?” the first warrior said. “You might as well put up a sign that says the owner of this pavilion is a cheap fool.”

“We need pigment,” said the first. “We need limestone,” said the second. “We need gum arabic,” said the third.

“We have all that,” said Othman.

“Yes,” they said, “but we do not have elephant dung.”

“Will horse dung do?” Othman asked.

Othman and the warriors had to recruit servants and men on the street to help them carry the folded tent to the ship. He asked his mother to join them. “How long has it been since you had a holiday?” he asked her. “I will ask Baybars to hire you. You are the best cook in Cairo.”

At Giza, Othman enlisted every able man to raise the pavilion. He needed a hundred. Once it was erected, he realized that they had nowhere near the furnishings or lamps for a tent that size. “We did not think about that,” one of the warriors said.

“No matter,” said Othman. He walked to the river, where he saw the king’s servants unloading the rugs, pillows, and oil lamps for the royal tent. “My dear fellows,” he said, “the king has commanded that you deliver all the furniture to Baybars’s tent because he wishes to have dinner there.” And then he saw the servants of the king’s judge and told them the same thing. He spoke to all the viziers’ servants. By the time everything was delivered, Baybars’s tent looked as full and beautiful as a golden peacock’s tail.

Baybars arrived the next day and was furious that Othman had commandeered the entire council’s furnishings. “You have made a fool of me,” he yelled. “By God, I will skin you alive for this.” He picked up a stick, and Othman took off with Baybars behind him.

Othman reached the king’s procession. He prostrated himself before his king and said, “Your Majesty, I am under your protection. My master wishes my doom, and he said I could never serve him again unless I extended an invitation to King Saleh.”

“Your deliverance is in hand,” the king said. “Lead us to your master’s tent.”

The processioners had to rub their eyes to be sure that what they saw was not a desert mirage. Before them, Baybars’s pavilion stood as big as a city. Its colors and design were utterly new to them. White lines divided the tent like a quilt. Abstract shapes ran amok in some sections—triangles in olive green, squares in burnt umber, cones in pale lilac, circles in sky blue, ellipses in brown, swoops of yellow ocher. Other sections showed images of the great hunt—russet lions brought down by golden spears, black warriors on white stallions encircling a herd of wildebeest. And the guests looked on in stunned silence. The
guests sat in the pavilion, and it still looked unpeopled. Baybars welcomed them all and ran outside and called for Othman. “Who told you to invite all these gentlemen, and how will we be able to feed and honor them?”