The Wanderer (17 page)

With the assurance of a sleepwalker he led us along many labyrinthine corridors to the baths, and there kneeling at the brink he fished a jar from the water, broke its seal, and drank greedily. I glanced round the place and beheld Selim ben-Hafs’s body lying on a marble slab—no lovely sight, for it was more swollen and livid than ever. The eunuchs who had been attending to it melted away like shadows at our approach. Mustafa ben-Nakir seated himself cross legged on the bench at the dead man’s feet and said, “We must all die, and each moment of our lives is preordained. It is also the will of Allah that we should sit in this bathhouse and that you should cleanse your conscience so that afterward we may order all things for the best. Speak, therefore, wrestler Antar!”

Andy stared, hiccupped, felt the feathers in his turban and said in hurt tones, “I’m no wrestler, but the Sultan’s Aga—if only I could lay hands on the Sultan. And all that happened was that evil tongues spread slander about me, persuading Selim ben-Hafs that I’d spat in his bed—which is a black lie as I’ve never so much as seen his bed. This morning Selim came stark naked to the bathhouse to sweat away the opium, and a whole crowd of painted boys came too, to wash him. When he saw me he began to screech for his scimitar. His wife Amina, who was wearing no more than was once customary in Paradise, tried to calm him and at least gain time for me to get my breeches on. But at the sight of her the licentious old man was more rabid than ever. Luckily his pretty boys took to their heels when they saw Amina, so I was able to bar the door and consider what was next to be done. She said I had no choice but to bring the Selim to a better frame of mind by force, so I just took him by the neck with the tips of my fingers, and it broke. My dear Amina was as frightened as myself.”

Andy wiped the tears from his eyes with his thumb, but Mustafa ben-Nakir, contemplating his nails, asked, “And then?”

“Then?” Andy rubbed his temples to refresh his memory. “Yes. Well, then the lady Amina said it was the will of Allah, but that for our own good it would be best to say that Selim had slipped on the smooth floor and broken his neck. She then told me that other more important duties awaited her and quickly left the room, promising to send the Aga and the eunuchs as witnesses to what had occurred. The eunuchs laid Selim on the bench, tied his toes together and proclaimed the new sultan, while I took the Aga by the arm and returned with him to the barracks, as it seemed to me I had no business in the house of mourning. I thought him a pleasant fellow, yet in that I must have been mistaken, since so far as I can remember I’ve just killed him.”

He fingered his headdress thoughtfully for a litde, then started and said, “Where was I? Ah, yes. There was trouble over the new sultan, for Selim ben-Hafs had two sons besides Amina’s, and these two were proclaimed sultan simultaneously. The uproar and fighting went on until it was found that Amina had had both the elder boys strangled, and their mother, too, for safety’s sake. When I reproached her for this she asked if I would have preferred to see her and her son strangled; for it seems it is the custom here for the ruler to leave no rival alive. She then hinted broadly that she meant to marry me, so that I might protect her son till he grew up. I’ve nothing whatever against Amina—fine woman—but she’s handier with the noose than I should like any wife of mine to be.”

He began angrily calling for Amina, and was almost too drunk to stand, but Mustafa ben-Nakir had heard enough and rose, saying, “Antar, you’ve done your part, and need rest. There is no sultan but Suleiman, the Sultan of Sultans, and in his name I take possession of this kasbah until the Deliverer comes to reward and punish each man according to his deserts. Slave Michael, take your brother’s sword which he’s not in a condition to wield and strike off Selim’s head, that it may be set on the top of a pillar in a golden dish in the sight of everyone. With him the Hafsid dynasty is at an end; no intriguing women shall rule in this city, and the throne shall remain vacant until the coming of the Deliverer.”

Mustafa spoke in a voice of such authority that I dared not disobey, and grasping Andy’s sword I struck off Selim’s head, disagreeable though the task was. But as I was handing back the weapon a crowd of splendidly dressed eunuchs and black slaves entered the room. In their midst was a boy in a gorgeous kaftan and with far too large a turban on his head. He tripped over the long kaftan as he walked, and held his mother by the hand.

Andy, looking much ashamed, greeted this woman by the name of Amina. When she saw the state he was in she forgot to veil herself, stamped, and screamed, “I ought never to have trusted one of the uncircumcised! Where is the treasure chest? Why don’t the soldiers proclaim my son sultan? And how could you allow my lord’s body to be thus desecrated? The best thing I could do would be to have your throat cut, since you use it only to defile it in defiance of the Prophet’s law.”

“B-blessed be his name,” stammered Andy, swaying and hiccupping, while I stood nonplussed with Selim’s head still in my hand; the infuriated woman snatched off her red slipper and began beating Andy over the head with it, until the Aga’s turban fell off. I hardly know how it would have ended had not Mustafa ben-Nakir stepped forward, jingling the bells at his girdle, and cried, “Veil your face, shameless woman, and take your bastard back to the harem! We have nothing to say to you, and Allah will punish you for thus treating a man who has done you and your son far greater service than you deserve.”

His demeanor was so proud and commanding that the woman recoiled and said, “Who are you, fair youth, and how dare you use that tone to me, the mother of the ruling sultan?”

“I am Mustafa ben-Nakir, son of the angel of death. My task is to see that each is rewarded after his deserts.” Turning to the eunuchs he said, “Take the woman back to the harem, and let this drunken swine sleep it off in some obscure corner. Then fetch a kaftan befitting my rank, so that I may take command of the city until the coming of the Deliverer. And do all this more swiftly than I can find an appropriate gazel, or many of you will find yourselves a head shorter.”

He turned his back on Amina, opened his book, and began reading aloud to himself in his musical voice, so impressively that none dared to question or disturb him, but obeyed his orders. I was greatly relieved to find amid the general confusion at least one man who knew his own mind. But my great natural curiosity got the better of me, and I asked, “What manner of man are you, Mustafa ben-Nakir, that all obey you?”

He smiled and bent his head.

“I but follow the impulses of my heart, which tomorrow may lead me out into the wilderness. Perhaps men obey me because I’m freer than others—so free that I care not whether they obey me or not.”

The eunuchs soon returned with splendid clothes, which they helped Mustafa ben-Nakir to put on. They shod him with jeweled slippers and girded a bright sword about his waist; lastly he set upon his well- groomed locks the Aga’s turban. He bade me put Selim ben-Hafs’s head on the golden dish, which the eunuchs brought at his order, and then with his hand to his mouth he yawned slightly and said, “The money will soon have been distributed among the men, and it will be wise to keep them occupied. I fancy nothing will answer the purpose so well as attacking the Spaniards. I must therefore send a Latin- speaking envoy to their fortress to demand compensation for all the damage they’ve done. If they refuse, they must be told that the new sultan will not tolerate their behavior, and must summon Khaireddin to his support. This will give us time to take the guns down to the harbor. But if you have a better plan, Michael, speak freely.”

“Whom do you mean by the sultan?” I objected. “Is little Mohammed ben-Hafs the lawful sultan of Algiers?”

“Ah,” he replied, suppressing another yawn, “we believe in Allah though we haven’t seen him; why should the Spaniards doubt the existence of a sultan whom they’ve never beheld? Speak to them of this invisible sultan, and let that suffice them.”

“Allah, Allah!” I gasped. “You can’t mean to send
me?
Spaniards are cruel men, and even if they leave the head on my shoulders they’re likely to remove my nose and ears.”
 

Mustafa ben-Nakir gently shook his head. “I would gladly go myself, for I like to visit new places and people. But I lack proficiency in Latin, and have also other things to do. You had better stay at the fortress for a time. Now you must not disturb me, for I’m composing a Turkish poem in the Persian manner and must count the syllables.”

To comfort me, he ordered the eunuchs to provide me with an exceedingly fine kaftan, and I had then no choice but to take Selim’s head on the golden charger and follow Mustafa ben-Nakir. The armed

Negroes attended us and we paced in solemn procession to the forecourt amid the astonished shouts of the soldiers. Abu el-Kasim dashed up to us and fell on his knees before Mustafa to kiss his slipper. Seeing this, the eunuch also knelt; Mustafa took the Sultan’s signet ring from his hand and fingered it reflectively. Soon the whole court was full of bowing soldiers, who touched forehead and ground with their finger tips.

Mustafa ben-Nakir summoned the sergeants and arranged for some men to guard the gates and others to quench the fires down by the harbor. But the greater number he ordered to drag the cannon to the shore. No vessel was to put out for the fortress without his permission, and anyone approaching from that direction was to be arrested and brought before him.

When he had finished speaking he contemplated his nails and asked whether there was anything further the men wished to know. They murmured among themselves until one took courage and yelled, “Driveling fop! Who are you to give orders?”

This was greeted by expectant laughter, but Mustafa ben-Nakir coolly took a broad scimitar from a Negro’s hand, advanced to the speaker and looked him steadily in the face. The other soldiers made way, and Mustafa with a lightning stroke took off the man’s head before he could lift a finger. Without so much as a glance at the headless body Mustafa returned to his place, handed the sword back to the Negro, and asked if anyone else had anything to say. But the smile had frozen on the lips of the curious, and those standing next the dead man contented themselves with stooping to empty his purse. After this the different detachments marched off in good order to the duties assigned them.

Abu el-Kasim rubbed his hands and said, “We’ve brought the business to a happy conclusion, though at considerable expense. Bitt I have no doubt that the Deliverer will fully reimburse me. We must now decide what to say to him, and how to say it, so that we may not contradict one another when the time comes.”

Mustafa ben-Nakir graciously assented, adding, “And it would be well for your slave Michael to go at once to the fortress and begin negotiations with the Spaniards.” He turned to me. “If you can induce them to leave, so much the better. If not, there’s no harm done.”

Having given orders for two soldiers to attend me, he returned to the Courtyard of Bliss. There was nothing for it but to curse my fate and betake myself to the harbor, where troops were putting out fires, building breastworks, and dragging ordnance into position.

The boatman had not far to take me, but the round keep and massive walls of the fortress seemed to grow ever darker and more menacing as we approached. When we had covered half the distance a shot was fired from a little cannon on the wall, and the ball fell so near my boat that the splash of it drenched me. In my alarm I began to jump up and down waving the skirts of my kaftan and shrieking in my best Latin that I was the Sultan’s messenger. We should certainly have capsized had not the boatman pulled me down again on to my seat. But there was no more firing, and as soon as I was within earshot a monk in a black habit appeared on the jetty and addressed me in Latin, asking in God’s name what had happened, and blessing my arrival, since great anxiety prevailed in the fortress.

We drew alongside the jetty, and I demanded in the name of the Sultan to speak with the garrison commander. While this officer was changing into clothes worthy of the Sultan’s envoy, the monk set wine before me, and would have offered me food had supplies allowed. But these were dwindling now that purchases in the city had become impracticable. So guileless was this good man that he asked me to send my boatman back to fetch meat and greenstuff, for the wounded especially were suffering from the lack of these victuals.

I soon gathered that no one in the fortress had the least idea of what had happened in the town. For ten years the garrison had led a lazy, peaceful life, and it was thought that I had come to beg forgiveness on the Sultan’s behalf. Selim ben-Hafs had always regarded these Spaniards as his only protection against Khaireddin.

This situation only increased my dread of the wrath which my errand might arouse in Captain de Varga, the Spanish commander, and I sought to stiffen my courage with deep draughts of wine.

At last Captain de Varga appeared, in shining armor, attended by the Spanish consul who had fled from the town with the soldiers. The consul had a bump on his forehead and was in a state of intense excitement because his house had been looted. Captain de Varga spoke a little Latin, and was a proud, resolute man; yet in consequence of his inactive life he had put on weight, so that the costly armor pinched him here and there: a circumstance in no way tending to increase his good will toward me.

First he asked what had happened in the city, and why the Sultan’s troops as well as the townspeople had so treacherously attacked his own almost unarmed men and caused such damage to property. At this point the consul, the veins swelling at his temples, shouted that the losses he had sustained far exceeded in value the lives of a few blockheads of soldiers. He demanded full compensation and a new and better house, for which he had already chosen the site.

When at last I had a chance to speak I chose my words with care: “Noble Captain, most excellent Consul, and Reverend Father! Sultan Selim ben-Hafs, blessed be his name, died this morning by accident. He slipped and fell in the baths, breaking his neck. After much discussion among his fatherless sons, the seven-year-old Mohammed has assumed the kaftan and ascended the throne. He has secured his position by distributing money among his loyal troops, and beside him as counselor stands his wise mother Amina. His elder brothers will not oppose him, for in the course of a meal a datestone lodged in each of their throats and choked them. No doubt the hand of fate thus intervened to prevent disputes over the succession.