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over the small, round Arab breads that I liked so much, rice with sour lemon
sauce, and a bean curry.
The contrast between my three dishes and the two dozen brought to her table,
as well as the crowd of servants who attended her and my lone servitor,
appealed to my sense of amusement, and to that of Khatib, also. He was never
one to miss the irony of any situation. He began to serve my food with an
elaborate finesse and mincing manner that aped the affectations of the eunuchs
who waited upon her.
Lifting the cover from thekababand inhaling deeply, his ragged old brows
lifting, he said, "Ah, Most Mighty One! Of this you must taste! It is
ambrosia! It is nectar! It is a dream incarnate!" So saying he spooned a tiny
portion to the edge of my plate and stood back, spoon in hand, to watch my
appreciation.
Delicately, I tasted it, making an elaborate business of savoring, testing,
tasting with frowns, rolling of the eyes, and finally a beatific smile.
"Superb, Khatib! Superb!"
He completed the serving of my humble meal with many exclamations. "Such
meat! And such a pilaf! May Allah thrice be blessed!"
The face of the girl opposite was expressionless. If she noticed, it was not
apparent.
"Wine, Master? It is the gift of the great Emperor of the Byzantines! Of
Manuel himself! Wine?"
"Wine, Khatib!" He poured the wine, and I caught a fleeting glance from the
girl across the way.
"Preacher," I said, "you are a man of august years, a traveled and learned
man of great judgment and discrimination ... tell me ... where are the women
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most beautiful?"
"Where, indeed? As you realize, Magnificence, such things are a matter of
taste. Now the Turks, for example, prefer their women to be" he gestured with
his hands before his chest "to be robust here" then his hands indicated the
hips "and here."
He filled my glass again and stepped back. "They wish their women to be fat,
the Franks want their women to be strong, the Persians prefer them slender,
and in Cathay they say their women have the most beautiful legs of all, but it
is not their legs they appreciate, but theirfeet!"
"And the women of Hind? I hear they are short and ugly and waddle when they
walk. Is this true?"
The language was Persian, and I was hoping neither of the Rajput soldiers
understood. Yet she did, for I saw her stiffen suddenly, and she looked up
quickly, indignantly.
"Of the women of Hind," Khatib said tactfully, "what can I say?"
"Still, every country hassomebeautiful women. Can there not be one,
evenone,in all of Hind?"
"One would believe so, Master. Usually where there are great warriors there
are beautiful women, they appear together, you know."
"I respect your wisdom, O Father of Judgment, for what do I know of such
things? I know nothing of women. Glorious creatures, no doubt, but my shyness
keeps me from them. I shrink at their glances, I tremble at their slightest
word. What could I, of all people, say to a beautiful woman?"
Khatib's wicked old eyes were amused. "What did you say to Valaba? She who
was said to be the most beautiful woman in Córdoba? Or to Suzanne, the
Comtesse of Malcrais?"
"What, indeed? They took advantage of my shyness, Khatib! What could I
possibly do? A defenseless man? And shy? But they were beautiful, and I honor
them for their deeds."
"And what of that Viking girl inKiev ?"
"She frightened me, Khatib. I was awestruck. Her long golden hair, her
magnificent shoulders, her demanding ways ... what could I do?"
"Only what you did, I suspect." Khatib helped me to more food from the
covered dishes. "Eat, Master, keep up your strength! Who knows what trials lie
still before you?"
Suddenly, the door of the room opened, and two soldiers entered, one stepping
to either side of the door. Between them marched a pompous little man in a
very large turban and a long robe: He was followed by eight slaves, each
bearing a gift. To my astonishment they stopped before my table.
"O Auspicious One! O Favored of Allah! My Master, the illustrious, the great,
the all-powerful Rashid Ad-din Sinan requests you accept these humble gifts
from his hand!
"O Greatest of Scholars! Wisest of Men! Noble Physician and Reader of the
Stars, ibn-Ibrahim! My Master requests that you visit him at theCastleofAlamut
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!"
Two slaves spread out a magnificent robe woven with gold thread and a second
cloak trimmed with sable; the third slave brought a sword with a jeweled hilt
and scabbard, a splendid blade that when drawn had written along the blade in
letters of gold the Persian words,Dushman kush!meaning, "Killer of Enemies!"
The fourth slave carried a silken pillow on which lay three purses that
chinked with the sound of gold; the fifth brought a jeweled sword belt; the
sixth, a complete outfit of clothing; the seventh, a pair of fine saddlebags,
hand-tooled and decorated with gold. The last slave brought me a robe of
honor, a jeweled pen, and an inkpot.
"Tell him, Vizier," I said, "that I come on the morrow. My journey will begin
when the sun rises."
Pausing briefly, I added, "Inform the mighty Rashid Ad-din Sinan that I look
forward to discussing with him the secrets of many sciences, for his great
wisdom is known to me."
The eunuch bowed low, backing from the room with continued bows, followed by
the slaves. The innkeeper came hurrying to my table, obviously frightened. "O
Master of Wisdom! I pray forgiveness! I had no idea! I did not know who it was
who honored my humble !"
Khatib gathered the gifts, his face grave. The humor was gone from his eyes.
"Master, think well of what you do. There is a saying among my people that the
deer may forget the snare, but the snare does not forget the deer."
"I shall not forget, Khatib."
"He is a fool who will descend into a well on another man's rope."
The gifts were magnificent, yet I looked upon them as did Khatib, with
suspicion. They were too splendid for an unknown scholar. Was their purpose to
make me forget my doubts? Did someone actuallywantme to come to Alamut? Did
they think it safer to have me inside the castle, a prisoner, than possibly
stirring trouble on the outside? Or did they think of me at all, except as a
wandering scholar?
Yet, what choice had I? Behind the walls of Alamut my father was held
prisoner, a slave. If he was ever to be free, it lay in my hands. "In all
honor, Khatib, I must go. But do you remain here, for the future is uncertain,
and I go into great trouble."
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