Huu completed his melody, and stopped, and Scevo stopped with him, aware of the patterning of it. “I think we have a family group,” Huu said. “A troupe.”
“I think we do,” Ana agreed. “Now it is time to eat.”
They went to the table, and the servant served them. Desert Flower was a girl of the steppes who worked for them to pay off a debt her family had incurred. She was thirteen, a pretty young woman in her own right, and very competent and loyal. In a few more months her service would be done, the debt paid. Then she could either go home, or continue service for pay. Huu hoped she would choose to continue service, because she got along well with Miin, was helpful with Scevo, and was always pleasant. She would surely marry well, in due course.
There was a sound outside, as they were finishing their meal, and a firm knock on the door. Huu went to meet the messenger from the palace who stood there. “Summons from the palace for service,” the man said gruffly. “Music, dancing, within the hour.”
“We will attend,” Huu said. There was no other response he could make. He had done well in Samarkand, because of the favor of the palace; the nobles of Kwarizm liked his music and Ana's dancing. But he had to attend whenever called, day or night. The palace messenger would conduct them. This was nominally an honor guard, but also assurance that they would not delay.
“Hurry,” the messenger said, not relaxing.
Huu re-entered the house. “Song and dance at the palace,” he said. “We must both go immediately.”
“We will all be there,” Miin said, donning her veil. “Scevo too.”
Huu looked at her, then at Ana, who shrugged as she veiled herself. The children had been close, ever since the adoption of Scevo, and the boy definitely preferred to be near his sister. Desert Flower could have taken care of the child during their absence, but it was now possible to claim him as a musician. It would be a novelty that might be appreciated at the palace. Appreciation could bring rich rewards.
So they took the children, with due cautions about remaining in sight of their parents, and silent. Desert Flower would keep the house in order alone.
They set out on foot through the city of Samarkand, Ana and Miin remaining fully cloaked and veiled in the fashion required of Moslem women. Huu wore the turban and distinctive robe of favored entertainer, which should have protected him from molestation on the street, but the messenger's sword was also clearly visible.
There was the sound of the horn: it was dusk, time for worship. All around them the people were facing toward Mecca and prostrating themselves on the ground. The four of them and the guard did likewise. Then they got up and resumed their travel, and so did everyone else, just as if nothing had happened.
There had been new construction recently, since the Shah moved his capital here. The smaller stucco buildings were being razed to make way for the grandiose structures of governance. But all of them were dwarfed by the palace, whose arches formed an arcade of golden brick. It was actually a complex of buildings anchored to the large enclosing wall, with many courtyards and connecting arcades. Above were domes and cupolas and small towers, perfectly symmetrical, catching the last beams of sunlight that no longer reached to the ground. The walls were decorated with myriad geometric carvings whose intricacy was amazing; an army of artisans had had to labor to fashion every detail. Seen from a distance, the palace was a marvel of architecture; seen close, it was a marvel of design.
Yet it was even more impressive inside. Ana had to murmur a word of caution to Scevo to prevent him from turning his head to gaze in open wonder. The impression was one of openness, of spaciousness, as if the palace were larger inside than outside. Now the interiors of the cupolas could be seen, forming patterns of cleverly fitted stonework, with inward projections reminiscent of the stalactites of large caves. Ornate columns descended to the floor, each perfect in its slender strength. The floor was tiled, with each chamber of a different design, some simple squares within squares, others so finely wrought as to dazzle the eye by their color and patterning. The walls were decorated with artistic inlays, notably of the finely glazed many-colored pottery called faience, forming flowing Arabic script: quotations from the Koran. Some walls were honeycombed with small alcoves, adding to the decoration.
Now they encountered one of the Divan, the corps of government officials. The name came from the couches set around the walls of the council hall in which they met. The master of ceremonies, Raay, hurried up. “I am really glad to see you,” he said. “The sultan remains somewhat fatigued from his recent campaign in the west, and is in a foul mood. Heads will fly if it isn't eased.” Muhammad, not content with the title of Shah, had assumed the title of Sultan, the Sword of Islam, and no one had the power to object. He also liked to be addressed by titles such as “The Warrior,” or “The Great,” “The Second Alexander,” and “The Shadow of Allah upon Earth.”
They were indoors now, but neither Ana nor Miin removed their veils or showed their faces. They would not let any man see them, other than the head of their household. Only infidels, such as Christian women, had the bad taste to show their bare faces in public.
“What set him off this time?” Huu asked. They had dealt with this officer many times, entertaining for lesser royalty during the absence of the Shah, and knew Raay would not report them for veiled uncomplimentary references. Those closest to the Shah tended to be somewhat nervous, because he was arrogant to the point of folly, and could take savage reprisals for trifling inadvertent affronts. There was a tacit conspiracy of silence about such things in the palace, and all the staff and artisans protected each other whenever they could.
For indeed, Shah Muhammad's rages were legendary. Only the year before, he had made a triumphal procession through Persia, accepting homage from all the lords and governors of his empire. During this travel he had come into conflict with the caliph at Baghdad. Muhammad had killed a holy man, a venerable sayyid, and as a matter of form asked for, then demanded, absolution from the caliph, the nominal spiritual head of the faith. The caliph had refused, and had some justice in his position, for the act had been reprehensible. Muhammad had then denounced the caliph and marched his mercenary army, complete with war elephants and trains of supply camels, westward toward the city. This was an act of outrageous presumption, but in the face of overwhelming power an accommodation was possible, and the caliph was about to be replaced. Actually the expedition did not reach Baghdad, because it had encountered the formidable Zagros mountain range just as a particularly harsh winter set in. The Shah's forces were not inured to the hardships of a mountain passage in such conditions; horses starved and men froze. So, with bad grace, he had turned back. But the caliph knew that the mountains would not stop the Shah when spring came. The Shah had won his point, but had made an enemy of the entire spiritual establishment of Islam. The caliph refused to recognize Muhammad or to put his name in public prayers. There were those here in Samarkand who hated the Shah, for that reason, but of course none spoke aloud of it.
“It's the message from the Mongol,” the master of ceremonies said. “The Shah has put out word to slay all Mongol sympathizers without hearings.”
“That must have been an ugly message,” Ana remarked.
“The odd thing is that it wasn't,” Raay said. “It could have been taken as a gesture of friendship. But a single word gave it the lie. The khan called the Shah his son.”
Huu coughed, and Miin put a hand to her mouth to stifle a titter. They all knew that in the language of diplomacy, sons were vassals, owing primary allegiance to their fathers. It was as if the Mongol had simply annexed the empire of Kwarizm to his own, making the Shah his servant.
“The impertinence of the man,” Ana said. “And he couched it as a message of friendship?”
“Including gifts,” Raay said. “For the good child.” He made a droll expression; he was being ironic.
Now little Scevo covered his mouth. The Mongol's boldness of insult was amazing.
“I think th
e Mongols had better remain far from Kwarizm,” Huu said.
“No, the fools sent a caravan. It is on its way now, moving along the Jaxartes River, approaching the frontier city of Otrar. It is said to have great wealth in gifts for the sultan.”
“That might help,” Huu said. But the matter bothered him. Why should the Mongol khan have sent such a caravan to likely extinction? Was the man a fool? He did not know much about politics, but he had never heard the khan spoken of as a leader without wit.
But there was no time to ponder the matter, because now the Shah was ready for his entertainment, and they were ushered to the meeting hall. It was called the Kapu, meaning the entrance to the sovereign's tent, but though the name reflected the more austere origin of the setting, the reality did not. This was the richest chamber yet, with marvelously woven Persian rugs hanging on its walls and covering much of its floor.
The Shah was seated on a comfortable couch, wearing a robe so fancy that its gems sparkled at every point. He was attended by the usual corps of courtiers, servants, and several favored wives from his harem guarded by a eunuch. Some were sipping sherbets from fancy mugs. The mugs, unlike the walls, were painted with human figures. Human statuary was forbidden, lest it be taken as graven images, but paintings were not icons and therefor not as restricted. The stricture against human or animal likenesses applied mainly to those things that “cast a shadow"—that were three-dimensional.
They did the same music and dance they had done at home, because that was the one they were sure Scevo could do without faltering. The woman and the girl were in costume now, dancing in a manner that had the courtiers watching with open relish, and the music was perfect for them. The wives focused especially on Miin, and that renewed Huu's nervousness; they were recognizing the girl's potential. A number of courtiers glanced at Scevo, evidently impressed by his command of the instrument, not knowing that this was the only accompaniment he could handle. Huu played carefully, making sure there was no slip, but could tell that the effect was being received very well. But none of that mattered, for there was only one person who counted.
The Shah watched and listened impassively. Then he smiled. Their act was a success!
Then they were ushered out, as the Shah retired to his harem. “You broke his mood,” Raay said gratefully. “I think it was the novelty of the act. A woman and a girl dancing together—that was beautiful. And a man and a small boy playing music together. I think it was the boy who did it. He was so zestful.”
A Persian clerk saw to their recompense: a generous payment in silver. Persians handled the organization and administration of the empire, as they had through the last several waves of Turkish conquest. Barbarians might be good at combat, but it required civilized folk to actually run things. Huu had understood long since that the arts and crafts were the most secure livelihood; the risk of injury or death was minimal, and the rewards could be both material and esthetic. That was why he was encouraging his children in the arts; dancing and music would assure their futures as well as any endeavors could.
Back home, they recounted their experience to Desert Flower. “The Shah liked Scevo!” Miin said.
“The Shah liked you, too,” Huu told her, and she blushed as if never complimented before. That was a maidenly art she had practiced diligently.
“But that is a curious thing, the way the Mongol khan is acting,” Ana said.
“The Mongol khan?” Desert Flower asked.
“He called the Shah his son!” Miin exclaimed. “Can you imagine! No wonder the Shah is furious. And now the khan is sending another caravan here.”
“Why is the Shah angry?” Desert Flower asked, perplexed.
“That's the same as calling him a vassal,” Huu explained. “He is nobody's vassal.”
“No, it isn't,” Desert Flower said. “It is a compliment. The khan dotes on his sons—even the one that isn't his.”
Scevo looked at her, not so young as not to relate to this. For Scevo, like Miin, was adopted.
“One isn't his?” Ana asked, surprised for similar reason. She never spoke of it, but the loss of her elder son still pained her deeply, as it did Huu. The boy had been killed in an accident just before they adopted Scevo.
“His eldest,” Desert Flower said. “The khan's wife was stolen just after they were married, and he didn't get her back for months, and then she was with child. But he accepted the child anyway. And he stands by his sons. Nobody crosses any of them. He paid the Shah a signal honor, calling him a son. This is how it is, with my people.”
Huu exchanged a glance with Ana. “This is mischief,” he said. “We shall have to get word to the Shah.”
“Immediately,” she agreed. “We did not know the steppe peoples’ way.”
Huu wrapped himself in his cloak and went through the night, back to the palace. He sought audience with the vizier, but the man had retired, and all he could get was an assistant. He explained about the misunderstanding, and how important it was to notify the Shah. But the man looked dubious, and Huu wasn't at all sure he understood. Yet it was all that could be done this night. Despondent, he returned home.
The next day he tried again, managing to reach the office of the vizier himself. He had to wait for some time in an anteroom, for the vizier was busy, but it was known that Huu was favored by the Shah, so he was put into the schedule. Two other men were waiting also, whiling away the time by playing a game of backgammon. At one point a slave passed through with a cheetah on a leash; the ferocious cat was a pet of the Shah's, and had to be kept in health by regular exercise. Later several serving maids scurried by on an errand for Muhammad's mother, Turkhan-Khatun. The formidable woman was much feared at court, being as temperamental and arbitrary as her son. The funny thing was that her worst malice was directed toward her own grandson, Jalal al-Din, who was the Shah's son and likely heir. He was a capable and courageous commander and a man of good will, a favorite of both his father and the court, but his grandmother loathed him and schemed constantly against him. Huu agreed with most others that things would be better if the vile grandmother were to come to a sudden end, but the worst that any of them could do was relay mischievous tales about her.
At last it was his turn to see the vizier, Biil, who was a somewhat harried man, not at all a warrior type. He had, according to Persian custom, been presented by the Shah with an ink pot when appointed to his position, and he always wore it on a fine chain, as the symbol of his office. Huu explained his concern. This time he got better news. “The Shah knows about that. It's an insult, but the khan is a barbarian, giving offense from sheer ignorance. Allowance has been made.” His expression suggested that this had required some doing, however. “There will be peace and trade between the two empires.”
Huu was relieved, realizing that the lower functionary had not been current on this matter. He apologized for bothering Biil about something that turned out to be of no importance. “By no means,” the vizier demurred. “This could have been supremely important, and I am glad to know that had I not learned of it elsewhere, you would have called it to my attention. It demonstrates your loyalty to the welfare of the empire.” That was the man's way of saying that Huu had wasted his time, but he didn't mind. Huu returned home with the good news.
But soon there was worse. The governor of the frontier town of Otrar, on the river Jaxartes, had arrested a Mongol caravan, confiscated the animals and their loads of treasure, and executed the Mongol in charge, together with all his attendants.
“But why?” Desert Flower asked, in evident pain for the deaths of her countrymen. “There was an agreement for trade.”
“The governor claims they were spies,” Huu said.
“A Mongol noble bringing gifts to the Shah?” she asked. “And all his attendants? There might be spies among them, because there always are, but that's routine. Don't the Shah's caravans have spies too?”
“They surely do,” Huu agreed. “I suspect that the governor of Otrar, known to dislike Mongols, made
up a pretext to rob the caravan, hoping that would excuse it.”
“But the Shah shouldn't believe that,” Desert Flower protested.
Huu shook his head. “It seems that the Shah believes what he chooses to believe. Now he is angry again.”
“Couldn't you talk to him?”
“To the Shah?” Huu shook his head. “To the vizier, maybe. Why are you so concerned about this?”
“Because I know something of this man Genghis. He has made a reputation among my people. He is the smartest and most ruthless khan we've ever had. Killing his envoys will bring war, and the khan will win it. There will be terrible destruction.”
Huu saw that she was serious, but she was only 13 and no expert in diplomacy or war. “We shall just have to hope it doesn't come to war, then,” he said.
Still, the Shah did seem to be pursuing an inappropriate course. As time passed, Huu did talk with the vizier Biil again, who agreed that it was foolish to stir up a potential enemy without reason. It would result at best in the inconvenience of border hostilities, and at worst in open warfare, pointlessly draining the resources of the empire. But Biil thought that the Shah was slowly reconsidering the matter, because he did have many other concerns. For one thing, there was still the nest of opposition centered in Baghdad, that the Shah still wanted to deal with. It would not be expedient to get into quarrels both east and west. “There is another Mongol caravan coming here,” he said. “Said to be the richest one yet. If the Mongol apologizes for his prior slur, and promises to send no more spies, peace may be achieved.”
Huu reported that at home, and Desert Flower was comforted. She went about her work with greater cheer, and that had a beneficial effect on the family, for Miin and Scevo really liked her.
Meanwhile they sharpened their family performance. Scevo learned to play a second melody on the dulcimer, and a third, proceeding with enthusiasm. Miin danced, her body seeming to flesh out farther with each performance. Huu schooled himself to be objective, but even so it seemed to him that the two were quite good. At such time as age forced Ana to retire from display dancing, Miin would be ready to take her place. And Huu was already working out duets with Scevo that seemed to have real promise.