‘I can pay. I will need to find a jeweller first, one who will buy.’
‘There are many such men, sir. May I ask if there are other claims on the jewel you wish to sell?’
For a moment, Jelaudin did not understand what was being asked. When he did, he flushed in outrage.
‘It is not stolen! I… inherited it from my mother. I want an honest man who will give me a good price for it.’
The owner dipped his head, embarrassed at the insult he had given.
‘My apologies, sir. I have suffered through hard times myself. I recommend Abbud, who has the red stall in the souk. He deals in gold and valuable items of all kinds. If you say his brother-in-law sent you, he will give you a fair price.’
‘And then a doctor?’ Jelaudin continued. ‘Have him come this evening.’
‘I will try, sir, but there are few men as educated in Khuday He is very busy.’
Jelaudin was not used to bargaining, or paying bribes. A long moment went by and the owner of the house had to glance deliberately at the pile of coins before understanding dawned. The young prince swept the pile off the table into a hand and gave it to the man, trying not to recoil as their hands touched.
‘I will tell him it is a favour to me, sir,’ the man replied, beaming. ‘He will come at sunset.’
‘Good. Now get out,’ Jelaudin replied, his patience dissolving. This was not his world. He had hardly even seen coins before manhood and then only to use for gambling with his father’s officers. He felt tainted by the trade, as if he had indulged in some intimacy. As the door closed again, he sighed to himself, despairing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The jeweller Abbud weighed the man before him almost as carefully as he had the ruby he had brought. Both of them made him suspicious, though his brother-in-law had a nose for profit that equalled Abbud’s own.
The man who claimed to be a merchant’s son had no experience of trade, that much was obvious. The way he had gawked and stared at the stallholders as he made his way to Abbud’s place of business was very odd indeed. What sort of man had never visited a souk? Then his arrogance brought the hairs on Abbud’s neck standing upright, every instinct warning of danger. He had survived forty years of trading in three cities and he trusted his senses. The man had sword-hardened hands for a start. He looked more like a soldier than a merchant and strode through the market as if he expected others to get out of his way. Abbud had watched in amusement as they failed to do so and the young man had stumbled over two market bullies selling chickens. If not for the sword on his hip, they might have followed their jeering with blows.
The sword too was very fine. Abbud itched to hold the blade and could only wonder at the stupidity of a man carrying such a thing in the souk. Judging by the worked silver of the scabbard, it was worth even more than the ruby he had laid on the stall’s outer bench for all to see. Abbud had covered the gem with his hand and beckoned him inside before the fool got them both killed, but the sword might achieve that anyway. Lives were cheap in Khuday and such a blade would be worth the risk to a few young devils with knives. It would feed their families for a year if they sold it to the right man. Abbud sighed to himself, wondering if he should warn his customer. The chances were that he would be offered the sword himself before the day was over, perhaps with blood still on it.
None of his thoughts showed as he brought Jelaudin to the rear of his little stall. He had a table there, away from the prying glances of the market. He tapped a chair for Jelaudin as he sat himself and held up the gem to a candle, looking for flaws before weighing it with great delicacy on a tiny pair of brass scales.
Was it stolen? He did not think so. A thief would not have tumbled it onto the cloth so openly. The man owned it, certainly, but still the itch of worry would not leave Abbud. He knew the reason he was successful lay in his ability to read desperation in those who came to him. He had already been told about the man’s need for a doctor. He suspected he could have the gem for a fraction of its worth, but laid it down as if it scorched him. There were too many things wrong about the man and his ruby. Abbud told himself he should send him away. He would have if the gem had been less perfect.
‘I cannot sell such a jewel in Khuday,’ he said reluctantly. ‘I am sorry.’
Jelaudin blinked. Was the old man turning him down?
‘I don’t understand,’ he said.
Abbud spread his hands.
‘My business is in taking a cut on fine items of gold. Khuday is a poor place and no one here is likely to give me more than I could give you. I would have to send the jewel with a caravan to Bukhara or Samarkand, or perhaps Ashgabad or Mashhad in the south.’ He rolled the gem with a finger as if it was just a bauble. ‘Perhaps Kabul would have a buyer, but the cost of taking it so far would equal the profit I could make. As I say, I am sorry, but I cannot buy it.’
Jelaudin was at a loss. In his entire life, he had never bargained for anything. He was not a fool and he recognised the man was probably toying with him, but he had no idea what to offer. In a sudden flush of anger, he thought of snatching it up and leaving. Only the thought of his father’s physician arriving at sunset held him in his seat. Abbud watched him closely, hiding his own delight at the young man’s transparent emotions. He could not resist twisting the knife and he pushed the jewel across the table as if ending the meeting.
‘May I have tea brought?’ Abbud suggested. ‘I do not like to turn a man away without even refreshment.’
‘I must sell this,’ Jelaudin said. ‘Can you not recommend someone else who will take it tonight and give me a good price?’
‘I will send for tea,’ Abbud replied as if the question had not been asked. He ignored the warning voices that had troubled him at the beginning. I must sell this? Let Allah bring him a queue of fools like this one and he would retire to a palace blessed with cool breezes.
As his servant boy brought tea in a silver pot, Abbud took note of the way the customer checked the sun outside. His naivety was intoxicating.
‘You are in need, my friend,’ Abbud said. ‘I would not like it said that I took advantage of that need, do you understand? My reputation is everything.’
‘I understand, of course,’ Jelaudin replied. The tea was very good and he sipped the hot drink in confusion, wondering what to do. The old jeweller leaned forward and dared to pat him on the arm as if they were friends.
‘My brother-in-law told me your father is ill. Should I turn away a good son? Never in this life. I will make you an offer for the gem, enough to pay the physician at least. If I keep the ruby, perhaps I will find a buyer in years to come, no? My business is not all about quick profit. There are times when I must think of my soul.’ Abbud sighed audibly. He thought he might have overdone it with the last sentiment, but the young man brightened and nodded at him.
‘You are very kind, sir,’ Jelaudin said, his relief painfully obvious.
‘Will we not all be judged?’ Abbud said piously. ‘My stall has not been profitable of late, with all this talk of war.’ He paused then, observing a tightening in the young man’s face.
‘Have you lost someone, my friend? Allah gives and he takes away. All we can do is endure this life.’
‘No, it is nothing,’ Jelaudin said. ‘I have heard of great battles in the east.’
‘Indeed. These are hard times.’ The prickle of warning was back in force and once more Abbud considered sending the man away. The ruby gleamed on the table and his eyes were drawn to it again.
‘For you, my friend, I will offer you four gold coins. It is not what the gem is worth, nor half of it, but it will cover your debt to the physician. I cannot offer more.’
He settled back for the negotiation, but to his amazement, Jelaudin stood up.
‘Very well. You are a good man,’ he said.
Abbud covered his startled confusion by rising as well and taking the outstretched hand. Could it be possible? The stone was worth forty times what he had offered!
&nbs
p; Abbud hid his delight as best he could as he passed four small coins over. The sword scabbard shone brightly in the gloom and he had to drag his eyes away from it. He owed the fool something.
‘My friend, I will give you a piece of cloth to wrap that blade you carry. There are thieves in the souk, though it grieves me to admit it. They may have already marked your arrival here. If you have friends, let me send for them to walk with you back to your place of lodging.’
Jelaudin nodded uncertainly.
‘That is kind, sir. More than I could have hoped in such a place.’
Abbud chuckled.
‘I have sons myself. I will pray for your father’s quick recovery.’
It took almost until sunset for Abbud’s servant boy to fetch three men from his brother-in-law’s house. They were as haughty and strange as the one with the gem and Abbud wondered if he should set a watch on their house. If they had other gems to sell, he did not want them going to one of his competitors. They would pick such innocents clean to the bone. Yes, it would be good to have forewarning if there was going to be trouble. Something about the four young men told him that trouble was very close indeed.
Jelaudin was elated as he strode back through the crowds with his brothers. It was almost sunset and the doctor would be on his way. He had traded and come away with gold in his pouch. It was a giddy feeling and he did not see his brothers’ nervous expressions at first. They walked quickly beside him and the sight of their stern faces was enough to warn off a pair of skinny young men who loitered near Abbud’s stall, staring rudely. As they closed on the tiny house where they had taken rooms, Jelaudin noticed the tension in his brothers at last.
‘What is it?’ he muttered.
They exchanged glances.
‘The Mongols, brother. We saw them in the markets. They are here.’
The physician pressed his long fingers into the shah’s belly, manipulating the organs beneath. Jelaudin watched in distaste as his father’s skin wrinkled and sagged as if it was no longer attached to the flesh. He could not recall seeing his father so exposed and vulnerable at any time in his life. The doctor seemed coolly professional, but Jelaudin was used to dealing with physicians of the court. Each of those had established a reputation before the shah accepted them. Jelaudin sighed silently. For all he knew, this man was a charlatan.
The doctor massaged his patient’s flesh, peering closely and listening to the tortured breath. Jelaudin’s father was awake, though his eyes were yellow around the iris and his face was pale. Jelaudin could only watch as the man pulled his father’s lower eyelid down and tutted to himself.
The doctor murmured quick orders and his servant boy began to boil water and crumble herbs into it. It was a relief for Jelaudin to pass his father into the care of another and, for the first time in months, he did not feel completely helpless.
At last the inspection ended and the doctor rose.
‘His liver is weak,’ he said to Jelaudin. ‘I can give you something for that, but his lungs are the most urgent problem.’
Jelaudin did not point out that anyone could have made such a diagnosis. He was paying gold for this man’s attentions and he hung on every word. The physician took him by the arm to the brazier, where dark leaves leapt and bubbled in their liquor.
‘Have your companions sit him up and drape a cloth over his head. These herbs give off a powerful scent that will help him to breathe.’
Jelaudin nodded to his brothers and they helped their father up. The wheezing became instantly worse.
‘How quickly will it work?’ Jelaudin asked.
The doctor blinked.
‘Not quickly at all, young man. Your father is very ill indeed. He must sit over the fumes until the liquid has gone cold, at dawn, noon and evening. Give him beef broth for strength and make sure he drinks as much water as he can hold. In a week, I will come back to you and judge how far he has improved.’
Jelaudin winced at the thought of spending a week in the cramped rooms. Would the Mongols have passed on by then? Surely they would. He blessed his decision to hide in the town. Unless the Mongols destroyed it out of sheer spite, they were as safe in Khuday as anywhere.
With rolled blankets to support him, his father drooped over his outstretched legs. Jelaudin watched as another blanket was laid in the shah’s lap to protect him from the heat. With metal tongs, the physician’s boy lifted the steaming pot from the brazier and set it in front of the old man. The wheezing became slightly muffled as Jelaudin’s brothers placed a cloth over his head. The shah coughed twice at the acrid fumes, but then he settled into it and the wheezing did seem to ease.
The doctor listened closely before nodding to himself.
‘I can leave you enough of the herbs for a few days. After that, you must buy your own supply in the markets.’ He smiled slightly Ask for bordi or pala . They will not know its Latin name. For his liver, silymarin, the milk thistle, will suit us well. Have him drink it with a little honey.’
‘Thank you,’ Jelaudin replied. He tried not to show his relief, but the doctor seemed to sense it anyway.
‘Do not worry too much for your father. He is old, but strong. A month of rest and he will be back to his old self. I see you have no brazier of your own?’
Jelaudin shook his head. His brothers had been buying food from the hot coals of sellers in the souk.
‘I will lend you this one, though you will have to get your own charcoal.’
Jelaudin bowed his head and watched as the physician gathered his materials and measured out portions of the bitter herbs, sealing them in waxed paper packets. It was left to the servant boy to hold out his hand for payment and Jelaudin flushed at having to be reminded. He pressed four gold coins into the boy’s hands, noticing how clean they were in comparison to the urchins of the street.
As the money changed hands, the doctor straightened subtly, relaxing.
‘Excellent. Do as I have told you and all will be well, inshallah.’ He swept out of the tiny rooms into the bright sunshine, leaving the sons with their father.
‘We have no more gold,’ Jelaudin’s youngest brother said suddenly. ‘How can we buy the herbs and charcoal?’
Jelaudin winced at the thought of returning to the market, but at least he had a friend there. Half a dozen smaller rubies still remained, though at the speed he was burning through them, he doubted they would last. Still, he and his brothers were safe. In a month, the Mongols would certainly be gone, and with their father’s strength returned, they could head east at last. Let him just reach a loyal garrison and he would bring hell and destruction on the head of the Mongol khan. Far to the south, there were many men of Islam who would ride to his banner against the infidel. He had only to send word to them. Jelaudin prayed silently as his father choked and laboured over the fumes, the skin of his neck red with heat and steam. There had been many insults to him, but they would yet be repaid.
By sunset, two different men had come to take tea in Abbud’s red stall. It was unusual for him to delay rolling up the awnings and walking to the town’s small mosque as his final act of the day. As the last rays of the sun lit the alleys of the souk, he could hear the call to prayer echoing across the town. Abbud dismissed the last of the men, pressing coins into his hand as a gift for the information he had brought. Lost in thought, Abbud washed his hands in a small bowl as he prepared for the evening prayer. The ritual set his mind free to consider what he had learned. The Mongols had been asking questions. Abbud was pleased he had set a boy to watch the house of his latest customer. He wondered how much the information was worth.
All around him, the market was vanishing. Some of the stalls were loaded onto donkeys and camels while more established businesses opened wooden doors set into the ground itself, which could be barred and locked until dawn. As he finished rolling the last bolt of cloth, Abbud nodded to the armed guard he had hired to sleep on the door. He was paid well to complete his prayers on his own and Abbud left the man laying out his mat and scrub
bing his hands symbolically with dust.
The sudden rush of activity that came with sunset seemed to surprise the Mongols wandering through the town. As the stalls were packed away, the strangers were revealed one by one, standing in small groups and looking around them like fascinated children. Abbud avoided catching their eye as he strode towards the mosque. His wife would be entering the decorated building through another entrance and he would not be able to see her until the prayers were over. She would not approve of what he was considering. Women did not understand the business of men, he knew. They saw only the risks and not the rewards that came only with risk. As if to remind him, he felt the ruby bump against his thigh as he walked, proof of Allah’s blessing on his house.
Out of the corner of his eye, Abbud saw a tall young Arab standing with the Mongol warriors. The crowd heading to the mosque ignored them as if they were not there, a combination of contempt and fear. Abbud could not resist glancing at the Bedouin as he passed, noting the distinctive stitching of his robes that marked him as a desert-dweller as surely as a sign on his chest.
The stranger missed nothing and he caught Abbud’s quick glance, stepping quickly to block his path. The jeweller was forced to halt or lose dignity in trying to dart around him.
‘What is it, my son?’ Abbud said testily. He had not had time to consider how best to use the information he had bought. The best profits never came from hasty action and he had intended to use his time in the mosque to think it through. He watched in suspicion as the Bedouin bowed deeply. None of the desert folk could be trusted.
‘My apologies, master. I would not disturb you on your way to prayer if the matter was not important.’
Abbud could feel the stares of the other traders as they passed by. He cocked his head to listen to the call to prayer, judging he had but moments.
‘Quickly, my son, quickly.’
The young man bowed again.