"Shiek" - читать интересную книгу автора (Connie Mason)

With the sultan's army at his heels, Jamal entered the imperial city of Meknes. Passing through the triple protective wall, he entered the medina. Wending his way through the narrow streets of the old city to the imperial palace in the Kasbah, Jamal took time to savor the sights and sounds of the marketplace. Men playing drums, tambourines and flutes created magic sounds that he had missed these past months. Food cooking on braziers made his mouth water for spicy native fare, and he stopped to laugh at the antics of monkeys riding their masters' shoulders. How he had missed all this during his sojourn in England.

He entered the palace grounds through the Bab Berdaine, a gate of magnificent proportions. Captain Hasdai was beside him as he rode past Moulay Ishmail's granaries and the Christian prison where European captives, who worked on the fortifications, lived in a vast underground space. He did not pause to admire the fine mosques or elaborate gardens as he dismounted and passed beneath the carved and gilded entranceway into the palace.

"This way, Sheik," Hasdai said, leading Jamal through spacious rooms and long corridors, past guards standing at attention and supplicants waiting to see the sultan.

Jamal had been in the palace enough times to know that he was being taken to the sultan's private chambers instead of to the Hall of the Sultanate, where most business was conducted. His boot-heels clicked loudly against cool marble floors as he was ushered past tall Negro guards into the sultan's sanctuary.

Moulay Ishmail, a short, solidly built man of middle years with sharp features and a thick black beard, sat on a cushion surrounded by a bevy of beautiful women. His numerous wives and concubines were said to be among the loveliest women found anywhere in the world. Each was unique in her own way. Their skin tones ranged from milky white to ebony. But it was the sultan himself upon whom Jamal focused his attention.

"Ah, Sheik Jamal, you have arrived at last," Moulay Ishmail said, motioning him forward.

Jamal approached the throne, made his obeisance and asked, "Why have I been summoned without so much as an explanation? I had to leave the unloading of my ship to my men in order to comply with your demand. Could this not wait?"

Had Ishmail not been in desperate need of Jamal's help he would have been offended by his abrupt manner. But Jamal was a powerful sheik, a title inherited from his late father, and a faithful subject of Islam and the sultan. Though he carried the foreign blood of his English mother, he followed the teachings of Allah and was valued by Ishmail as an ally.

Jamal's activities on the high seas provided Ishmail with much-needed revenue. His escapades as a Barbary pirate were legendary. Ishmail had no reason to doubt or question Jamal's loyalty.

"I've been anxiously awaiting your return," the sultan said sulkily. "I need you, Jamal. The Berber cadi, Youssef Abu Selim, is making a pauper of me. He and his warriors attack every caravan going in and out of Meknes, then run to their walled fortresses in the Rif mountains to escape my army. In the meantime, I'm losing valuable revenue."

"The Berbers have been a thorn in the side of every sultan and caliph since the Arabs conquered their country," Jamal said. "Meknes once belonged to them. The city was named after the Meknassa, the great Berber tribe that founded it. They want their territory returned to them. My own father lost his life fighting Berbers in your behalf."

With a solemn nod of his head the sultan acknowledged Jamal's loss. "We will take some refreshment while we discuss this matter. Leave us," he ordered his women. They scurried away, eying the handsome sheik with admiration as they backed out of the room.

Jamal sat cross-legged on a cushion facing the sultan as a servant brought a tray of honey cakes and set it between them. Then an old man shuffled in, bringing the charcoal, brazier and kettles necessary to brew fresh mint tea. After the elaborate ceremony ended, he filled tiny cups with the fragrant brew and bowed himself out of the room.

Ishmail sipped cautiously of the hot tea, then asked, "How did you find your mother?"

"In good health. She still misses my father."

"Is she as beautiful as I remember?"

"She grows lovelier with age. But you didn't call me here to discuss my mother."

"Indeed not. I know you hold no love for Berbers. That is why I chose you to help conquer them. I want you to capture the Berber cadi Youssef for me. You are cunning and experienced, just the kind of man I need to bring him to heel. My coffers grow empty while Youssef and his tribesmen grow rich."

"The Berbers have waged war against you for years," Jamal contended. "They resent the high taxes you levy on them. And they want their city back. If all the separate tribes banded together into one fighting unit they might succeed in recapturing their land. Fortunately, they fight in small bands."

"I'm obliged to expend time and money to keep them in line, when my energies could be better directed to enrich the lives of my people and establish trade with foreigners. Youssef Abu Selim must be destroyed. He is the chieftain. Without the cadi, his people will be left leaderless and without direction."

"I've yet to visit my home or ease myself with my women," Jamal complained. "My voyage has been a long one. Can this not wait?"

"Your women can wait but I cannot," Ishmail said. "You will be amply rewarded if you undertake this mission."

"I don't need your money. I have enough of my own. The three Spanish galleons that crossed my path were heavy with gold and plate. Your share will arrive in Meknes by caravan."

"Ah," Ishmail said, his black eyes glowing. "A rich caravan, you say? Youssef will be unable to resist so tempting a prize. My army is at your disposal, Jamal. If you cannot bring me Youssef's head, then find a way to stop him from attacking my caravans."