"…Abu has agreed," the amir was saying, "it is of utmost importance. We are to leave at once, taking only-"
Hearing the last of this, I glanced up quickly.
"I am sorry, my friend," said the amir, mistaking my stricken look, "your marriage must wait a little longer, I fear. Certainly, we will return here as soon as possible, and I will gladly provide a wedding celebration to surpass all celebrations. This shall be my gift to you both, but as it is-"
"Please," I said, "where are we going?"
"To Byzantium," he answered, mildly surprised that I should ask. "Did I not just say so? The treachery of this man Nikos must not be allowed to obstruct the peace between our peoples. He must be stopped before fighting begins again."
"By all means, Lord Sadiq," I concurred, quickening to the thought. For I suddenly saw the opportunity I desired above all else: I could have my revenge, and I would not have to betray the amir to get it. "But it occurs to me that we will need help."
The amir appeared taken aback by my suggestion. "What help would you suggest?"
"I am not the only one who knows what happened in Trebizond, nor the only one who survived the ambush on the road to Sebastea. If we are to confront Komes Nikos with his crime, it seems to me that the more voices raised in condemnation, the better. You will remember that I was last seen by the emperor when I was slave to a barbarian king. If the basileus is to credit what I say, I must have help."
Sadiq regarded me with dark, unfathomable eyes. "This help, of which you speak. I suppose it has a price?" He sounded disappointed.
"Only this: obtain freedom for my friends, and we will help you stop Nikos and renew the peace."
He waited, expecting me to say more. "What else do you require?"
"That is all."
"Freedom for your friends?" wondered Sadiq, surveying me dubiously. "Nothing else? You must hate this Nikos more than I suspected."
I felt my stomach tightening into a knot of anticipation. "Can it be done?"
"Allah willing, it might be arranged," the amir replied, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "But let us understand one another: if I achieve this feat, you will go with me to Byzantium and aid me in restoring the treaty?"
"We will do whatever you ask," I vowed.
"Then we must pray the khalifa is in his right mind today," Sadiq replied, making his decision. "If you like, I will inform Kazimain that the wedding must be delayed a little."
"Thank you," I said, "but I will tell her myself."
"As you wish." Sadiq rose to his feet. "You must excuse me," he said, "there is much to be done-and quickly." He clapped his hands, and Faysal appeared as out of nowhere. "I have an urgent message for the wazir," he said. "We require an audience with the khalifa at his earliest convenience-today. Go!"
To me, he said, "Rise up, Aidan. If my new advisor is to accompany me, he must be arrayed like royalty."
The amir led me to another room where his clothes were kept in sandalwood chests. He chose a new robe and cloak for me, then summoned servants to come and prepare me for my audience. "Make him appear a nobleman," he commanded as he left the room. "For today this man must stand before the khalifa!"
When they had completed this task, Faysal came in carrying a bundle wrapped in blue silk. "For you, Aidan," he said. "The amir wishes you to have this."
I opened the bundle to reveal a knife of the kind the Irish call a daigear, but unlike any I had ever seen: all silver and gold of the most wonderful craftsmanship, worked into fantastic leaf-and-tendril designs and studded with rubies, emeralds, and sapphires. The blade, however, was of a metal called steel, and sharper than the cut of the keenest razor. I could hardly take my eyes from the knife long enough to thank Faysal.
"All Sarazen noblemen wear such a knife," he said. "It is called Qadi."
"Judgement?" I wondered. "Why that?"
"Because," said Faysal, taking the treasure and tucking it into my belt properly, "a man must sometimes rely on his own hand for justice, and when Qadi speaks, arguments cease."
Stepping away, he pronounced me an acceptable likeness of an Arab nobleman, and said, "Now you are ready to meet the khalifa. May Allah grant you favour in his sight."
The Caliph of Samarra was sitting under a fig tree in the palace arboretum. He had, it was explained, been sitting under the tree for five days, awaiting inspiration from the angel Gabriel for the completion of a poem recently begun.
"Perhaps," Wazir Tabataba'i suggested discreetly, "your business with the khalifa would be more auspiciously conducted another day."
"All business should be conducted in gardens under fig trees," countered the amir. "The world would be a far better place. We will be happy to greet the khalifa in his garden."
