Hasan - A Novel Part 15

"All but one, Hasan."

He gazed at her, confused. "One?"

"The Queen herself."

"Well yes, you did say my wife was very like the Queen, but-"

"Can there be two like her in all the world?"

"No! No one could match my wife!"

Shawahi spread her hands. "So it is death."

"I don't understand."

She opened her eyes and stared at him somberly. "The woman you describe as your wife must either be the Queen or one very like her. Believe me, there is none like her in the city. So if she is not your wife, you will not find what you seek among the women of the city tomorrow."

"Well, I suppose not. But-"

"Could the Queen be your wife, and not know it?"

"Of course not!"

"Then, if she knows she is the one you seek, why should she set up this parade of damsels? Why condemn you to death for failure-knowing you must fail?"

Hasan was shocked. "My beloved would never do that!"

Shawahi looked upon him with the compa.s.sion of the very old for the very young. "Hasan, did it ever occur to you that you never knew your wife very well? You loved her for her beauty, heedless of what might lie behind it. You captured her by force and compromised her so that she had to marry you or be forever sullied and ashamed. You held her prisoner in Baghdad while you begot some sons upon her. When she had the chance, she fled from you. She never returned to Baghdad or Serendip, though she could easily have flown there in her feather-suit. What makes you think she wants to join you now, or even see your face again?"

"I know she loves me."

"You're likely to carry that touching faith with you to your execution," she said. "Tomorrow afternoon. I know the Queen; I raised her. She is crafty and cruel beyond any in the empire and her heart is a pointed stone."

"That is not my wife."

"Hasan, sometimes I wonder whether your wife exists at all. There is only one way you can save your life tomorrow. When the women parade before you, pick out the prettiest and claim her as your wife. Bring her to me and I'll beat her until she agrees to do anything you demand. That will satisfy the Queen." "But if the Queen is my wife, she will know." "Precisely. If she is not your wife, she won't suspect. If she is, she'll be satisfied to be rid of you, either by marriage or crucifixion. That's the way her mind works." "I can't do it. I must have my wife and children." Shawahi gave up. "Never have I seen a man so eager to die!"

In the morning Hasan stood before the palace while all the maidens of the city paraded past, a hundred at a time. The girls treated it as a festive occasion and dressed ac- cordingly. Many of the men of the city lined up beside Hasan to help him peruse the offerings. If he didn't find a wife, some of them might.

Hasan had relinquished his original outland garments and now dressed in accordance with Wak convention. He was outfitted in a tubular length of material wound around his waist and reaching almost to the ground, surmounted by a high-collared jacket. On his head was an intricately draped flat turban which made him feel a little more at ease but whose windings were unfamiliar. Now that he was among men dressed similarly, Hasan was glad Shawahi had made him change.

Most of the women on display were dressed in two-piece costumes: a skirt of colorful cloth wound neatly over waist and hips and hanging in folds to the hem just above the bare feet; a long-sleeved blouse. A c.u.mmerbund held both in place. Black hair was brushed back and coiled attractively or tied behind.

Interspersed with this ordinary clothing were the more ornate fineries of the wealthier families: black dresses spangled with gold, set off by elegant scarves worn over the shoulders, and spectacular headdresses. Full length costumes of brightly decorated cloth, sewn with flower-patterns so thick that the color of the underlying material was a matter of conjecture. Dancing-girl costumes cut well beneath the shoulders and draped with stoles of golden thread and jeweled scarves.

Hasan was suitably impressed by the endless glitter and variety of clothing; but what amazed him most was the fact that not a single woman wore a veil. He had naturally a.s.sumed that the amazons flouted convention because of their trade, so had become accustomed to their naked countenances. Shawahi had told him the people of the Empire of Wak neither covered their faces nor called on Allah, but he had been unable to credit this completely until faced with the proof. A damsel's most intimate secret was her face-yet these girls smiled and laughed and disported themselves openly in the full sight of men, unashamed.

Once he got over the shock, he rather enjoyed this quaint naivete.

Many of the young women were fair, and not a few looked his way and smiled, knowing his mission ... but Sana was not among them.

"Are you sure you can't select one to call your wife?" Shawahi whispered. "The Queen is growing impatient."

Hasan shook his head, refusing to acknowledge her meaning.

The last of the women pa.s.sed. Shawahi slowly trekked into the palace.

Hasan waited, not believing that the Queen could so callously order his death. At least she would have to see him, and if she were his wife- If she were Sana, and still could execute him, then he had no further need of life.

Palace guards emerged: grim, husky men in polished armor. Their captain approached. "Hasan of Baghdad?"

Hasan nodded. They laid hands upon him and threw him down. His face landed in the dirt so that he had to splutter to spit it out. Guards took hold of his feet, and hauled.

He turned his head aside and covered his face with his hands, but even so the abrasions of dust and sand burned into his cheek.

They were doing it. They were going to kill him.

At the place of execution the guards stood him up, ripped a strip from his skirt, and bound it over his eyes. The last thing he saw was the gleam of naked blades as they ceremoniously flourished their weapons.

In the scant moments remaining, Hasan thought about the circ.u.mstances that had summoned him here. Bahram the Persian-how he would have laughed to see this scene! Hasan was glad he had killed the evil magician. Rose-the youngest and warmest of the princesses-how she would cry, if ever she knew. Perhaps he should have married her; she would certainly have made an excellent wife. But Sana had come, the beautiful bird-maiden. . . .

No, this was the way it had to be. Sana-or death.

The blow did not strike. What were they waiting for?

"Don't get impatient, imposter," the captain said. "We will accommodate you as soon as the Queen gives her royal permission."

The Queen was coming here- Surely she would have mercy, if- Footsteps approached. He heard the soft rustle of skirts, smelled queenly perfume.

"He is ready, Majesty," the captain said.

"Cut off his head." Sana's voice! "Tie his corpse over this old crone's door, a warning to any who dare adventure into our country under false pretenses. Proceed." How could she do this, seeing him?

Rough hands grasped him again, forcing his head down. "If you move, stranger, the cut will not be clean, and you will die slowly," the captain warned him without emotion. He heard the slight friction of armor as a sword was lifted two-handed above his neck.

"O Queen!" Shawahi's voice cried out near at hand.

"O my lady, by my claim for fosterage, do not be hasty in this matter. This poor wretch is a stranger who has risked his life and traveled from the end of the earth in pursuit of his love. He has suffered what none have suffered before him, and come here only because I promised him safety; and I promised only because of my trust in your magnanim- ity and your sense of justice and quality of mercy. I would never have brought him here otherwise. I said to myself, 'The Queen will take pleasure in looking upon him, and in hearing him speak his verses, and in his sweet discourse and eloquence, like pearls upon a string.' And he has entered our land and eaten our food, and therefore has a claim upon our hospitality."

A pause, then Shawahi continued. "You cannot con- demn him until he has seen all our women, for that was your royal word. You are the only one he has not looked upon. Will you keep your oath and show him your face?"

Sana's voice replied, but with an irony Hasan had never heard in his wife. "How can he be my husband and have had children by me, and I not know it?"

This was the point Shawahi herself had raised to Hasan, but she chose to ignore it this time. "Your word, O Queen. Can you put him to death when the terms have not been honored? Do you want the report to be spread abroad that you hate all strangers and put them to death for no reason? They will call her an evil Queen who is known for such a thing!"

"Your own stringy neck is not far from the sword," the Queen muttered. Then, to the guards: "Unbind his eyes!"

The cruel tourniquet came off. Hasan blinked at the sudden release and light, unable to focus immediately.

"Look at me, stranger, before you die," the Queen said.

Hasan shielded his eyes, squinted, and peered at the royal personage. He saw the elegant, jewel-encrusted robe, the sash of bright exotic weave, the slim lovely arms with their thick silver bracelets, the shining crown, and finally her face.

It was Sana.

Chapter 11. Sana.

Shawahi was holding up his head and cleaning his face. At first he didn't realize that he had fainted; then it seemed as though a great amount of time had pa.s.sed. It hadn't; the guards were still standing with blades unlimbered, and Sana had not moved or changed expression.

"If you are satisfied..." she said, turning to the guards. There was no hint of recognition or compa.s.sion in her face. She was indifferent to his fate and angry at the delay; that was all.

"But Sana!" he cried, appalled.

One brow arched in a manner never characteristic of his wife. "What is this dog yowling about now?"

"Don't you know me, Sana? I'm Hasan-your hus- band and the father of Nasir and Mansur, your sons. How can you murder me?"

The Queen spoke to Shawahi. "This stranger is jinn-mad. He stares me in the face with wide-eyes and says I am his wife!"

Shawahi came instantly to Hasan's defense. "O Queen, do not blame him for that. There is no remedy for the lovesick. He is a madman, but from the force of his pa.s.sion, not the jinn." Then, before Hasan could speak: "Hasan, this is Nur al-Huda, Queen of Wak-and a maid."

Hasan had been studying the Queen with growing per- plexity. Her strange name-which he had translated into his own terms, as he had to do for all Wak nomenclature- was the least of his concerns. "I tell you, she is either my wife or very similar to her. She-"

"Don't you know what your wife looks like?" Shawahi cut in. "Are you sure you didn't see her this morning among the-"

"She looks like that," Hasan said doggedly, indicating the Queen. "But now I think this woman is not my-"

Nur al-Huda made a peremptory gesture. "Do you say, stranger, that I resemble your wife very closely?"

"Marvelously closely. I-"

"Exactly what is it in your wife that resembles me?"

"O my lady, you are a model of beauty and loveliness, elegance and amorous grace. Your shape is a marvel of feminine symmetry and your speech is as sweet as the songs of singing birds and your cheeks blush most becomingly and your b.r.e.a.s.t.s jut forward in a manner to shame all others and inflame the pa.s.sions of men. In all these things you resemble her so closely that my eyes are unable to tell you apart or say which one is more comely, and your face is fair and brilliant as hers. No one in all the kingdoms of the world and of the jinn can match my wife in beauty unless it is yourself."

Nur al-Huda's mien softened somewhat, for Hasan had obviously spoken from the heart. "As lovely as that?"

"O my lady, it is impossible for me to describe your perfection, for such is beyond the tongue of a mortal."

"Not so very beyond, I think," she murmured. "And this is the beauty of your wife?"

"Yes, my lady, except-"

"Except that she has borne two children," Shawahi interposed urgently.

The Queen laughed. "Ah-then I am as fair as he remembers her." Hasan suddenly realized what would have happened if he had carelessly made any exception unfavorable to the Queen. Shawahi had saved him, with distaff alertness, from a fatal mistake-for Nur al-Huda did look older than Sana.

Sana's appearance, unlike that of lesser women, had in no way suffered from her motherhood. The two women were astonishingly close, but Sana retained the l.u.s.ter of youth. The Queen had evidently been a maid for a long time.

"Beldame," the Queen said, "take this eloquently-spoken young man back to your house and see that all his needs are attended to. I shall examine him further at another hour." She flashed an enigmatic glance at him. "It be- hooves us to ease the sorrow and travail of his long separation in whatever manner we may, and explore this curious affair most carefully so that we may help him win his wish."

Shawahi took Hasan's arm to lead him away, but the Queen stopped her another moment. "Deliver him into the care of your servants, mother. Return immediately to me."

"Be very careful, Hasan," the old woman murmured as they left. "The Queen is most dangerous when she smiles." But the presence of the guard prevented her from clarify- ing her meaning.

For ten days Hasan lived in comfort at Shawahi's house, well attended and without cares, except for uncertainty about his future and that of his mission. Shawahi was absent; the Queen had sent her on a special trip without informing him of its purpose.

Twice the Queen summoned him for an hour's dialogue in the ma.s.sive stone palace.

She was perfectly polite, but asked for no further de- scriptions of beauty, and Hasan suffered increasing uneasi- ness. She was older than his wife, by ten years or more, and it showed more in her manner than in her appearance. Where Sana was foolish, the Queen was strong; where Sana was warm, the Queen was cold. And she had a terrible temper.

Hasan answered her questions as well as he could, not certain where they were leading but sure they had a sword-like point. He recognized, belatedly, that had it been Nur al-Huda on the palace roof in the guise of a bird-maiden, instead of Sana, he never would have conquered her. She was a warrior la.s.s, strong as a man and adept at weaponry, and she offered neither heart nor body to any man.

He wondered why she had been so readily flattered by his descriptions the first time he saw her. This weakness of vanity did not ring true, now that he knew her better. She was vain, yes-and hot-blooded too-but in her these sentiments were given rein only when it suited her conve- nience. They were liabilities no more than they would have been in a man.

Meanwhile, she had promised to help him in his quest.

Hasan basked in that, and stilled his uneasiness. The Queen really wasn't as bad as Shawahi's morbid predictions.

The old woman reappeared abruptly on the tenth day. Never a pleasant sight, she was a horror now. Her skin was sallow and she was quivering as though in mortal fear. All strength of character seemed to have been drained out of her.

Twenty mamelukes of the palace guard accompanied her, their expressions businesslike. Something was wrong.

"Greetings, O venerable mother," Hasan said, hoping that bright words would dispel whatever dire news she brought.

Shawahi skipped the formalities. "Come speak with the Queen, ill-omened one! Didn't I warn you not to come to Wak? Didn't I offer you the best of my maidens for your own, if only you gave up this hapless quest before disas- ter? But no; you would not listen to my advice. You rejected my council and chose to bring destruction upon yourself and upon me also. Well, you have your wish. Up then, and take what you have chosen, for death is near at hand. Speak with the tyrant Queen!"

Frightened, Hasan accompanied her. And while they journeyed to the palace, the old woman told him what had happened.

After seeing that Hasan was comfortable and that the servants knew their duties, ten days ago, Shawahi returned to the Queen as directed. The latter was pacing the floor restlessly, her royal skirts whirling as she turned.

"Do you remember what he called her?" she snapped.

"O my lady-" Shawahi began, trying to comprehend what the Queen was talking about.

"The wife, crone. He called her 'Sana' . . . and he named two sons."

The old woman waited, still uncertain what this was leading to.

"It is in my mind that the stranger spoke the truth," the Queen continued. "Otherwise he surely would have selected a woman of the city for his wife, whether he knew her or not. If my thought is true, my youngest sister, Manar al-Sana, is his wife-for the traits of surpa.s.sing beauty and excelling grace which he described are found in none but my sisters, and especially in her. And indeed she has two boys which she says she adopted as foundlings after being stranded in the wilderness. She could be the one."

Of course! Shawahi cursed herself for her stupidity. Why hadn't this occurred to her when Hasan first de- scribed his wife, since she knew all the daughters of the King well? She could so easily have enabled him to win his wife. But now . . .