“I must leave for Damascus tomorrow,” he said. “I will be gone for some time. And it came to me how I would yearn for you, my sweet treasure, and would be wild with impatience to return to your arms. Therefore, I have decided not to deny myself the joy of gazing upon you and receiving your kisses. I shall take you with me.”
Her amazed delight at this gratified him. She pressed his hand tightly to her breast and now she had no need to dissemble. “Lord,” she said, “if you have yearned for me in that great city, surrounded though you were by your women, how much more have I yearned for you, left here alone, alas, and dreaming of you in my bed and longing for your return!”
He heard the sincerity in her voice as well as her happiness, and it came to him that this was the first time he had been certain that she was not somewhat deceiving him with taught fervor. He was moved and was ashamed of his pleasure.
“But you will wear a veil at all times,” he said, fondling her. “I have indulged you here in my house, but that cannot be on the journey nor in Damascus. I desire no one to gaze upon your face and contemplate slaughtering me and carrying you off.”
“Like the bull who bore Europa away?” She laughed, and shook her head. “I have heard that the women of Damascus are great beauties.”
“No, they are extremely ugly,” he replied. “The men are handsome and corrupt, and the women are virtuous and an offense to the eye. Their veils, then, are less to conceal their faces than to spare men from looking upon them. Were the men of Damascus to glimpse your countenance, sweet Isis, they would lose their wits.”
He drew her down beside him on the divan and she thought, as she clung to him, Alas, I love him, and this I see to my sorrow. But never shall he know.
CHAPTER 14
Aspasia had never seen a caravan. It was not until she was part of Al Taliph’s own caravan that she realized how she had been so closely immured in his palace and how her mind, despite his libraries and the books he bought for her, had become stifled not only with luxury but with monotony and absence of communication with others. In Thargelia’s house there had been the diversity and the teachings of tutors and visits to the ports and the shops and the presence of strangers who were friends of Thargelia. Always there had been stimulating conversations and controversies and the exchange of small or large thoughts. There had been news of the world from guests and Thargelia had encouraged her intelligent hetairai to ask questions, to give opinions, even to dispute amiably. Girl children were constantly arriving for scrutiny by the mistress of the courtesans, and decisions made. There had been laughter and games among the maidens, and frolics and discussions, and pranks and dancing and music.
But for over three years now Aspasia had had no access to these things. She had seen nothing but the market place. She had entered no city. She had not seen the sea, but only a small river near the palace. She had been imprisoned behind walls, guarded constantly by eunuchs, never entertained except in the company of Al Taliph when he gave his dinners. She had talked only briefly with guests, who had admired her beauty but had often been disconcerted by her mind. I have been dead to the world, and the world to me, she thought. Time has gone by like the wind of the desert, coming from whence I do not know and going to mysterious places I never saw. I have lived suspended in a dream, and only now do I understand that the dream has smothered me. I awakened only when my lord summoned me at his pleasure, and then I fell asleep again and the world rolled without my knowledge or awareness. I see that I desperately struggled, in that dream, to be alive, but as the months and the years went on my struggles became fewer and my first uneasiness less. I have been a frog on a lily pad in a stagnant pool in a silent and deserted garden, blinking feebly at the sun, and rarely gazing about me. Flint does not create sparks unless struck against iron, and for a long time my mind has known no fire.
Her excitement, as the caravan set forth long before dawn this cool autumn morning, was so great that her heart thumped and she almost wept for joy. Veiled, wrapped in a warm crimson wool cloak, she was guided outside the walls by Al Taliph who smiled down at her glittering eyes as a father smiles. Torches had been forced into the sockets on the outside walls and they cast red shadows in the morning breeze and on the waiting caravan. Aspasia looked about her eagerly. It seemed to her that a multitude of loaded camels, mules and horses and donkeys extended from the fluttering light of the torches into the darkness and into infinity on each side. Now she heard the hubbub of men and beasts, the screams of the camels, the neighing of the horses, the complaints of the donkeys, and saw the enormous bustle of preparation. Men in long dark robes and cloaks and with headcloths covering both head and face rushed everywhere, carrying burdens to be hoisted to the packs on the animals, and as they hurried feverishly they chattered and cursed and laughed, and their eyes were alive in the torchlight. There was an air of desert barbarism about them and their loud voices were hoarse and impatient, and they yelled and bellowed as loud as the beasts they tended and dragged or struck. They also stank furiously and even the scent of the gardens behind the gates and the aromatic odor of the wind could not abate the stench of sweat, unwashed hot bodies, damp wool, urine and manure. They had an animal rankness which Aspasia, the fastidious, found offensive. She leaned lightly against the arm and shoulder of Al Taliph, who was alertly watching, surrounded by guards with swords and lances.
Aspasia saw that the camels were linked together in lines of one hundred each, hair ropes attaching the rear of one to the neck of another, and all were heavily laden with merchandise. The leader, whimpering nearby and stamping his huge padded feet restlessly, was ornamented with colored cloths, fringes and tassels and tinkling bells. An ass, without a burden, was to guide the long strings of camels. He surveyed the scene philosophically, and seeing this and his wise eyes, Aspasia laughed and pointed him out to Al Taliph. “Ah, yes,” he said, “he is a very clever creature and has deep thoughts of his own. He has no high opinion of camels, but they trust him.” He left Aspasia, motioned aside his guards and went to the ass. “Hamshid,” he said, “I am very proud of you. Again, you will protect us.” The ass acknowledged this compliment with a grave whinny and rubbed his nose against Al Taliph, who patted him tenderly and who then returned to Aspasia. She was laughing behind her veil and her brown eyes with their gilt lashes were alight with mirth.
“Lord,” she said, “I swear you love beasts more than you love any man or woman.”
He answered her with seriousness. “Are they not honest and do they not work industriously? I respect them. They could survive without us but we cannot survive without them, and where is our vainglorious intelligence before that truth?”
Aspasia was momentarily abashed. She thought again, with a sigh, of how dull her mind had become, how stifled, how lacking in excitement and conjecture, behind those walls. She determined not to offend Al Taliph, for his displeasure dimmed her spirit and she wished to greet the world again with joy, as one delivered from a prison; tasting, feeling, smelling, touching, seeing, hearing. Moreover, if she pleased her lord he would take her again on other journeys, perhaps even to Greece.
For the first time she saw that he was armed, a long curved sword buckled to his girdle. Like the men about him he was clad in dark wool robes and a heavy cloak, and like them he wore a woollen headcloth secured with rope cords. The rough material covered not only his head but also his face from the nose down, and only his eyes could be seen, changing from gray to brown as the torchlight shifted, and his gaze ranged over the men and the animals. Aspasia had only seen him in elegance and grace, and as an aristocratic satrap. Now he was of the desert, as were his men, and he had the wild leanness of the desert-born, the acquaintance of far places and dangers and hazards and endless sands and storms. I do not know him, Aspasia thought. I have never known him. He suddenly looked down at her and though his face was hidden she could see that his eyes were smiling as if he had heard her thoughts and was amused. She leaned against him again.
The guards moved as
ide and Thalias approached, saluting. He, too, was clad as was Al Taliph, but his blue eyes were gay and young above the cloth that covered his face and a lock of auburn hair could be seen over his forehead. He glanced briefly at Aspasia. “My own caravan, lord,” he said, “will leave tomorrow. It is very small compared with yours.”
“You need fear no robbers in Persia,” said Al Taliph. “But you have known that.”
“True, lord, but we will not be always in Persia. I have been robbed before.”
“My dear Damos, you will travel under my protection,” said Al Taliph. “The banners we carry are royal, and not the boldest robbers between Persia and Damascus will trouble us. Nevertheless, we are armed also, as you will observe, if some savage band ignores our standards or does not recognize them.”
Thalias’ eyes were uneasy. “I have never killed a man,” he said.
“I have killed many, and not only in war,” said Al Taliph. “After the first murder the others are of no consequence.” He spoke with indifference and with a touch of contempt for this Greek. His eyes became cold and haughty. “You will ride beside me,” he added. “I have the strongest and the noblest of Idumean stallions who fear nothing except an irritable mare.”
Thalias laughed, but he was still uneasy. He lifted his robe as if to examine his feet and Aspasia saw that he wore high leather boots, as did Al Taliph. Then he dropped his robes, saluted again, and went away. Al Taliph watched him go. “Our Damos,” said Al Taliph, “has not only never killed a man but I fear he has not ridden many horses either.”
“I, too, have never ridden a horse,” said Aspasia. She heard him laugh. “My sweet nightingale,” he said, “you will travel in comfort and in protection, as I have told you. No desert wind or sand or scorching sun will be permitted to injure your delectable complexion.” He raised his hand and pushed aside the hood of her cloak and gently smoothed her hair. “Nor this glory, which is dearer to me than the bricks of gold which line the cellars of my banks.”
She was vexed at this flippancy and he saw this and laughed again. Then he said, “Ah, here is my good Karawan-Serashkier, who will guard us all and deliver us and our merchandise safely, and settle all quarrels among my men. Even I, on such journeys, must follow his counsel and never dispute with him.”
Aspasia watched the loping approach of the tallest and thinnest man she had ever seen, clad in black wool robes. He had pushed the cloth from his face and Aspasia saw his somber gauntness, the ferocity of his features, the fearless violence of his small vivid eyes, the eagle-like rapacity of his beaked nose, the cruelty of his almost lipless mouth. He bowed to Al Taliph.
“All is in readiness, lord,” he said. His voice had the harshness of a hawk’s utterance.
“Good, Raïs,” said Al Taliph. He touched the man on his shoulder and they exchanged looks of mutual regard.
Now that the hour of departure had been reached the noise of man and animal rose to a higher pitch. It was discordant and deafening, yet Aspasia saw that the confusion had become order. The bright amber crescent of the moon was perched on the top of the highest mountain, which was as yet undefined except as a dark cloud against a lighter cloud. But in the east there was a bluish shadow. A group of veiled women approached the guards. Al Taliph nodded towards them and said abruptly to Aspasia, “Go. Do not be afraid.”
Two of the women carried lanterns and Aspasia joined the silent group, knowing they were five of her own attendants, who would care for her. Al Taliph had not indicated how she would travel. She glanced back at him. He was talking to one of the guards and appeared to have forgotten her, as a creature of no importance to him. She did not speak to the women. They surrounded her and the women with the lanterns led the way past seemingly endless lines of camels, mules, horses and donkeys. The burning torches spluttered and hissed and smelled of hot resin. The men ignored the little group of females, for they were of less value to them than the beasts.
Now the caravan was only a vague movement in the dark, though Aspasia could hear snorts and complaints and the rude voices of men. The women held the lanterns high so that Aspasia would not stumble. She had a glimpse of the domed roof of the palace above the walls and it seemed to be formed of wan mist under the moon and the stars. Beneath that dome she had been imprisoned for long years. Now she was free. A sudden exultation came to her, and a renewed excitement, for she was young and had been delivered to the world she had longed for and had so loved. She looked about her with curiosity; the caravan was slowly beginning to move. The lantern light flickered on an eye here, a shape there, the muscular leg of an animal, a harness. Far to the front could be heard the jingling of bells on the lead camel. Somewhere a horn sounded, peremptorily. The women quickened their steps and Aspasia hurried with them. She feared they would be left.
They came upon a train of four long and wide platforms, each drawn by six black horses in silver harness and with plumes on their heads. Every platform supported a large tent of brown wool with closed flaps. The first, and the biggest, led the train and a nomad, carrying a pennant, rode one of the horses. “This tent is the tent of the lord,” said one of the women, bowing her head in its direction. Even the spokes of the ironclad wheels were inlaid with silver and enamel. The second tent, somewhat smaller, had been assigned to Aspasia and two of her women; the others would sleep in the third tent until called to their duties. Among them, as Aspasia guessed, were a number of slave girls who were dancers and singers and tumblers and music-makers. The fourth also held women.
Aspasia climbed the platform to her tent, accompanied by two of the slave women. The flap was opened, and she entered and was amazed. Soft yellow glass lamps were affixed to walls and the walls themselves were completely covered with hangings of the most luxurious sort—ornamented silk of curious designs depicting colorful flowers, birds, trees and twisted patterns intertwined with gold and silver threads which glistened and sparkled in the lamplight. The floor of the platform was strewn with Persian and Indian rugs no less brilliant with color, and thick and soft under the foot. There were small brass tables and chests, and the famous crimson and blue Damascene huge cushions to sit and lie and sleep upon, all fringed with gold tassels, and many of them had afghans of wool and silk neatly folded to protect the sleeper or sitter from any desert or mountain chill. The whole tent was pervaded with the scent of sandalwood and nard. Aspasia felt the warmth in the tent and the fragrance was languid and somnolent. She was suddenly aware that she desired sleep, for she had lain for hours in the arms of Al Taliph, quivering with passion and excitement, and had not slept at all. The women removed her veil and cloak and other garments and dressed her in a white shift of linen, and she lay upon a cushion and fell almost instantly asleep, hardly conscious of the fact that an afghan had been placed upon her and that the other women had fallen upon cushions, themselves. The movement of the vehicle was lulling, the scent overpowering. Aspasia slept like one drugged.
But she was awake at dawn, after a short doze. Her women slept and moaned softly, their mouths agape. Aspasia threw a cloak over her shift and opened the flap of the tent and stood in the doorway. Then she was awed, and her old exaltation at the spectacle of beauty returned like a wanderer who had been banished and then had come home, rejoicing, intoxicated. Or, she was like one who had been blinded and then had been given sight again.
The caravan was traveling over a flat plain littered with small and large stones and heavy dust. But the eastern sky was a vast conflagration of palpitating gold and saffron streaked with scarlet and emerald green, and it seemed to extend forever from horizon to horizon. It threw yellow and purple shadows on the ash-colored ground. Boulders on the barren earth were ignited instant by instant and burned like gigantic cores of fire. There was no sound in that stupendous incandescence of the heavens except for the creaking of wagons and the rattle of harness. Then, at the rim of the world, the edge of the ruby sun began to mount in his panoply of awaiting banners, and the tent of the night, still high in the heavens, and the hu
e of hyacinths, folded and sank to the west.
Aspasia felt that she was seeing for the first time in her life. She clutched the sides of the fabric doorway and stared and her face was illuminated by the grandeur she gazed upon with distended eyes. Her hair blew about her in the morning wind. Then she heard the pound of horse’s hoofs and there loomed beside the tent the figure of a horseman black as an iron statue against the wild storm of the sky. The horseman, mounted on a great stallion, was Al Taliph, his face covered with his headcloth, his eyes set ahead. He did not seem aware of the woman in the doorway.
He resembles a centaur, and is as unearthly, thought Aspasia. He rode beside the tent, silent and supple, tall and lithe. Never had he seemed so remote to Aspasia, so far removed from her, so alien, so strange, so in command of all about him. She felt a pang of fear as well as a thrill of pride. He touched his horse with his whip and the animal soared ahead, almost as if he were flying rather than running, like Pegasus, and both man and beast were gone. A peculiar feeling of loneliness and melancholy came to Aspasia and she returned to her cushions but not to sleep.
The caravan came to a halt. Aspasia rose, and her women rose with her, groaning. She opened the flap and saw that the caravan had stopped at a green oasis blowing with palm trees. Men were beginning to shout and fill pails and large buckets with spring water for the horses and camels. A fine golden dust floated in the warm air, for the sun had now completely risen, and heat touched Aspasia’s cheek like a hot hand. She did not know if she were supposed to remain in her tent, or alight. Her women came to her and dressed her and covered her with veil and mantle, then, bowing, they indicated that she should follow them. She emerged from the tent and climbed down beside the women. As she did so she saw that an elderly woman, veiled and in dark clothing, was leading a girl child sternly by the hand. The child’s face was uncovered though overlaid with cosmetics against the ardent light, and she was bewildered and frightened. She could have been hardly ten years old. Her robe was white and blue, her hair the color of brown wine. She pulled back once and the woman jerked her impatiently and said something in a tongue Aspasia did not know, and it was admonishing. The child cried again, a faint whimpering sound, then bowing her head she submitted.