During the days and nights that followed, he found that his growing hatred for Ali was taking over his mind. There were whole days when he could think of nothing else but ways in which he could take out his revenge on the younger boy. Finally, he grew uncomfortable with his own attitude, and realised that he would have to control his thoughts, but try as he might, Ali's grinning face kept returning to his mind. If only I hadn't rushed! Why did he get in my way? Did he trip me on purpose? I should have gone on the expedition, not him! Round and round went his thoughts.
He lost count of the days and weeks as the cool days of spring passed away and summer approached, but one day the cook looked in on him as she brought his lunch as usual, and told him she had something else for him. As he started on his bread and vegetables, she carried in two long, stout sticks with a padded tee on one end of each. "The master told me I could give you these about now,” she said. "Try them!"
Samir put down his dish and reached out for the sticks. She told him they were crutches. After much experimenting, he managed to stand, keeping his left foot off the ground. For the rest of the day he practiced shuffling around the servants' quarters, forgetting his lunch where he'd laid it. That night he went to bed more satisfied than he had for a long time, and he was able to sleep soundly after the exertion. His hands and arms ached.
After two days he could navigate the whole house, even up to the roof, and he liked to clatter out into the courtyard to watch people pass by on the track that led to the marketplace. Occasionally someone would pause to talk to him. All the time, his thoughts would return to Al-Thazir and the great camel caravan, and he wondered how far they had travelled, and what adventures they had encountered along the way.
One day, as he was sitting on the rooftop and gazing at the town, he got the idea of peeping into the Great Sage's study to see if there was something that he could tidy. He hadn't been into the study since the caravan had departed. Now that seemed like it had happened years ago, to someone else entirely, not to him.
The study door was ajar: Al-Thazir had been in too much of a hurry to lock it. The grey cat was sleeping in a corner, but awoke and ran outside when Samir pushed the door open on the darkened room. There were a few old parchments lying around on a table, and Samir wished that he could read them.
He was about to pick up the broom that lay in a corner, but before he could do that, he saw a lump on the floor that should not have been there. A heap of dead rats, perhaps? He tapped at it with his foot, but it was solid and did not shift. A bag? He picked it up and, in horror, realised what it was.
It was the bag he'd carried from the goldsmith's shop. He'd guessed that it contained a golden gift of some sort for Al-Thazir to present to the High King. Perhaps the Great Sage, in his hurry to prepare and leave, had picked up another bag, and hadn't yet realised his mistake. Samir stood, rooted to the spot, imagining what might happen: the travellers would finally reach the High King's palace and be ushered into the newborn's presence; there, they'd bring out their gifts and open them to honour the new ruler, only to find that one of them contained... what? Not the golden treasure that Al-Thazir expected, but something else, perhaps something utterly worthless. What then? Surely the court of the High King would be insulted, perhaps enraged, and the caravan's journey would end in failure. They might never agree a peace between the High King's nation and the Sultan's. In fact, Samir realised, that one incident could lead to war between them. All because someone had picked up the wrong bag. Then he realised with terror that perhaps he was to blame for not putting the bag where Al-Thazir could see it.
Quickly, he opened up the thick leather bag to make sure he was right. Sure enough, wrapped inside soft cloths, a small golden casket lay inside. Samir drew in his breath. The artistry that had formed its beautiful shape was astounding. Gingerly lifting off the casket's lid, he glimpsed many golden coins inside before closing it and wrapping up the casket. What can I do? he thought. Now I'm in worse trouble than before! They'll think I stole it!
There was surely no way for anyone to take the casket and catch up with the camel caravan. Even the swiftest horse could not make up the lost time, and anyway, a horse could not travel like a camel, going without water for days, walking on and on for weeks. But he knew someone would have to try, even if he couldn't go there on his own. He had no horse, or camel, or even a donkey, and he was still lame. Al-Thazir's wife had left the house to stay in the distant mountains with her brother's family. There was no one left in the house but him and the cook.
One thing he was sure of: he had to make sure that the golden gift reached the High King somehow, even if it arrived long after Al-Thazir's caravan. It was his responsibility: he had caused the problem, and he would solve it.
Chapter Five
The next day, without telling the cook, he took his crutches and began swinging his slow way through the town and out the other side towards the Sultan's palace on the hill. He knew that the Sultan Ibn Elias had supported the expedition to the land of King Solomon, so Samir thought that he would certainly help take the golden treasure.
The hardest part of his walk was getting up the hill. Ahead he could see the gate in the wall that ran all around the Sultan's grand house with the horn shapes on the roof corners. Like Al-Thazir's house, it had two floors, but it was much larger. On each side of the gate stood an armed guard. Their bronze helmets and spears gleamed in the morning sun.
Samir rehearsed in his head what he would say to the Sultan. He was sweating heavily by the time he was in shouting distance of the gate.
"What do you think you're doing, boy?" yelled one of the guards. "Go away!"
Samir carried on stubbornly. "I need to see the Sultan!" he shouted back, but the guards kept on yelling that he must turn back. One of them began walking down towards him, swinging his spear until its tip pointed at Samir's chest. "The Sultan does not see ragged cripples, boy. Get you gone before I cripple you worse!"
At this Samir stopped and cowered back. The spear point was just inches from his neck. "But I - I need to-"
"Get moving!" the guard said. "No beggars here!"
When Samir finally reached his master's house and his own room, he collapsed on his mat and wept. Now he couldn't send the golden box. No one else in the town was wealthy enough to send someone after the caravan. He guessed that not even his great-uncle would help. He cried aloud in frustration. Now his homeland would be ruined, would miss the chance of friendship with the High King. And it's all Ali's fault! he thought.
Just then he heard a footstep at the door, and sniffed up his tears. Grabbing his crutches, he stood and went to see who it was.
It was his big brother, Hamdan! He had been working for Great-Uncle Nasir, and Samir hadn't seen him for weeks. After they'd hugged and shared their news, Hamdan asked why Samir was upset. Samir told him everything in a big rush, ending with his attempt to tell the Sultan.
Hamdan had always been an adventurous boy. His curly black hair and long nose could often be seen wandering off into trouble. He immediately said, "Samir! We have to do it ourselves! Let's go across the desert and find the land of King Solomon!"
They talked about it for several hours. Samir told Hamdan the problems, and Hamdan came up with ideas and solutions. But at the end of it, Samir's brother admitted it would be hard to do. "We especially need some camels, and swords, and a sack of dates, flour and tea," he announced.
Then the cook invited them both into the kitchen for lunch. After they'd eaten, Samir took Hamdan to the study on the roof and showed him the Great Sage's parchments. "If only we could read," he told Hamdan.
Hamdan grinned. "I can read now. Great-Uncle Nasir taught me how. It's easy." He picked up one of the parchments and scratched his head. "Oh... this one's complicated," he said. He dropped it and picked up another. After a while he said, slowly and with wonder, "I think this is one of the books of King Solomon, that Queen Bilqis brought back. It's in our script, you see?"
"What does it say?" asked Sa
mir, peering over his shoulder.
"It says... well, there's a name I don't know, then... He hears the prayer of the good people. Must be talking about King Solomon's God."
Samir thought about that. If only I was good! I could pray to that God.
Hamdan had read enough, and left the study. "So what are we going to do?" he asked. "I can tell Great-Uncle Nasir for a start." Soon he had to go, but promised Samir he'd come back another day when he had time.
That night, Samir lay on his mat staring up at the stars. He'd moved his mat back to the roof, now that the summer heat was approaching. O God of King Solomon, he prayed, God of the High King, please help us do what's right! He hoped that this distant God wouldn't be angry at him for praying to him. Then he slept.
It was the end of summer. Samir's left leg had finally become strong again, and he'd given the crutches back to the cook. Samir and Hamdan had almost given up trying to do anything about the golden treasure. Their Great-Uncle had told them it wasn't their problem, and not to worry about it. Still, sometimes Samir would gaze at the stars and pray his simple prayer.
Then, one night, as Samir lay trying to sleep on the rooftop and the warm wind blew in off the sea, a dim glow made him open his eyes and sit up. There, at the foot of his mat, stood a handsome boy with golden hair, bathed in a silver glow, as if ten full moons were right overhead. He wore a clean, white robe. "Hello, Samir," he said, with a warm smile. That smile came from a land where there was no grief or sickness or wrong.
Samir stared at him, knowing that this was no ordinary boy. "Who are you?" he whispered.
Chapter Six
The boy said, "My name's Amriel. Don't be afraid of me. I've come to tell you something." Amriel was obviously excited about what he had to say. "All the others got to sing, or bring important messages and dreams, and finally I got my orders too! So here I am!"
"Orders?" asked Samir. He brought up his legs and hugged them to his body. He found he couldn't quite look straight at Amriel's face - it wasn't too bright, or frightening, but the boy made him feel nervous, or embarrassed in some way.
"But I have to tell you something, Samir," the boy went on. "You have to visit the farmer at the edge of town tomorrow morning, and ask him for a gift for the Most High God."
"Really? What then?" asked Samir. He felt a dozen questions bubbling up inside him.
"I've got to stay with you all the way," Amriel said. "I've got to keep watch."
"All the way to where?"
Amriel shook his head, his golden locks waving to and fro. "Just do what I said, and the rest is simple." Then Samir blinked, and Amriel was gone, just like that, as if he'd stepped back through a doorway to somewhere else.
So, when the sun came up and Samir had eaten a quick breakfast, he hurried along the road to the farm nearest the town. He had often seen a man out in the fields there, but had never had a reason to stop and talk to him. A wall of bushes and uncut rocks lined the boundary to the farmer's land. There were a few tall trees near the farmhouse, and a donkey and a camel were tied up there.
He knocked on the door, and a woman holding a baby answered. Behind her, two older children hung onto their mother's skirts. "What do you want?" she asked, frowning.
Samir felt confused. "Sorry," he began, "but I have to ask the farmer something. Is he home?"
The woman simply pointed around the side of the house, then shut the door.
Behind the house Samir saw a man working in the field. Around him stood corn, all dry and wilted. When Samir came up to him he turned round and stared at Samir in surprise.
"Excuse me," began Samir, "but someone told me to ask you for a gift." The farmer opened his mouth to say something, but it was as if he immediately forgot what it was. Samir was sure he'd be beaten for asking such a thing, and took a step back. "Sorry, but... but I was told to ask you. They said to ask for a gift for the Most High God."
The farmer's mouth hung open for a moment, then he spluttered, finally saying, "That was quick!"
He took Samir back towards the farmhouse as he explained with excited, round eyes. "You see, the last few years all the farms around here have had terrible harvests because of the poor rains, and the rats and all. I'm soon going to harvest this horrible crop and sell it for cow fodder. Then I'll have to sell my land.
"But last night I prayed the prayer I've been meaning to pray for the past six years. I threw away my father's old idols, because they haven't helped in the tiniest way. They're useless. But I prayed to the Most High God, from the old stories of Abraham our ancestor, the name you just named, and I told him that if he would help me, I'd give him my only camel." He smiled down at Samir, and pointed. "What do you think of her?"
Samir looked at the camel breathlessly, and knew at once that this Most High God had answered his prayer in a way that frightened and amazed him. She held her head tall and proudly, that camel did, like a great sea ship with its long, carved prow jutting out at the front. Her great, shiny eye regarded him quietly and her huge lips swung around and around as she chewed on a few blades of straw. He knew at once that she was the kind of camel which could carry him and his brother across the desert.
"She's quite fit," the farmer was saying, "because I take her down to the coastal market often. She carries a good load, and she's very patient. Treat her well and she'll treat you well." His voice had begun sounding a little sad.
As if waking from a daydream, Samir accepted the camel's guide rope and said "Thankyou very much," to the farmer.
When he reached home leading the camel, his brother Hamdan was already there. "Where have you -" he began, then gazed in awe at the camel. Once Samir had explained everything, Hamdan danced around in the courtyard, hooting so loudly that the cook rushed outside to see what was wrong. "Who did you steal that from?" she wanted to know. But of course she knew that neither of them were thieves, and she heard Samir's tale with growing wonder. "The Most High God?" she whispered.
The three of them set to preparing for the boys' departure. The cook was full of good advice. They were to stay away from the Great Desert itself, and follow the trade routes along its edge where for centuries the caravans laden with incense had travelled. They were to find one of those caravans and stay with it all the way. They were not to eat all the food at once. They were not to... and so she went on.
So the next morning, while it was still dark, Samir and Hamdan saddled the camel, whom they had named Munira, which means Shining Light. Munira would carry their supplies, and Hamdan carefully strapped on the bag in which was hidden the golden casket and the coins it contained.
They would walk for the most part, but she could carry one of them for a while, if she felt like it. The cook wept over them as they led Munira out of the courtyard in the dawning light, promising to deliver Hamdan's scribbled letter to their great-uncle explaining everything.
At last they were off. Samir started singing an old song, which Hamdan had taught him many years ago. Hamdan joined in. They left the town behind and climbed slowly into the hills.
Chapter Seven
Of their journey much could be said. Samir had never thought the world could be so huge, and the people in it so varied. He was so glad that his brother had come with him. He had forgotten his troubles - Ali, the broken leg, the wasted summer - and every day he was absorbed in the journey. At first they asked everyone how to find an incense caravan. A few told them to head north to Marib or Timna. Sometimes they met kind people, who let them sleep in shelter and gave them food, and occasionally they met sly or suspicious people who would have mistreated them, but each time some chance prevented the worst happening to the boys and their beloved camel.
One afternoon, they were passing along a track near a broken-down mud-brick house when an old man came out after them, telling them in a hoarse voice to stop. He seemed angry with them, and he began demanding payment for crossing his land. They did their best to make Munira run, but she'd been walking uphill for most of the morning and was tired. The ma
n had almost caught up with them, swinging a thick club, when he stopped in his tracks. A leopard had emerged from the bushes to one side of the track. These great cats were common in the wilderness, but Samir and Hamdan had not seen one until that moment. It stood in the middle of the track, staring at the man most hungrily, but not moving. The man turned and hurried back to his house, shrieking in fear. Strangely, the leopard neither gave chase nor turned and pursued the boys and the camel, but walked on between the trees, as if it was just out for an afternoon stroll.
Another time, when they were crossing the edge of the desert to find the mighty city of Timna, they were sure that they were being pursued by a jinn, a malevolent spirit. But then they realised that a band of robbers was trailing them through the narrow, rocky pass that led to the other side of the mountain. Munira had trouble walking over the sharp rocks, and they could hear the whispers and laughter of the robbers getting closer as the pass twisted between high cliffs. Then they spotted a robed, hooded figure just ahead, not very tall, waving them to come behind a great boulder that sat next to the path. For a moment the mystery person turned to look at them, and Samir recognised Amriel's sunny smile. Then he disappeared around the boulder. They led Munira off the path and around the boulder, but Amriel had already vanished. However, they were well hidden, and they stood perfectly still while the robbers ran past.
When they reached the gates of Timna, it was almost dark, and they had to hurry to squeeze between the great slabs of metal-bound wood just as they were closing. The guards laughed to see them pull their protesting camel through the narrowing crack.
But in Timna they stayed to rest for a few days, and found an incense caravan bound for the distant, fabled city of Petra, far across the Great Desert to the north. They had to pay their way, and in the end there was nothing for it but to take two of the twenty golden coins from the casket. It felt to Samir like stealing, but there was no other way.
Timna, built in the wide Beihan valley, was the capital of the Qataban kingdom. There the incense caravans gathered before setting out on their northward journeys. The incense trade was how the city had built up its great wealth. As Samir wandered through the hot and dusty markets one day, buying supplies, he came across huge stalls filled with heavy sacks of frankincense, myrrh and spices. He wondered if Al-Thazir had come here to buy more gifts for the newborn king.