“Fool! See Córdoba! See Córdoba and die! One street is ten miles long and lighted from end to end! There is more light there by night than here by day! It has thousands of fountains, scores of magnificent buildings!
“It has been said there are sixty thousand shops in Córdoba! But before you speak of cities, see Baghdad! See Damascus and Alexandria, and there be those who speak of even greater cities farther away to the east.
“This … ?” he shrugged. “It is well enough, I suppose.”
Duban indicated a narrow street that turned off to the right, and led the way. The Finnvedens followed us, muttering irritably at their galled behinds and chafed thighs, sore from unaccustomed riding. “Who was the old one you were escorting?” I asked Duban.
“Abu-Abdallah, a friend to the Caliph.” We drew up at a heavy door of oak, bound with straps of iron and iron hinges. On either side was a narrow slit for the use of defenders.
The door swung open as Duban spoke, and we entered. Immediately, the hot street was left behind. We rode a dozen steps alongside a colonnade bordering a patio. Palm trees grew there, and vines trailed from the garden walls. The air was miraculously cool and pleasant. We dismounted, and a slave took our horses.
Duban turned to the Finnvedens. “Remain here,” he said, but they began to grumble, so I suggested that I take Eric with me.
Duban glanced at the ill-smelling pirate and shrugged, then led the way along a shadowed passage. A Nubian slave met us and conducted us to a cool, thickly carpeted room. On the far side sat a plump, bearded man with a round, shrewd face and intensely black eyes.
He was neither young nor old, and when our eyes met I felt a premonition that this was a man important to me, and not only for the immediate problem.
He glanced from me to the Finnveden and then came to his feet in one swift, fluid movement. There were muscles beneath that fat.
“Welcome! Duban, you come too rarely to my miserable house!” He bowed. “May your shadow never grow less!” Eric stood glowering, liking none of this, for with no effort on my part the situation had moved beyond control of the Finnvedens, and I intended it to remain so. That they were suspicious of me I knew, and rightly so, for I meant to have the better of that pack of thieves, and not only for myself but for that courageous village woman whom I had seen dive overboard and swim off toward the shores of Spain.
“This one has, he says, a message for Hisham ibn-Bashar.” He added with what seemed a warning, “I was escorting Abu Abdallah when we came upon him beside the road. Ibn-Haram was with us.”
“Ah?”
Never had I heard so much expression in a word. I stepped forward. The ring of Redwan was upon my hand, the distinctive seal turned inward, and now with a gesture as of greeting I opened my palm toward him. It was a natural movement, and I doubted even Duban noticed its significance. Yet light fell upon it right as Hisham’s gaze touched it.
“You may speak,” he said, “what concerns me concerns my friend.”
“It is a matter of ransom, a matter of ten thousand dinars. It is a matter, also, of the daughter of ibn-Sharaz.” Duban dropped his hand to his scimitar and moved to face both myself and the Finnveden.
“I must speak carefully”—I was using the Arabic—”for I am a prisoner also. This man and those outside were sent to guard me, to kill me if I betray them.”
“A lie!” Duban scoffed.
“Wait!” Hisham lifted a hand. He asked several questions then, enough to tell him I knew those of whom we spoke. Had I mentioned them in the presence of ibn-Haram?
“He said nothing,” Duban admitted. “It was most fortunate.”
Here was some intrigue, and it was obvious they did not want known the captivity of Count Redwan. It was equally obvious that the two were friends to Redwan and enemies to that hawk-faced ibn-Haram, which suited me. “What is done,” I suggested, “had best be done quickly. Ibn-Haram was suspicious and might return, discover the ship, and make inquiries.”
Hisham agreed. “Will your captain honor the ransom? Will he release the captives if paid?”
“I believe I can impress him that he must. Redwan has worried him by suggesting he would incur the wrath of William of Sicily, but believe me, Your Eminence, Walther is not to be trusted, only frightened.”
“And if you return, what will happen to you?” Briefly, I explained my position aboard the vessel. “I shall have to return aboard, but shall stay no longer than Cadiz.”
Hisham hesitated momentarily. “Duban and I must talk of this alone. As you may have surmised, this affair has ramifications far beyond a matter of ransom. You and your men will be fed, and we will make a decision.”
At his handclap a huge Negro appeared and led us to a room far back in the building. Little traveled though I was, the reactions of Eric amused me. At sea he and his brothers were the boldest of that motley crew, but here his boldness was gone, and he stayed close to me, unsure of where even to put his feet. He was a stocky man with small, suspicious eyes and sparse blond hair.
“They will get the gold,” I told him, “and we shall be returning to the ship tonight.”
“Ten thousand dinars! It is a great sum.” It could do me no harm to remind him. “Walther asked for but three thousand,” I said.
“Walther is a fool,” Eric said sullenly. After we had eaten, we were shown to a chamber where we might rest, and lying awake on the cushions provided, I stared at the ceiling, listened to the sound of the fountain, and wished I could have taken more time to look about. This was the sort of house of which my father had spoken, and magnificent beyond anything I had imagined.
Now I had thinking to do. First, Aziza must be freed, and Redwan also. Then I must somehow influence Walther to proceed to Cadiz. If he did so, and I knew the crew would be bursting with eagerness to spend their gold where they could get its value, then I would plot to free Red Mark, Selim, and the others.
To get my money back would not be enough. They had taken months of my life, and for this they would pay. For who is content to get only his capital back from an investment? There must be profit also.
Cadiz had many advantages. It was one of the oldest ports in the world, called Gades before it was Cadiz, and Phoenician ships had made it a major port before the time of he who is called the Christ.
If my father, a noted corsair, had been slain off Cyprus there would be some knowledge of it in Cadiz. Long ago my father had taught me to seek information where seamen gathered, for their talk was ever of daring and death, of the far lands and strange seas. There would certainly be talk of Kerbouchard.
Freedom first, then money. Freedom without money would simply make me a slave of another kind, a slave to a need for food, for shelter.
It was full dark when the Negro came. “Quickly!” he whispered, “there is no time.”
Duban awaited us in a small, stone-flagged room. He was dressed in black, and handed each of us a black cloak. He glanced at my sword. “Can you use that?”
“Well enough,” I said.
“Ibn-Haram is a man greedy for power, with many followers. He does not wish Count Redwan or Aziza to arrive here, so you may have need of a sword.
“If Aziza’s marriage is completed, it will unite a powerful family of Córdoba with one equally strong in Sicily, and the plans of ibn-Haram will be ruined. He is desperate.” Horses awaited us, and a guard of armed men. Two leather bags were thrown across my saddle, and Durban himself carried two more.
The alley down which we rode was unpaved, so the hooves of our horses made no sound. A sally port was opened as we approached and closed silently when we had passed through.
Duban explained as we rode some of the trouble presently existing in Moorish Spain.
Aba Ya-cub Yusuf was in power, but many remained loyal to the Almoravids, although they had been deprived of power years ago by the Berber dynasty of the Almohads. Agents of the Almoravids moved among the friends of Yusuf, and no man could be sure who was friend or enemy. Old tribal feuds carried over from Arabia or North Africa still smoldered, for the Arab does not quickly forget.
The internecine struggles in Spain meant nothing to me, and I wished to keep my head on my shoulders, not lopped off because of some feud that was no concern of mine. My allegiance was to my father, myself, and my future, if any.