came slowly down the street and stopped by the group. Bu Ali came close to Casca and said, his voice low: "Kasim, they will wrap you in a carpet, and you will go on a journey. No, it is not to the copper mines of Khorramshahr. It is to a higher destiny that Allah calls you. There will be a caravan. Go in peace. Do not let yourself be discovered." Suddenly he embraced Casca, holding both arms around him. " Nu salam aleikom, Peace be with you." Then he added softly, "Brother."
It was not the most comfortable journey even though just before they rolled him into the carpet one of the Mamelukes had handed Casca a small pot of gummylike substance and said, "Eat this. It will still the pain.”
Like thickened honey. Bittersweet. Odd. Casca had eaten this stuff, not really wanting to know what the hell it was. He had a strange feeling of not really giving a damn about anything. His head, which should have hurt, if not from the blow on it earlier, at least from the hangover the young Arab's "wine" had brought on, had no feeling whatsoever. In fact, he felt light all over, like he was slipping in and out of dreams. Somewhere in the back of his brain was the leftover crumbs of a dream where this same bittersweet "candy" had been forced into his mouth. A dream? Or a memory? Somehow it did not matter. There were a lot of things that didn't matter. Like, had he ever gotten to bed Miriam or not? And the Sultan's palace. Shit! He couldn't have been stoned enough to try that. And the Sultan himself. Was that little queer really Malik Shah, third, and so far the greatest of the Seljuk rulers? But if he was a fag, what the hell was he doing with a harem? These thoughts and others like them bubbled through Casca's mind. And in between them he slept. Rolled up in the darkness of the carpet, he really didn't know what was happening to him, where he was being taken, how long it would take. When he was awake it was like a dream. When he slept there was only a silent darkness, peaceful as the death forbidden to him.
Hassan al Sabah came personally to inspect this unexpected "Novice." He had not yet decided how he would react to Bu Ali taking matters into his own hands. Such a thing was not to be tolerated. Yet... an intuitive sense of opportunity smoldered in the back of his brain. Like all who are touched by the dream of personal greatness, he felt in his heart that the Destiny which had such great things in store for him might bring those things in strange and unusual ways. Besides, the message from Bu Ali was that this Kasim was "a scar faced Frank."
A Frank with a scar on his face? Casca Rufio Longinus, the Roman of the Lance, had been scar faced. What if?... He stared thoughtfully at the rolled up carpet.
"Unroll him," he ordered.
Casca awoke to see an eagle beaked old Arab staring into his eyes. Yet he saw the old Arab as kindly, fatherly almost. Immediately Casca liked him. Somewhere in the back of his mind there was a reason for the liking. For a moment the images of old men he had known flickered in his brain ... Glam... Shiu Tze... others... He closed his eyes.
Hassan al Sabah was disappointed. No, this could not be Longinus. Scar faced? There was only a thin one, running the length of a lady's little finger from the side of his right eye to just above his mouth. It gave this Kasim a slightly sinister look... that would probably turn on some seemingly reluctant maid, the Franks being what they are , Hassan thought. He regretted now that he did not know more about Longinus, but certainly if he had been remembered as "the scar faced one" his scar would have to be much more prominent than this. No, the man on the carpet was not Longinus.
However... if he could be trained... perhaps the time might come when he could be put forward as Longinus...
At the moment Hassan had no fun blown use for such an impostor in his mind. But, on the theory that it might be useful to have such a one on hand, he decided not to have Kasim thrown from the
It was not the most comfortable journey even though just before they rolled him into the carpet one of the Mamelukes had handed Casca a small pot of gummylike substance and said, "Eat this. It will still the pain.”
Like thickened honey. Bittersweet. Odd. Casca had eaten this stuff, not really wanting to know what the hell it was. He had a strange feeling of not really giving a damn about anything. His head, which should have hurt, if not from the blow on it earlier, at least from the hangover the young Arab's "wine" had brought on, had no feeling whatsoever. In fact, he felt light all over, like he was slipping in and out of dreams. Somewhere in the back of his brain was the leftover crumbs of a dream where this same bittersweet "candy" had been forced into his mouth. A dream? Or a memory? Somehow it did not matter. There were a lot of things that didn't matter. Like, had he ever gotten to bed Miriam or not? And the Sultan's palace. Shit! He couldn't have been stoned enough to try that. And the Sultan himself. Was that little queer really Malik Shah, third, and so far the greatest of the Seljuk rulers? But if he was a fag, what the hell was he doing with a harem? These thoughts and others like them bubbled through Casca's mind. And in between them he slept. Rolled up in the darkness of the carpet, he really didn't know what was happening to him, where he was being taken, how long it would take. When he was awake it was like a dream. When he slept there was only a silent darkness, peaceful as the death forbidden to him.
Hassan al Sabah came personally to inspect this unexpected "Novice." He had not yet decided how he would react to Bu Ali taking matters into his own hands. Such a thing was not to be tolerated. Yet... an intuitive sense of opportunity smoldered in the back of his brain. Like all who are touched by the dream of personal greatness, he felt in his heart that the Destiny which had such great things in store for him might bring those things in strange and unusual ways. Besides, the message from Bu Ali was that this Kasim was "a scar faced Frank."
A Frank with a scar on his face? Casca Rufio Longinus, the Roman of the Lance, had been scar faced. What if?... He stared thoughtfully at the rolled up carpet.
"Unroll him," he ordered.
Casca awoke to see an eagle beaked old Arab staring into his eyes. Yet he saw the old Arab as kindly, fatherly almost. Immediately Casca liked him. Somewhere in the back of his mind there was a reason for the liking. For a moment the images of old men he had known flickered in his brain ... Glam... Shiu Tze... others... He closed his eyes.
Hassan al Sabah was disappointed. No, this could not be Longinus. Scar faced? There was only a thin one, running the length of a lady's little finger from the side of his right eye to just above his mouth. It gave this Kasim a slightly sinister look... that would probably turn on some seemingly reluctant maid, the Franks being what they are , Hassan thought. He regretted now that he did not know more about Longinus, but certainly if he had been remembered as "the scar faced one" his scar would have to be much more prominent than this. No, the man on the carpet was not Longinus.
However... if he could be trained... perhaps the time might come when he could be put forward as Longinus...
At the moment Hassan had no fun blown use for such an impostor in his mind. But, on the theory that it might be useful to have such a one on hand, he decided not to have Kasim thrown from the
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