not. We know who is honest and who the cheat, who has the gold and who talks only into the wind." Suddenly, he stopped before a small booth, a mere stall in the bazaar, and he began to wail and tear his hair.
"Ruined!" he cried. "I shall be ruined! To sell now? This I cannot do! It is a sin against Allah to sell a ship at such a time!
"Think, Nephew! The ship itself is a treasure, but the bales of silk! Only let me hold it! Let me bargain! There are men who would pay roundly for such a vessel!"
Ben Salom, the old Jewish man who kept the stall, scented a bargain. "What troubles you, friend?"
Shir Ali wailed louder and a small crowd gathered, then he burst into a torrent of expostulation and malediction. His dear brother, the best of brothers, was dead! His ship, which lay in the harbor, must be sold, and this beardless youth, this lad beside him, he must be on his way to Toledo before the sun had set.
Argument and explanation followed, and Shir Ali told of the richness of the silk, the aroma of the spices. My beggar showed himself a man of imagination, even of poetry. He wailed; he berated his bad fortune, the evil of the times, the sin of selling now when so much might be gained by waiting.
Suddenly, he broke off. "Come! Come, my nephew, I know just the man! For such a cargo he will pay-"
"Hold!" Ben Salom put up a hand. "Wait! Perhaps you need go no further. No doubt the ship is old. The silk has probably been long in her hull. The spices may have spoiled, but still ..."
Shir Ali drew himself up, looking on Ben Salom with disdain. "What?You speak of buying? Where would you get a hundred thousand dinars? Where, indeed?"
"Who speaks of a hundred thousand dinars? It is the mouthing of fools ... yet, let us not be hasty. Of a verity, Allah has sent you to me. Come inside."
Shir Ali pulled away. "Who speaks of Allah? What have we to do with you? There is no time to waste! The ship must be sold before nightfall, so how can I waste time in idle talk?"
Yet after much argument and many protests, we allowed ourselves to be led inside and seated cross-legged on the floor cushions while Shir Ali protested of wasted time. Several times he made as if to rise only to be pushed down again.
Ben Salom took the list and studied it, muttering the while and counting on his fingers. Shir Ali, Selim, and I accepted the wine he offered, and waited.
The shop was humble, but no man can long be in the streets without knowing what goes on in any city. There is a league of beggars, and what they do not know nobody knows.
The merchant summoned a boy and sent him hurrying from the shop, and in a matter of minutes he returned with two old, bearded men. Putting their heads together, they consulted the list, arguing and protesting.
Shir Ali got suddenly to his feet. "Enough! Enough of this!"
We were at the door when Ben Salom stopped us. "Take us to this ship. If it is as you say, we will buy."
"The ship also?"
"And the ship."
Now came the time of greatest anxiety. What if Walther had returned? Or what if he returned while we were aboard? A pitched battle would surely take place in which the port officials might well interfere. Yet the risk must be taken.
All was quiet as we approached the ship. The sun was warm; water lapped lazily against the hull. The merchants studied the vessel, their faces revealing nothing.
Taking a chance that they would understand, I spoke to Selim in the Frankish tongue. "I think we waste time. It would be better to sell in Malaga or Valencia."
Ben Salom spoke anxiously to the man beside him, and Shir Ali glanced at me slyly, guessing my intent. We were met at the bulwark by Red Mark and a dozen armed slaves. While Shir Ali and Selim showed the merchants the vessel, we waited anxiously, watching the shore.
Now was the dangerous hour. If we did not complete our sale before-along the shore a party of men were strolling, vaguely familiar.
Red Mark followed my gaze. "I think we are in trouble," he said.
"Walther
"Ruined!" he cried. "I shall be ruined! To sell now? This I cannot do! It is a sin against Allah to sell a ship at such a time!
"Think, Nephew! The ship itself is a treasure, but the bales of silk! Only let me hold it! Let me bargain! There are men who would pay roundly for such a vessel!"
Ben Salom, the old Jewish man who kept the stall, scented a bargain. "What troubles you, friend?"
Shir Ali wailed louder and a small crowd gathered, then he burst into a torrent of expostulation and malediction. His dear brother, the best of brothers, was dead! His ship, which lay in the harbor, must be sold, and this beardless youth, this lad beside him, he must be on his way to Toledo before the sun had set.
Argument and explanation followed, and Shir Ali told of the richness of the silk, the aroma of the spices. My beggar showed himself a man of imagination, even of poetry. He wailed; he berated his bad fortune, the evil of the times, the sin of selling now when so much might be gained by waiting.
Suddenly, he broke off. "Come! Come, my nephew, I know just the man! For such a cargo he will pay-"
"Hold!" Ben Salom put up a hand. "Wait! Perhaps you need go no further. No doubt the ship is old. The silk has probably been long in her hull. The spices may have spoiled, but still ..."
Shir Ali drew himself up, looking on Ben Salom with disdain. "What?You speak of buying? Where would you get a hundred thousand dinars? Where, indeed?"
"Who speaks of a hundred thousand dinars? It is the mouthing of fools ... yet, let us not be hasty. Of a verity, Allah has sent you to me. Come inside."
Shir Ali pulled away. "Who speaks of Allah? What have we to do with you? There is no time to waste! The ship must be sold before nightfall, so how can I waste time in idle talk?"
Yet after much argument and many protests, we allowed ourselves to be led inside and seated cross-legged on the floor cushions while Shir Ali protested of wasted time. Several times he made as if to rise only to be pushed down again.
Ben Salom took the list and studied it, muttering the while and counting on his fingers. Shir Ali, Selim, and I accepted the wine he offered, and waited.
The shop was humble, but no man can long be in the streets without knowing what goes on in any city. There is a league of beggars, and what they do not know nobody knows.
The merchant summoned a boy and sent him hurrying from the shop, and in a matter of minutes he returned with two old, bearded men. Putting their heads together, they consulted the list, arguing and protesting.
Shir Ali got suddenly to his feet. "Enough! Enough of this!"
We were at the door when Ben Salom stopped us. "Take us to this ship. If it is as you say, we will buy."
"The ship also?"
"And the ship."
Now came the time of greatest anxiety. What if Walther had returned? Or what if he returned while we were aboard? A pitched battle would surely take place in which the port officials might well interfere. Yet the risk must be taken.
All was quiet as we approached the ship. The sun was warm; water lapped lazily against the hull. The merchants studied the vessel, their faces revealing nothing.
Taking a chance that they would understand, I spoke to Selim in the Frankish tongue. "I think we waste time. It would be better to sell in Malaga or Valencia."
Ben Salom spoke anxiously to the man beside him, and Shir Ali glanced at me slyly, guessing my intent. We were met at the bulwark by Red Mark and a dozen armed slaves. While Shir Ali and Selim showed the merchants the vessel, we waited anxiously, watching the shore.
Now was the dangerous hour. If we did not complete our sale before-along the shore a party of men were strolling, vaguely familiar.
Red Mark followed my gaze. "I think we are in trouble," he said.
"Walther
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