his revenge and freedom,
His luck had turned again.’
When they rowed out to sea again, they had a new overseer to supervise their labours; but he seemed to have taken note of the fate of his predecessor, for he was somewhat sparing in the use of his whip.
Concerning the Jew Solomon and the Lady Subaida, and how Orm got his sword Blue-Tongue
The tongueless man who rowed beside Orm grew worse and worse until at last he could row no more; so, when the ship anchored in one of the Caliph’s military harbours in the south, called Malaga, he was led ashore, and they waited for another man to be brought to replace him. Orm had had to do nearly all the work on his oar during the last few weeks, and was curious to know whether he would now have a more congenial workmate. The next morning, the new man appeared. He was dragged to the ship by four soldiers, who had their work cut out to get him up the gangway, and nobody needed to peer closely at him to know that he still had his tongue. He was a young man, handsome, beardless and finely limbed, and he shrieked curses more frightful than anything that had been heard in the ship before.
He was carried to his place and held fast there while the chain was fixed round his ankle. At this, tears streamed down his cheeks, though they seemed to be the effect of anger rather than of sorrow. The ship’s captain and the overseer came to have a look at him, whereupon he immediately began to abuse them with curses and imprecations, calling them many names that Orm had never heard before, so that all the slaves expected to see him receive a fearful flogging. The captain and the overseer, however, merely stroked their beards and looked thoughtful, while they studied a letter that the soldiers had brought with them. They nodded their heads at this and shook them at that sentence, and whispered discreetly among themselves, while all the time the newcomer howled abuse at them, calling them sons of whores, pork-eaters and copulators of female asses. At last, the overseer threatened him with the whip and told him to keep his mouth shut. Then when the captain and the overseer had moved away, the newcomer began to weep in earnest, so that his whole body shook with it.
Orm did not know what to make of all this, but thought he would get little help from this fellow, unless they used the whip on him. Still, he felt it would be something to have a companion who could at any rate talk, after his experience with the tongueless man. At first, however, the newcomer disdained to hold any converse with him, and rejected Orm’s friendly approaches. As Orm had feared, he turned out to be no oarsman, and could not adapt himself to his new mode of life at all, finding especial cause for complaint in the food that was supplied to them, which seemed to Orm to be very good, though insufficient. But Orm was forbearing with him, and did the rowing for both of them, and muttered words of encouragement to him, in so far as he was able to in Arabic. Several times he asked the man who he was and why he had been sentenced to this ship, but received in response merely haughty glances and shoulder-shrugs. At length the man condescended to address him, and announced that he was a man of breeding and not accustomed to being cross-examined by slaves who could not even talk properly. At this, Orm said: ‘For those words you have just uttered, I could take you by the neck so that you felt it; but it is better that there should be peace between us, and that you and I should be friends. In this ship we are all slaves, you no less than the rest of us; nor are you the only man aboard who is of good lineage. I am so myself; my name is Orm, and I am a chieftain’s son. It is true that I speak your language poorly, but you speak mine worse, for you do not know a word of it. It therefore appears to me that there is nothing to choose between us; indeed, if either of us has the advantage, I do not think it is you.’
‘Your intonation is deplorable,’ replied the newcomer. ‘However, you seem to be a man of some intelligence. It is possible that, among your own people, you are reckoned to be well-born; but in this respect, you can hardly compare with me, for on my mother’s side I am directly descended from the Prophet, peace be to His immortal soul! Know, too, that the tongue which I speak is Allah’s own, all other tongues having been invented by evil spirits to hinder the spread of the true learning. So you see that there can be no comparison between us. Khalid is my name, the son of Yezid; my father was a high officer of the Caliph, and I own great possessions and do no work, apart from supervising my gardens, entertaining my friends and composing music and poetry. It is true, I admit, that I now temporarily find myself otherwise occupied, but this shall not be for long, may worms eat out the eyes of he who set me here! I have written songs which are sung throughout Malaga, and there are few poets living as skilful as I.’
Orm commented that there must be many poets in the Caliph’s kingdom, as he had met one already. Khalid replied that there were a lot in the sense that many men attempted to write verses, but that very few of them could be considered true poets.
After this conversation, they got on better together, although Khalid continued to be a poor oarsmen, and was sometimes hardly able to pull at all, because his hands were skinned by the oar. A little later, he told Orm how he had come to be sent to the ship. He had to repeat himself several times, and use paraphrases to explain what he meant, for he was difficult to follow; but in the end Orm grasped the gist of what he had to say.
Khalid told him that his present plight arose from the fact of the most beautiful maiden in all Malaga being the daughter of the governor of the city, a man of low birth and evil disposition. The beauty of his daughter, however, was such that not even a poet could conceive of anything lovelier, and on one occasion Khalid had been lucky enough to see her unveiled at a harvest feast. From that moment, he had loved her above all other women, and had written songs in her honour that had melted in his mouth as he sang them. At length, by dint of taking up residence on the roof of a house near where she lived, he had succeeded in catching another glimpse of her when she was sitting alone on her roof. He had shouted ecstatic greetings to her and, by stretching out his arms appealingly towards her, had prevailed on her to lift her veil once more. This was a sign that she reciprocated his love; and the surpassing magnificence of her beauty had almost caused him to faint.
Thus assured that the lady was favourably disposed towards him, he had given rich gifts to her maid-in-waiting, and so had managed to convey messages to her. Then the governor had gone to Cordova to present his annual accounts to the Caliph, and the lady had sent Khalid a red flower; whereupon he had disguised himself as an old crone and, with the connivance of the maid-in-waiting, had gained admission to the lady’s presence, where he had enjoyed lively sport with her. One day, however, not long afterwards, her brother had drawn upon him in the city and, in the ensuing fight, had, by reason of Khalid’s skill at arms, been wounded. On the governor’s return, Khalid had been arrested and brought before him.
At this point in his story, Khalid went black with fury, spat viciously and shrieked horrible curses upon the governor. Then he proceeded: ‘Legally, he had no case against me. Granted I had lain with his daughter, but in return for that I immortalized her in exquisite songs, and even he seemed to realize that a man of my birth could hardly be expected to propose marriage to the daughter of a common Berber. I had wounded his son, but only after he had attacked me; indeed, but for the temperateness of my nature, he would not have escaped with his life. For all this, the governor, if he had been a true lover of justice, should have been grateful to me. Instead, he took counsel in his wickedness, which is surpassing even in Malaga, and this is the result. Hearken well, O unbeliever, and be amazed.’
Orm listened to all this with interest, although many of the words were unfamiliar to him, and the men on the nearest benches listened too, for Khalid told his story in a loud voice.
‘He had one of my poems read aloud, and asked whether I had written it. I replied that everyone in Malaga knew the poem and knew that I was the author of it, for it is a paean in praise of the city, the best that was ever written. In the poem occur these lines:
“This I know well; that had the Prophet e’er
Tasted the harvest that the grape-vines bear,
He