| |
‘I have an important mission for you, priest,’ the sultan said to Rodrigo one afternoon.
Rodrigo had been summoned before him like he had countless times before. He was never sure of what mood to find the sultan in as he was a famously erratic and cruel ruler. He could slit the throat of a man as casually as one might cut up a piece of fruit. One was expected to watch these barbaric displays of cruelty towards his fellow man without emotion, regardless of the horrific spectacle. Whereas a man with a normal temperament might choose to have a cross word with one who displeased him, the sultan would delight in choosing the most painful measures with which to deal with his irritation.
Those around him learned to live in a state of fear and constant nervousness, never sure of his mood from one minute to the next. But this was the world that Rodrigo found himself in, and he for one thanked the Lord that he was still alive and able to minister to those in need. He took refuge in the small infirmary-cum-chapel that the sultan had provided for those who wished to practise their faith. The sultan was not a sentimental man, but he was pragmatic, nonetheless. He knew only too well that slaves who took solace from practising their religion would work that much harder.
Indeed, most of his slaves came from the sea-faring nations of England and Spain and other poor unfortunates who had been captured from his marauding band of Barbary corsairs. A semi-autonomous region on the coast of Morocco, they were free to carry out raiding parties on the shores of Ireland, England and Spain, and sell their ill-gotten gains onwards; including the white slaves who helped build his vast desert palace of Meknes. And so it was that the sultan had a vast workforce who toiled away in the blazing sun to erect a monument to the selfish desires of just one man.
And there Rodrigo stood as the sultan looked upon him with inscrutable eyes.
‘You are to go back to your home country, priest.’ Unable to believe his own ears Rodrigo stood there, dumbstruck. ‘Well, have you lost the use of your tongue?’
‘I don’t know what to say, your majesty,’ Rodrigo spluttered. ‘Th... thank you.’
Cruelly, the sultan started to laugh uncontrollably.
‘You think I am releasing you?’
‘I don’t understand, your highness.’
‘Why would I release you when my slaves work so much harder under your ministrations?’ he said regarding him with a cold hard stare. ‘No, you are to visit with the mad King of Spain to arrange a ransom payment for some of your fellow countrymen.’
‘That is most beneficent of you, but why would you release them when you have such a vast palace to build?’ Rodrigo asked cautiously.
‘I also need gold and treasure as well. But the king is too mad to realise that I will just take others to fill their places.’
‘I see. And when am I to leave on this venture?’
‘When I see fit, priest.’
‘And why me?’
‘Questions, questions,’ the sultan said irritably. But just as quick as shifting sand he smiled and replied, ‘Because you are an honest man, and I know that you shall return with the gold.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Because of that white whore, Isabella.’
Rodrigo flinched at his use of such vulgar language, but held his tongue, nonetheless.
‘And if you do not return, then I shall make good use of her as a concubine. Is that what you wish?’ he asked leaning forward with a cruel smile.
‘Indeed, it is not, sir.’
‘Well, there we have it. You may leave.’ He clapped his hands, and an attendant shot out from the shadows to take Rodrigo back to his quarters.
What a strange turn of events, Rodrigo thought, upon returning to his sparse quarters. Here I am, on the verge of returning to Spain, but without the company of Jabuti and Wanadi. I pray to God that your wishes have been fulfilled, Jabuti. I shall do all that I can to make sure your father knows of your existence if ever we should meet.
Unselfishly he thought nothing of having to return to the rule of the sultan; he was just happy that some of his fellow brethren would be released from his tyranny. And if Isabella and her child were to live under the cruel fist of this tyrant, then Rodrigo would share the burden.
Perhaps I can ease Isabella’s suffering a little whilst I have the sultan’s ear? God, give me the strength to carry out my mission successfully.
Several days elapsed without any word from the sultan until he was summoned once more.
This is the moment, Lord. Don’t fail me now.
Nervously, Rodrigo walked with one of the sultan’s Black Guard towards the grand reception room. Upon arrival, Rodrigo was aghast to see the sultan wiping down his bare arms of blood as a freshly decapitated servant’s body was being dragged away.
Without a hint to the barbarity of what he had just committed, he invited Rodrigo to stand before him. ‘I am ready for you to leave now, priest.’
‘Thank you, my lord. But I have a favour to ask.’
‘You do?’
Rodrigo gulped nervously. ‘I wish to take Isabella’s child with me.’
‘Am I hearing you correctly?’ the sultan said as Rodrigo’s blood ran cold. ‘Why would I grant you such a wish?’
Thinking quickly, Rodrigo blurted out, ‘I shall bring you back some Andalusian dancing horses.’
The sultan was silent for several disconcerting moments. ‘Dancing horses, eh? My good friend, Louis the Great of France has several of them I hear.’
Knowing of the sultan’s fondness for horses of impeccable breeding, he awaited his response with trepidation.
‘So be it. Take the snivelling wretch, all he does is cry anyway,’ he said contemptuously. ‘I shall have him taken to your quarters, and then you shall make rea—’
‘Just one more thing, your majesty.’
‘Be quick.’
‘May I minister to Isabella before I leave?’
‘Do as you wish,’ he said distracted by thoughts of dancing horses performing tricks for him in his vast courtyard. Rodrigo departed as the sultan sat on his throne with a wide grin on his fleshy lips.
True to his word, Rodrigo was granted a meeting with Isabella. Distraught at having her baby torn recently from her grasp by the sultan, he found her in a pitiable state of affairs. With her eyes red from crying, she looked destitute.
‘Do not cry, my child,’ Rodrigo comforted her.
‘But how can I not?’ she cried. ‘The only thing I had left in the world has been taken from me.’
‘I know, it is a cruel blow. But I may be able to offer you solace of some kind.’
Isabella looked up at him. ‘How is that possible in a God-forsaken place such as this?’
‘I am to represent the sultan as his ambassador on a trip to Spain, and I have asked that I take the child with me.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He agreed.’
‘Thank God,’ she said with a huge sigh. ‘I cannot thank you enough, Rodrigo.’
‘What am I to call the child?’
‘Jeronimo.’
‘After his father? That is fitting.’
‘I miss him,’ Isabella said.
‘The captain was a brave man.’
‘I only knew him for a short while, but it was a love that I have never felt before.’
‘Let your memories of him keep you strong.’
‘It is the only thing that keeps me going,’ she said. ‘That, and knowing that I have your company...’ she paused. ‘You are coming back aren’t you?’
‘Of course.’
‘I’m sorry, that was selfish of me.’
Rodrigo smiled. ‘No, it is not.’
‘Am I allowed to see Jeronimo before you leave?’
‘I’m not sure the sultan will allow it,’ Rodrigo said. ‘I think I was testing his patience enough with my request.’
‘Maybe it’s just as well,’ she said staring absently into the distance. ‘I don’t think I could let him go if ever I saw him again.’
‘Do not worry, I’ll take good care of him.’
‘I know you will.’
‘But what is to become of him?’
‘I think the most important thing is that he is free,’ Rodrigo said. ‘I’ll find him a good home.’