I looked at him enquiringly. ‘What’s that?’
‘We return to that empty nest, gather up as many fragments of the eggshells as we can find, and bring them back to Baghdad. Let others draw their own conclusions.’
Chapter Eighteen
THROUGHOUT THE LONG, dreary voyage back to al-Ubullah, everyone on board was exhausted and dispirited. Walo’s grisly death continued to cast its shadow. Osric and I passed many hours in shared gloomy silence, and it was obvious that Zaynab had been deeply affected too. Quieter and more withdrawn than on the outward trip, her sadness revealed itself in the way she sat by herself in her customary place on the foredeck, staring out towards the horizon. Had the situation been different I would have gone over to talk with her and tried to ease the common sorrow. But Walo’s death served to increase my previous reticence. I was very much in love with Zaynab and it made me fearful that I would mishandle the situation with a clumsy intrusion on her grief. Again and again I told myself to wait until we were back in Baghdad. There I would find the right moment to reveal my feelings. With a lover’s stubborn blindness I pushed aside all thoughts that Zaynab was returning to her former life as Nadim Jaffar’s costly slave-singer. Somehow the obstacle would be overcome. All that mattered to me was that somehow I would find a way into Zaynab’s affections so that we shared the same feelings for one another, and together we would explore where it might lead. That heady prospect helped me endure the miserable ordeal of our homeward journey.
When we docked in al-Ubullah, the barid’s agents whisked Zaynab away to bring her more speedily to Jaffar’s home while Osric and I proceeded upstream to Baghdad by barge. There Jaffar’s steward was waiting on the quayside to bring us to meet his master.
*
‘I was losing hope of ever listening to my favourite singer again,’ said the nadim with a welcoming smile when we were ushered into his presence. Attended by a secretary, Jaffar received us in a small, open courtyard in his riverside palace where the steward had taken us straight from the docks. The nadim was evidently not due to meet the caliph, for Jaffar was no longer wearing black, but dressed in loose trousers of white silk, a long purple tunic, and a light cloak of the same colour trimmed with gold. Bare-headed, he was standing in the shade of a miniature pavilion of yellow-and-blue striped silk erected among the immaculately tended flowerbeds. Even here in the open air, I noted, the air was subtly scented with perfume and I wondered how soon Sulaiman intended to deliver his precious lump of whale phlegm to his patron.
Inside the carpeted pavilion were soft cushions and a tray with a jug and cups for guests, but Jaffar did not invite us to be seated. It was clear that he was in a hurry. ‘My young friend Abdallah will want to know how you got on with your search for the rukh,’ he said.
‘Your Excellency,’ I began, ‘we found traces of the creature, but not the rukh itself.’ I unfolded the length of velvet I was carrying and showed him the largest fragment of the eggshells Osric and I had gathered. ‘We came across what we believed was a rukh’s nest but it had been abandoned. Here is a piece from one of the eggs.’
Jaffra took the eggshell from me and examined it. ‘I shall give this to Abdallah, though I doubt it will settle his argument with the crown prince about the existence of the rukh. I expect there will be a deadlock.’
He beckoned to a waiting attendant and handed him the eggshell. His voice took on a more formal tone. ‘The Commander of the Faithful has instructed me to make the arrangements for your return to Frankia.’
Anxiously I waited for him to continue. A wild, irrational idea surfaced in my mind: maybe I could persuade Zaynab to come with me . . . that Jaffar would allow her to leave.
‘You will be attached to a return mission to the court of the King of the Franks,’ the nadim continued. ‘The mission takes a further message of goodwill from the Commander of the Faithful.’
There was a brief interruption as someone appeared at the entrance to the courtyard. He looked like a member of the vizier’s staff, anxious to call away his master. Jaffar flicked a dismissive finger and the man ducked back out of sight.
‘May I ask when the mission is expected to leave?’ I asked.
‘In three weeks’ time. There will also be gifts, among them another elephant. I am told that the previous animal he sent died before it had reached its destination.’
‘I will do my best to ensure that the elephant survives the journey this time.’ Abram, our former dragoman, must have reported to the caliph’s secretariat what had happened to the first elephant. ‘It is unfortunate that my assistant, the man best suited for caring for animals, lost his life in Zanj.’