The Emperor's Elephant(97)

‘Your Excellency,’ I blurted, ‘King Carolus meant no disrespect.’

Jaffar leaned forward. ‘It is equally evident that your king was unaware that white is the colour worn in the presence of the usurper in al Andalus, the false Emir of Cordoba.’

My throat was dry. I recalled vividly what Alcuin had told me of the feud between Haroun and the Emir in Andalus. Haroun’s ancestors had slaughtered the Emir’s family in the fight for power and laid claim to the true heritage of Islam.

Jaffar’s eyes suddenly twinkled with mischief. ‘Sigwulf, do not look so aghast. No one would be so crass as to deliberately insult the caliph in this manner and I shall tell him so.’

‘Your Excellency, if King Carolus had known, I am sure he would have despatched me to find animals of the deepest black and bring them to Baghdad.’

The nadim flashed a brilliant smile. ‘Sigwulf, your tale rings true, though I must confess that when I heard that Carolus was sending white animals I thought it was a less-than-subtle hint that he favoured an alliance with nearby Andalus and not with the Commander of the Faithful in far Baghdad.’

He rose to his feet. ‘So now you will understand why the public presentation of white animals to the caliph is impolitic. I’m sorry.’

Clearly this announcement was the true purpose of our meeting. I felt utterly numb, stunned by the unexpected turn of events.

Jaffar saw my dismay and was swift to offer a consolation. ‘Sigwulf, His Magnificence will wish to view the white animals, but discreetly. Also I’m going to recommend that he grants you a private audience so that he, too, can hear your remarkable tale.’

It was obvious that the evening was at an end. I stood up groggily, sensing that Osric beside me was equally confounded. Then I remembered something I had forgotten in my sudden confusion.

‘Your Excellency, the elephant your master sent as a gift to Carolus was white. That added to our misunderstanding.’

Jaffar brushed my excuse aside. ‘That is not a detail I am aware of.’

My knees were shaking and I felt my shirt sticking to my back. I was sweating; not from heat, for the evening had turned cool, but with a cold sweat from the realization that my mission was a total failure.

Jaffar was still speaking. ‘The palace staff will send word when the date of your audience with the caliph has been settled. Meanwhile, you can oblige me by recounting the details of your remarkable trip to the scribes in the royal library. It will make a valuable addition to their collection of travel accounts.’

I gathered myself together sufficiently to thank the nadim for his hospitality and then a servant guided Osric and me back down the path to where our original escort was waiting at the wharf.

When we got back to the privacy of our rooms, we found that Abram had been waiting up, eager to hear our news.

‘How did the meeting go?’ he asked.

‘A disaster,’ I replied sourly. ‘We should have brought black animals to Baghdad, not white ones. Black is the caliph’s royal colour. White is associated with his rival in Hispania.’

Abram looked utterly taken aback. ‘But everyone wears white in the Round City, that’s a requirement.’

‘Yes,’ I said, trying not to sound aggrieved. ‘But all who appear before the caliph on a formal occasion must be dressed in black. Why didn’t you warn us?’

The dragoman spread his hands in a gesture of apology. ‘As a Radhanite I’ve never been summoned to appear before the caliph in person. The inner workings of the court are shrouded in secrecy.’

‘Both Jaffar and a young lad with him were dressed in black from head to toe.’

Abram’s eyes lit up with curiosity. ‘What young lad?’

I described Abdallah and when I had finished, Abram sucked in his breath. ‘Do you know who that is?’ he asked.

‘I have no idea, except that he was listening to every word.’

‘Abdallah’s father is Haroun himself,’ the dragoman said, clearly impressed. ‘Not only Jaffar will report to the caliph what he thinks of you, so too will his favourite son.’

‘Then I hope Abdallah liked what he saw and heard,’ I answered peevishly.

The dragoman gave me an anxious look. ‘Abdallah’s mother is a Persian concubine. He has a half-brother, Mohammed, of the same age and born to one of Haroun’s legitimate wives. Mohammed is the crown prince. There is much jealousy between the two youths.’

I shrugged. ‘How would that affect us?’

‘If Abdallah makes a favourable report to his father, then Mohammed will try to make your life in Baghdad as difficult as possible.’

‘But Abdallah and Mohammed are both youngsters.’