Title: The Desert Prince: A Fable

Posted so far: Prologue, Fascicles 1-10. Last updated 19 April 2004.

Author: Lobelia; [email protected]
http://www.geocities.com/lobelia321/thedesertprince.html
Pairing: Multiple, but mainly OB/SB, OB/KU.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Content: RPS. AU. Character death. Character murder. BDSM. Non-consensual sex. Het. Gender bending. WIP with irregular posting schedule. Florid prose.
Archive: Do not archive this, please!
Feedback: Yes, please. I would love feedback.
Disclaimers: This is a work of amateur fiction. I do not know these people. I am not making money. The events described in this story did not happen.
Summary: Orlando is ensnared by the evil Desert Prince and must confront his own dark secrets. But maybe it is really the evil Desert Prince who is ensnared by Orlando...?
Author's Notes: Eternal gratitude to Mary the Fan for spawning the idea and allowing me to use the title. Thanks to Gloria and Housemouse for encouragement, and to Lazulus and Jenn for returning me to the curly.

The lovely Becca Ming made me this wonderful cover artwork to accompany this story.

Read parts separately at the Desert Prince Contents Page.

Cast:
Desert Prince: Karl Urban
Desert Duke, his father: John Noble
Sean ben Bean, cloth merchant: Sean Bean
Orlando, his ward and apprentice: Orlando Bloom
Harem slaves: Dominic Monaghan, Elijah Wood
Women of the harem: Liv Tyler, Miranda Otto, Cate Blanchett
Harem houris and rebels: Miranda Otto, Liv Tyler, Cate Blanchett Old woman: Elizabeth Moody (Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. Don't think of it as Mary Sue. Think of it as cameo appearance. *g*) Pic of her here.
Grand Vizier (formerly): Billy Boyd
Keepers of the Citadel: Sala Baker, Lawrence Makoare
Wine merchant: John Rhys-Davies
Grand Vizier (current): Jed Brophy
Chanter of the Rite: Marton Csokas
Others: May appear in the course of this WIP.

~~~~~

Prologue

Lo and behold the Desert Prince.

He is the moon at night and the sun by day. The morning star lives on his right cheek, and the evening star lives on his left cheek. He is as mighty as the thunder clouds on the horizons that loom but never arrive. He gives succour as do the rains that come once every five years. He is as strong as the dromedary that rides the desert dunes, and as tough as the prickly cactus that survives in the sandy crevices. He is the date fruit, hard on the outside but sweet and juicy on the inside. He is the pomegranate, maidens' delight, and the crystal spring, life-giver. He stands proud, like the camel's prick. He is tireless, like the goat in rut. His lips are twin nutmegs; his neck is an alabaster column; his arms are sandalwood spears; his legs are palm trunks, true and straight; his cock is a silver scimitar; his balls are olives of gold.

Behold the Desert Prince and bow down to his glory.

But do not dare to cross him because his anger is as swift as it is righteous. His bite is as deadly as the scorpion's sting. His fist crushes as do the avalanches of rock on Mount Ararat.

But most of all, beware beware beware the Prince's Eye.

For his Eye is as evil as the desert snake's. Once it has fixed you in its merciless sights, it will fell you as surely as the poisoned arrow pierces the infidel's heart.

Oh, beware the Prince's Eye!

~~~~~

Fascicle the First

We rode into the citadel early in the evening, just at the hour of sunset. So it was not until the following day that I first beheld the Desert Prince, my doom, my destiny.

I was on my mule, and next to me rode my beloved companion, my Sean ben Bean. We rode through the gates of the citadel, with our bundles of cloth piled high on our mules and our merchants' cloaks stiff with dust. As we passed under the lofty gate and obtained passes from the guards, I glanced over at my friend and was filled with love for him. There had not been a moment of my life in which I had not known him. For I am an orphan and Sean ben Bean brought me up as his brother.

But we were more than brothers. So much more.

The last rays of sun were painting the towers of the fortress gold as we rode through the gate and the lanes of the citadel. All behind us was the empty blue expanse of the dusky desert, and before us the unknown splendour of the Prince's castle. I did not know what would await within. I was young, my heart was quick in my throat, and I gazed around me in wonder.

We dismounted. We gave up our mules to stable boys to water and unburden. We were shown to our lodgings, and they were more magnificent than any rooms I had ever stayed in. Kelims adorned the smooth clay walls, soft rugs lay scattered about the floor, and where there weren't rugs, there were cool azure-patterned tiles.

I looked at my beloved friend, my Sean ben Bean, and smiled. And he looked at me and clasped my hand to his bosom. But his brow was clouded and there was a darkness in his clear green eyes.

"What troubles you, my beloved friend?" I asked him.

"It is this castle, Orlando," he answered. "We shall sell many boles of cloth here. The Master of this place is rich beyond imagining, and he loves pomp and finery. But he is also cruel beyond imagining, and I am afraid for you, my dearest heart."

"Do not be afraid. I have you to look out for me, and no one will take much note of a lowly apprentice like myself."

"You speak sense. Still, I am afraid. There is some evil afoot in this place. I do not care for myself; you know I do not and that I care only for you. But I am afraid that my protection may not be enough here."

I smiled at that because my beloved friend was too modest. For had I not seen him slay a lion with one blow of his dagger and drive away a whole band of brigands with nothing but a whip and a club?

Sean leaned towards me and said in a low voice, looking about him although the chambers were quite empty, "I must warn you about something. Tomorrow we must pay our respects to the Desert Duke who rules this castle and all the lands round about. We must pay obeisance to the lord of this realm, and we must pay obeisance to his son, the Desert Prince. But listen, Orlando my heart, and listen carefully. Whatever you do tomorrow, you must not look into the Master's eyes. Do not meet his eyes! Will you promise me this?"

Because Sean was my guardian and friend and more-than-brother whom I trusted with my life and my love, I smiled at him and squeezed his arm.

But I did not say 'yes'. Note well that I did not say 'yes'. Note well and tremble but also remember that I was young and innocent. I did not know the perils that lurked within this fortress. I did not suspect that I would meet my doom and my destiny within these walls.

But know also this: I had a reason for not saying 'yes'. Because, much as I trusted and revered my beloved friend and guardian, there was one thing that I had never revealed to him.

It was my deepest secret and I kept it locked within my heart. And soon it was to save my life and slay my love.

~~~~~

Fascicle the Second

The hour of the first night cricket came and went, and then the hour of the first frog's call. For there were frogs in this dry desert citadel, and I marvelled at their song and at the soft splashing of fountains everywhere.

We spent the time before the evening meal visiting with tradesmen and shopkeepers, and strolling the paved lanes and alleys. And truly, I had never beheld such magnificence as I saw in the Desert Duke's citadel. Magnificent and fearful, both at once. The walls rose high and ten men could not have spanned their girth but each wall was topped by sharpened spikes. The windows were lofty and manifold but each window was barred with rods of iron. The gates were taller than ten men standing shoulder on shoulder but each gate was guarded by twenty-four armed sentinels. In truth, the fortress was a prison, and I was glad that we were only cloth merchants and only planning to spend a few nights in this place.

Yet splendid it surely was, and I trod the tiled courtyards in wonder and gazed in awe at the fountains in their lapislazuli basins and at the peacocks strutting under the lemon trees. I felt my lungs open out under the shaded canopies of those leaves and vines, and my thoughts refreshed by the sparkle of droplets on my face.

When the first oil lamps were lighted, we returned to our allotted chambers and readied ourselves for supper. A bath had been prepared for us, and I laughed with delight as I had not dipped myself in water for many a week. My beloved friend, my Sean ben Bean, gazed upon me and smiled, and he bid me undress. And as always, when we were alone, his eyes softened, his hands slipped like sand mice around my neck, and my heart stirred within my breast.

For know that Sean was dearer to me than love itself, and that nightly he made a shrine of my soul and of my body, and in this way he kept me sound and safe.

I undressed for my beautiful friend. My dusty cloak, my sand-riddled shoes, my sweat-soaked girdle, my tunic and vest and the undergarments next my skin, all fell in a heap at my feet. And then Sean took a step forwards and lifted his hands to the turban upon my head. He unwound the long strips of cotton, strip by strip, and as the last bands of cloth came away, my locks tumbled freely about my shoulders.

Sean ben Bean, my Sean, said nothing then, just took my hand and led me to the bath. The water was warm as baby's milk. Rose petals floated upon its surface. I slid into its silken embrace and closed my eyes as my beloved friend anointed my brow with balsa oil and bathed my skin with almond milk.

It was a service he always performed for me but when it was his turn to bathe, he liked me to sit back and wait. Under the latticed windows, giving onto an inner courtyard and hence not barred, there was a low divan, and it was upon this that I reclined. My hair was damp about my face and the scent of aloe vera rose from my lap. I liked to be clean and anointed for I knew that it pleased my beautiful friend, and I delighted in pleasing him as he delighted in pleasing me.

And know that it had always been thus but that as I grew up to be a man, our pleasures changed and my beloved Sean ben Bean taught me the ways of ecstasy of men.

After his bath, my beautiful friend came up to me where I lay upon the divan. He knelt down on the azure tiles. He wound one strand of my hair around his finger.

"Your eyes are like to coriander nuts," he whispered, "and your skin is as smooth as the hide on a newborn foal."

This is how my beautiful friend always spoke to me when we were alone. He always wove endearments about my head and wrote caresses upon my body. He stroked my curls and cupped my chin. He covered my skin with his own, and it was lovely in these lovely chambers, sweet at the sweet hour of the cricket's nighttime song of love, dear with the dear face of my beloved close to mine.

And as I lay naked and anointed on the soft cloth of the divan, he slid down along my chest and took my manhood into his warm mouth.

For this is also something my beloved friend liked to do, and he did it so well and so beautifully that the memory of it brings tears to my eyes even now.

He liked to stroke and soothe me. He liked to milk the weariness of travel from my flesh. His tongue inside his warm mouth was as the tender strip of loin cut from a goat's hind leg and soaked in oil, brine and musk for a day and a night. His tongue, soft and wet, stroked me to life and danced around on my most tender parts like... In truth, I could not imagine like what else.

For you must know that I had never lain with another soul, not man nor maid, only with my beloved friend, my Sean ben Bean. You will laugh but in these things I was as innocent as a wet-woolled lamb, and I knew no more than the gentle tongue of my beloved's mouth. Because this is all my Sean ever did. He washed my flesh with his dear, sweet mouth and he kissed me with his honey lips.

Nothing else.

For other pleasures, he visited the houses of the houri along our routes. He did not take me with him there. He did not even speak of them to me. He said that he wished only to protect me, to keep me safe and sound. He said that he wished me never to be hurt and to be spared the pain of need and betrayal.

And for a while, his wishes were fulfilled.

It never took me long to spend myself in his welcoming mouth. I was young and quick, and deep inside me a thin flame of fire burned. Yet always, before it had the chance to flare up, the milk of my pleasure doused its heat, and I sank soft and weightless into the cushions at my back.

My beloved friend brought his lips close to mine. Before he kissed me, he whispered, "You are my treasure. You are the opal of my heart." His tongue tasted of copper, honey and red wine, and of my own salty self. I clung to his shoulders. I was still trembling with delight. I twisted my friend's moist hair around my fingers until he cried out and chuckled and said, "Softly, softly, my angel." I bit his bearded chin. I tugged his earlobes. I wrapped my legs around his waist, yearning for more, yearning for something, I did not know for what.

~~~~~

Fascicle the Third

Later on that evening, we supped. Our food was not served in the kind of smoke-filled inn I was used to from our travels, but in a dining hall as lofty and lavish as everything else I had so far seen in this desert fortress. Our tables were not lit by fuming tallow candles; instead, large bronze lamps, their sides pierced with patterns of marvellous design, hung above our heads. We sat on cushioned benches. We drank from copper cups. The meal was, to my tradesboy's eyes, a feast. There were figs and olives, raisins and rice, smoked meats and curdled cheeses, and afterwards, most delectable of all, there were ices, cold as the dew drops in the dead of a desert night.

We shared our table with another merchant, a dealer in wines. He was a man of ample girth, with a twinkling eye and a kindly voice. My beloved companion, Sean ben Bean, introduced him to me as a dear old friend of his, and the merchant embraced me with his arms of a bear and said, "Our paths have not crossed for many a year but I remember you well, my fine young friend. You were but a lamb the last time I saw you but I dandled you upon my knee and sang you the songs that are sung to children."

I laughed and begged him to remind me of those songs. He indulged me readily, and imagine my delight when I discovered that I remembered some of his tunes and was able to hum along. Indeed, those simple melodies cast me in a most peculiar mood, part sweet, part sad. It is a mood that sometimes grips me; it is the mood of orphans.

But then I called to mind my beloved friend Sean-ben-Bean and looked up into his eyes, and my friend smiled upon me and said, "Let me go and speak with the other merchants alone tonight. Amuse yourself as you will." And he got up and walked over to where the men were unfolding the draughts tables and lighting their hookah pipes.

You must remember that my beloved companion, my Sean ben Bean, was not only my friend, my more-than-brother, but also my guardian and teacher. I was his apprentice, and he liked to take me along when the merchants debated among themselves so that I might learn the ways of trading with words. Still, that night I was to have to myself, to spend as I pleased.

It was always thus with my beloved friend. He took care to instruct and to teach me, but he also took care to let me be happy and free where I could.

So the wine merchant of the portly laugh and I talked merrily together for a while. He asked me to call him 'Uncle John' though his full name was John ben Rhys ibn Davies. He stroked his beard and smoothed his circlet of worry beads on the table top. He showed me his many rings and amulets and good-luck charms, and with a look of amused conspiracy, he showed me the poison concealed inside the secret chamber of the large signet ring around his thumb.

"Poison!" I cried, alarmed and intrigued all at the same time.

"Oh, yes, my fair young friend," he replied and winked at me. "You never know when it may come in useful."

"Surely not..." I began, but then I saw that he was laughing and that his eyes were twitching, and I realised that it was not poison in his ring but some harmless powder or, at worst, a sleep-inducing drug such as travellers carry with them on long journeys.

This is what I thought I realised. But, as in so many other things, I turned out to be wrong. Woefully and fatally wrong.

After the final morsel and a cup of sweet desert coffee, I put my hands together and bowed to 'Uncle John', and he slapped my shoulder with his broad hands and laughed and said, "You have grown into a fine young man, my son, and Sean ben Bean could have no better companion and apprentice." But then his eyes darkened and he said nothing for a while.

I begged him to speak his mind.

"In truth," he said and sighed, "I do not know why Sean ben Bean has brought you here. There is wealth here, to be sure, and much trade to be had, many deals to be done, but it is no place for a young boy."

I looked at him but did not understand. "No place for a young boy?"

"Yes," said my new-found friend, and the laughter had leeched from his eyes. He continued in a low voice. "There are perils here, those that are known and those that are not known. The Desert Prince..." He fell silent.

"What is it about the Desert Prince?" I asked, and even then my blood thrilled in my veins to speak those words, I knew not why.

"Hush," said Uncle John, looking about him guardedly. "It is best not to speak of him. All I meant was that the Prince... has peculiar preferences."

"Preferences?"

"Let me be blunt," said John ben Rhys. "The Prince, the son of this castle's master, likes young boys, young and beautiful boys, and he likes them more perhaps than he should." He put a hand on my sleeve. "So when you go to see him tomorrow, at noon, when we all must go to see him, take care not to show yourself too openly. Wear something drab. Hide your face behind a nomad's scarf. Make yourself small and grey like a mouse."

"And what of the master of this place?" I asked. "My guardian warned me to be wary of him, too. He told me not to look into the Duke's eyes. It is a strange warning."

Uncle John flinched like one caught in a desert storm, with the grains of sand hitting his eyes. "It is strange," he admitted. "But it is a necessary warning. Indeed, Orlando, my fine young friend, whatever you do tomorrow, you must not look into the Master's eyes. Do not meet his eyes! It will mean certain death."

I shivered, but again I thrilled. I longed to ask more. I wished to know why I could not lift my eyes to those of the Desert Duke, whether the guards would execute anybody who dared stare at their masters, whether there was some curse laid upon this splendid but lonely place.

However, John ben Rhys gave me an uncle's kiss of farewell and hurried to rejoin the men at their draughts tables. He looked like one who has already said too much and more than is wise.

I left the dining hall for the cool air of the starry night. My thoughts were full of all the strange things I had heard but there were yet stranger sights waiting for me in the alleyways of the nighttime citadel.

~~~~~

Fascicle the Fourth

After the meal, I wandered alone about the castle, while my beloved friend talked and bargained with the men, and night kissed the shadows of the moon.

I did not venture beyond the guarded gates but I walked freely within the compound in which we were housed, and none came by to stop me. The courtyards were white in the still moonlight, their tiles gleamed and felt cool to the touch, and the quiet was broken only by the song of the fountains and the nightingales.

Inside the houses, petroleum lamps had been lit, and the burnt smell of wood stoves wafted through the air. I had never smelled such fragrant air, not in the desert, not even in the largest oases we had visited, and I followed my footsteps as if in a dream.

Having wandered I know not where and how long, I came upon a small wooden door, set in a high stone wall at the end of a narrow passage. The door was locked. I thought I heard voices from within and, overcome by sudden curiosity, pressed my eye to the keyhole.

Through the hole, I spied the most gorgeous garden I had ever beheld. There were flowers and vines of every colour and aroma, there were fountains, there were paper lanterns hanging from branches, and there was a boy there. A young boy, even younger than I was.

The boy reclined on a low divan, loosely cradling a hookah in one hand and idly fishing grapes from a bowl with the other. He was wearing soft, wide trousers of a white gauze-like material -- organdie, possibly, or mull, it was hard to tell from this far away --, a waistcoat, embroidered with tiny mirrors and open at the front, and intricately worked leather slippers with upturned toes. His dark hair, uncovered and held together only by a narrow band of beads, fell over his forehead and cascaded down his nape.

When the boy looked up, I nearly cried out aloud in surprise at his eyes. They were as ice-blue as the noon-day sea. They were large and lazy like those of a dromedary in heat.

"Elijah!" someone called out, and the blue-eyed boy turned his head.

Another boy came into view, his chest naked, slick with oil and gleaming in the lantern light, his hair short except for one thin braid trailing down between his shoulder blades. He, too, was wearing wide trousers of the same soft, clinging stuff as the other's. Bracelets jingled on the braided boy's wrists and bells tinkled on his bare ankles. A snake-headed metal band was clasped around his upper arm. His neck was adorned with a silver chain, his ears with pearl pendants. He leaned down easily over the blue-eyed boy and, to my astonishment, planted a long and languorous kiss on the other's mouth.

"What is it, Dominic?" the blue-eyed boy asked.

"The Prince calls for you," replied the braided boy.

I thought I saw the blue-eyed one flinch. He dropped his hookah and his head.

"You must go to him. Now," said the other one and pulled the blue-eyed boy gently by the hand. "Come on, I will help you up."

The blue-eyed one stood up. I may have imagined it but he looked as if he were about to stumble and faint.

"Have you smoked enough, my friend?" asked the braided one softly. "And have you eaten those leaves I gave you earlier? They will help you. You won't notice much. And when you return, I promise you, I will make you feel better."

"Yes," the blue-eyed boy drawled, and it now occurred to me that his glazed gaze and uncertain foothold came from the effects of some drug he had imbibed.

The braided one put his arm around the drugged boy's waist and led him away.

I was left standing in that lone alley, shivering in the cold night air of the desert, above me the cruel glittering stars that care not about the lives and loves of those who crawl upon this earth.

That night, those two boys haunted my dreams. I saw them naked, cowering against a wall, clothed only in their jewels. Their arms were bound with ropes, and towering above them stood the Desert Prince, a shadowy shape outlined in tongues of flame.

I awoke in the dark, gasping for air. There was sweat on my chest but ice in my heart. Next to me, I heard the soothing sound of my beloved's breath in slumber. I touched my cheek to his, and he stirred briefly without waking.

I could not sleep again for a long time.

The dream had not shown me the Desert Prince's face. I would have to wait until the morrow for that and to discover the secret of his terrible might.

~~~~~

Fascicle the Fifth

The next morning, my beloved friend and I made our way to the market place.

Although it was yet early and the last stars were only now fading from the domed desert sky, the market was already busy with bustle and sound. There were street pedlars hawking their wares, each with his own cry: the owl's hoot of the broom-maker, the crowing of the ironmonger, the long drawn-out 'eeee' of the seller of trinkets and toys. Dogs and chickens ran underfoot. There were livestock traders, holding their camels and mules by long, woven ropes and pulling back their beasts' lips to reveal yellowed teeth. There were tables laden with fruit: melons, lemons and pomegranates, peaches, grapes and the spiky-skinned pears of the desert, all spilling forth in perfumed profusion. Another table abounded in dried apricots, currants and sultanas; another displayed soaps and finely-blown flasks; a third, urns and bowls of azure blue; a fourth, carpets and rugs of brilliant hue and marvellous design; and yet another was spread with delicate boxes of sandalwood, inlaid with filigree patterns of mother-of-pearl and lined with the softest silk.

It was a market like any other, and yet unlike any other. It was more sumptuous than most I had encountered on our desert travels, the faces of the hagglers were shrewder, and the amount of coin that crossed palms much greater than I had ever seen. Betimes, I noticed another strange thing: there were no women in this market, none at all. I saw no ladies, veiled from head to foot, attended by their servants; I saw no crones, prodding the fruit or berating the salesboys; I did not even see any little girls, unveiled and out for a treat with their elders.

It was a market day like so many I had experienced, and yet unlike any other. For I myself was absent in mind. My hands unwound the boles and measured the yards but my thoughts dwelled still on the dream that had visited me in the night, on the boys I had seen, and most of all, on the approaching hour of noon. My ears resounded with the strange warnings I had heard, and my heart beat strangely whenever I thought of the mysterious Desert Prince.

But I was not long kept musing. A stream of purchasers came by our stall and kept us busy, doing deals in word and coin. My guardian and beloved friend, Sean ben Bean, attended to the more illustrious of our customers and sent me often to buy sweet, spiced tea from the vendor to loosen our buyers' tongues and their purse strings.

All that morning, gold crossed our palms and our pouches swelled with coin. We sold nearly all our cloths -- the embroidered brocades; the silks and organdies, light as feathers upon the breeze; the brightly-dyed wools; the close-spun muslins and the hefty worsteds and fustians. My thumb ached with holding down the measuring pin. My palms were rough with fibres and my throat hoarse with talking. But I rejoiced in our success. I loved working side by side with my beloved Sean. I loved sensing his profile just to the right of me and hearing his voice persuade a hesitant buyer in even tones. Most of all, I loved seeing my beloved's face fulfilled, for I knew what pride he took in our trade and how pleased he would be with our jangling coffers.

I knew also that of all we earned he always put the largest portion away safely, for me and for my future. He rarely mentioned it but I knew it well. I had once asked him to use the money for himself, to pay a dowry and found a family as befits a master guildsman and merchant but he had hushed me with a finger on my lips and asked me never to speak of it again. "All I have is yours, Orlando," he had said, "and all I wish for is that you may be safe and happy throughout your life."

I did not know then that our time in the market place of the desert citadel would be my last taste of safety and carefree happiness. And this is why still, as I recall that sun-filled morning, my heart goes tight with love and loss.

Our greatest order that day came from the palace itself. Two envoys of the Desert Duke and two more of his son, the Desert Prince, came to our stall. They wore robes emblazoned with the ducal insignia. It was the first time that I looked closely at that coat of arms. It showed the eagle of the desert, sharp of claw and bright of eye, its irises outlined with red embroidery, and the green mountain snake coiled about its feet. The envoys themselves had cold, sharp faces, a little like the eagles, and their beards were entwined with silver braids. They chose the most expensive and luxurious of all our materials. They did not spend time bargaining. They made their selections quickly, taking only the costliest wares, and they bought so much that two handcarts were barely enough to transport their purchases.

After they had left, my beloved Sean ben Bean turned to me, flushed with excitement, and smiled. "What an honour to be patronised by the Duke!" he said. "And how much his envoys bought! Even if we sell not another yard of cloth, our stay will have been well worth our while." He touched my wrist and in a different tone, he said, "Also, this means that we need not remain any longer in this fortress. We will spend this afternoon buying up new wares, and then, if fortune smiles upon us and the storms do not chance this way, we can be on our way tomorrow. For I do not like to stay too long in this citadel."

"Why not?" I asked. "What dangers are there here?"

"My heart," he said in a lowered voice. "I wish I knew for sure. Perhaps none. But I am beginning to feel that I should not have brought you here."

"Sean," I replied. "Beloved friend, do not speak thus. Look at our table: it is bare, the wood shines through, this is how much we have sold. We came to trade, and we have traded well. What is it to us if the masters of this castle, as you say, are cruel? They have showered us with riches."

"There may be a price to pay," said my beloved friend. "Let noon come quickly and let the day be done."

"What is it that you two discuss so solemnly?" boomed a jolly voice. It was my newfound friend and my beloved's old companion, my 'Uncle' John ben Rhys. He laid a hand on each of our shoulders and laughed. He pulled a bag from his voluminous robes and offered us sweetmeats and nuts. I laughed, too, for I was glad to see him again.

"We speak of the castle," said my beloved Sean, "and its masters."

"And I was wondering," I added, wishing to smooth away my beloved friend's anxieties, "why it is that there are no women about in this market."

"Aha," said Uncle John. "I might have known that you are one for the lasses, son!" He winked at me and made me blush, and that made him laugh and clap my back. "Well, my young friend, and so you should be, and so was I at your age. And so am I still, if you must know." And he winked again. "But you will not find any girls in this market, nor in this entire castle. Have you not noticed how there are no women anywhere to be seen? Not even a beggar girl, not even some ancient witch with crooked teeth. They lock them all up in their own quarters. They guard them more securely than anywhere else I know of."

"And why is that, Uncle?" I ventured to ask, still hot with blushes. But it was a topic that made my Sean smile, and I loved to see my beloved friend smile.

"Well, I can't rightly say," John ben Rhys replied. "Some say it is because the women here are so exceeding beautiful that the men are afraid that they might all be stolen away." I laughed, and my Sean laughed, too. Uncle John popped a sweetmeat into his mouth and went on, "Others say it is because they are so exceeding ugly that they would frighten off all tradesmen for miles." And at that we laughed even more. But then, John ben Rhys lowered his voice and said, "Yet others say it is because the women possess some secret power that defies the Duke's might, so that he has to keep them locked away."

"A secret power?" I asked as my heart all but stopped.

John clapped me on the back again and spoke in his usual merry loud voice, "Ah, son, your eyes are as large as saucers. But people say many things, and who knows what is true and what is not?"

Then my beloved Sean asked John how his wine trade had progressed that morning, and as they talked business, I stayed silent and wondered at the secret powers that the women of the castle were said to possess, and I thought of my own secret, locked deep within me but beating, beating, beating ever more strongly, to be let out.

A bronze gong sounded from deep within the belly of the fortress. It was the hour of the noon-time rite of hailing the Desert Duke. It was the hour in which I was to meet my destiny, my doom.

"We must go," said Uncle John. There was no laughter any longer in his voice.

"Orlando," said Sean and put his hand upon my arm. "Remember what I have told you. Remember what you have promised."

I did remember what he had told me. But I also remembered that I had not promised anything. I had not promised anything at all.

~~~~~

Fascicle the Sixth

It was the hour of the daily rite of obeisance. We passed through the citadel's streets to reach the place where men pay tribute to the Desert Duke.

The sun stood at its zenith in the heavens, the shadows were puddles beneath our feet, the crickets had fallen silent and the birds hid their beaks beneath their plumes. We went in a crowd on our way to the castle's central courtyard. Behind me was my newfound companion, Uncle John ben Rhys. Beside me walked my beloved friend, and I felt no fear because he was by my side.

I should have felt fear. I should have been on my guard. I should have heeded my beloved friend's warning and followed my wise uncle's advice. But I was young. I was innocent in the ways of the world. I trusted to life and to love, and I trusted to the secret strength slumbering within me.

I was a fool.

I smiled at my beloved friend, my Sean ben Bean, and he smiled at me, and all was good.

Soon we came to a part of the castle I had not seen on my wanderings the previous evening. The walls were of honey-coloured stone. The pavement was tiled with broad smooth flagstones. The windows were large and cased in wooden shutters, and the shutters were carved into complicated patterns and wondrous to behold.

Then my heart gave a skip as I heard something at one of the windows, high up in one of the walls. It was a tinkling laugh, the bell-like jingling of a sweet voice -- a woman's? a girl's? It was the first sign I had come across of any feminine presence within the castle walls. I twisted my head upward. Above me, the shutters opened a crack and I glimpsed a flutter of silk, a slim white wrist and then, as my heart jumped yet again, a pale face, a veil quickly drawn.

I stumbled. Confusion tinged my cheeks with blushes. It was often like this with me: whenever I beheld a woman, no matter how veiled her form, or whenever I needed to bargain with a lady, no matter how formal our speech, I would feel a rush of heat. You must remember that I had never been intimate with a woman. I had not known a mother nor a sister nor even a kindly aunt. I had never laid eyes on a girl's naked face nor so much as touched a wench's fingers. I did not know of maidens' silken thighs nor their hidden places. So the sight of the face and the wrist and that veil, waving upon the still noon air, bewildered my senses.

Yet I knew even then that my bewilderment was more than that. It was also the secret in my breast tugging at my heart's strings. It was my fate drawing ever nearer, growing insistent within me.

I said nothing of this to my friend, my beloved Sean. As we came nearer to the entrance of the courtyard, walking among that crowd of men, I touched his elbow, and he touched mine. We both smiled our secret smiles at one another, and I breathed easier.

For he was my beloved, my more-than-brother, the keeper of my love.

We arrived at the gates. A hush descended on the crowd. I gazed upon the gleaming mosaics lining the portal, in green and blue and gold. I saw the likenesses of four huge eagles, the ducal birds, one at each corner of the entranceway. The eagles' eyes were outlined in black, the eagles' pupils shone red, and about each eagle's claws lay coiled a great green snake.

We passed through the gate, and then we were in the Desert Duke's ceremonial courtyard. I looked about me at the sand-coloured stones that made up the lofty walls. I gazed at the marble flagstones shining white and pink in the heat. The court was enclosed on three sides by high walls; the fourth side was fronted by the ducal palace. The sun flashed brightly on its gilded pinnacles. Banners with the eagle and snake hung from the turreted roof. Apart from these few ornaments, the palace was bare. It was splendid in its severity, and I craned my neck in awe.

In the centre of the palace wall, high above the heads of the crowd, there was a simple balcony, no more than a platform with no balustrade or fence nor even a baldachin to lend shade. Two burly guards stood to either side of the high double doors that led from the balcony to the hidden interior of the palace.

There was no other opening in the palace's stern and impenetrable façade.

I turned my head to survey the crowd, and it was true: there was not one woman to be seen amongst all that multitude. The men's faces were strange to look at. It was as if, once in the Duke's courtyard, their fortitude had deserted them. They looked unmanned. Their faces were shrouded in sudden pallor, and many a lip trembled in silent prayer.

Of all those people, I alone felt no fear. I held my head high, and I looked at the platform and the guards with great curiosity and great excitement. I remembered what John ben Rhys had told me about hiding my face, so I drew the ends of my turban out and around my face, leaving only my eyes free to look, as the bedouins do in the sand storms of mid-winter. I did this but I did it in jest and as a favour to my newfound friend. I did not do it from necessity and need.

Fool. Fool that I was.

The deep-voiced gong sounded a second time.

All around us, there was a great rustling of clothes as scores of men sank upon their knees and bent their foreheads to the ground. Some lay prostrate on the earth, others wrapped their heads in their arms. Behind us, Uncle John ben Rhys pressed his brow onto the flagstones. My beloved friend, my Sean ben Bean, took me gently by the elbow, and we both went down, side by side, with our faces against the cool marble.

My Sean lay with his cheek on the ground, his face turned towards me, his clear green eyes resting with love and trepidation on mine. With his eyes, he reminded me not to look up, then he closed his lids and hid his face in his arm.

The gong sounded a third time.

I closed my eyes and breathed in the quarry scent of the marble under my nose, mixed with the stench of terror all about me.

A voice cried out from where the platform was, probably the voice of some page or attendant. It was a harsh and imperious voice but it was also a voice made vicious with fear.

"Lo and behold the Grand Vizier!" cried the voice.

There was a sound as of a door's latch being drawn. Footsteps resounded on stone.

"Lo and behold the Grand Vizier!" echoed the crowd.

It was strange to be chanting 'behold' when none of us was in fact allowed to behold. It would mean certain death. This is what my beloved friend and my newfound 'uncle' had told me. I wondered whether any who looked would be struck down by bow or lance but I also recalled that I had not seen any guards atop the walls, none beside the two bodyguards on the high platform.

"Lo and behold!" the voice cried out again. "Lo and behold the Desert Prince!"

"Lo and behold the Desert Prince!" the crowd repeated, and, "Lo and behold the Desert Prince," I whispered into the unyielding marble.

The door creaked again. There was the sound of a firm footfall.

I knew it must be the Prince. I knew that it must be he whom I had heard spoken of and who had appeared to me in my dream.

The blood ran hot and fast through my veins. My heart beat like a taut-skinned drum. And it was as if the citadel's red-eyed eagle had descended into my soul and were gnawing at my will, and as if the green-scaled snake had coiled itself tightly around my lungs.

'The Prince', I whispered once more.

My beloved friend had implored me and he had begged me not to look up. But I heeded not my beloved friend's words. I did raise my head. I did open my eyes. I did gaze upon the Desert Prince.

I gazed upon him from beneath my turban's folds and through half-closed lashes, but gaze I did.

My heart stopped in my throat.

This is what I saw: Three men stood on the balcony, ranged in front of the bodyguards, two to one side and one to the other side of the door. To the left, there was a slim, hawk-faced man with the twisted beard and close-fitting cap of a Grand Vizier. Next to him, there was another, dense of build and quick of eye; that one I took to be the atendant who had cried out the ritual chants.

And to our right, alone within his space, there he stood: the Desert Prince, my destiny, my doom. I knew at once that it was he and no one else. He was tall and powerful of stature, strong as the desert lion and at the same time lithe and quick as the whippet hound. His black beard was short and gleamed with oil. About his head was wound a turban of brilliant scarlet hue, and its ends hung loose about his shoulders. In his right ear, there flashed a gold hoop, and his left nostril flared with a ruby stud. His white burnous, embroidered with gold thread, flowed about his limbs, and his slender hand rested easily upon the hilt of his weapon. His waist was girt with a plaited leather belt from which hung the curved scimitar of the desert tribes. Its ivory heft gleamed ivory, and its scabbard was encrusted with jewels. The Prince's lips curled under his oiled moustaches. Most striking, though, was his proud gaze which swept over the cowering multitude with a haughty turn.

For many heartbeats, I could not tear my eyes away from the Desert Prince. He was majestic and fearsome, he was terrible and beautiful, he was magnificent and arrogant, and he excited a fire in my loins such as I had never felt.

But then the attendant raised his voice for a third time.

"Lo and behold the Desert Duke!" he cried.

"Lo and behold the Desert Duke!" chanted the crowd.

"He is the moon at night and the sun by day," continued the crier of the rites. "The morning star lives on his right cheek, and the evening star lives on his left cheek."

The incantations went on. No Duke appeared. I grew bolder then. I raised my head higher, I opened my eyes wider, I drank in the sight of the Desert Prince, the Duke's son. His cheeks were alabaster, his wrists were as the fetlocks of the swiftest horse, each finger was a promise. I feasted my eyes upon the sight of the Desert Prince as if there were nothing else to behold in the world, and unquiet entered my heart and made itself a home there.

"Beware beware beware the Duke's Eye!" cried the attendant. "For his Eye is as evil as the desert snake's. Once it has fixed you in its merciless sights, it will fell you as surely as the poisoned arrow pierces the infidel's heart."

At these words, the Desert Prince turned away and drew the loose ends of his turban across his eyes. The attendant, too, the Grand Vizier and also the two bodyguards veiled their faces. I marvelled at the rules of this citadel and at the hold the Duke had even over his closest entourage. Then the door moved, and I lowered my lashes.

But mark my words and tremble: I did not close my lids. I did not hide my gaze. I kept my eyes fixed upon the door. I fell open-eyed toward my ruin.

The leaves of the portal flew open and the Desert Duke strode out. I looked upon his face, and it was not until then that I knew true terror.

For now I beheld the Desert Duke. Now I beheld the Desert Duke's Eyes, and now I knew the truth of his deathly power.

The Desert Duke stood tall, as tall as his son the Prince, and he had the same oiled beard and powerful body. But his true might came from his Eyes for his Eyes could kill.

I knew it at once. And at once I also knew that I was protected from harm. The Desert Duke's Eyes could kill but they could not kill me. I felt their burning chill, their terrible strength, their sinister glint. I saw his gaze sweep over the crowd of bowed backs like a thousand poisoned arrows from a thousand archers' bows.

I had never, in my life nor dreams, seen such a thing.

There was a glimmer in those eyes, a glow, an evil glitter. It lurked behind the black pupils, it coiled in the depths of his aquamarine irises, it lived in the red worms of the bloodshot orbs of his eyeballs. I was many fathoms away from the balcony on the palace wall, yet I could see all this.

I could see this. I could feel this. Because in my depths, too, there slumbered a terrible power. It trembled within me as if it recognised a call, a summoning from the Evil Eye of the Desert Duke. It shivered in fear within my soul but it knew that it had met its doom and my destiny.

And the Desert Duke knew it, too. For all of a sudden, his sweeping gaze stopped, his eyes flickered; he looked back and across. Now he was no longer sweeping, he was searching and seeking.

And then he found.

The Desert Duke's Eyes alighted on me, and the Desert Duke looked deep into my own eyes.

He did not flinch. I did not flinch. Though I quaked, though I quaked with fear down to the innermost core of my body, I did not flinch.

There was but the faintest perceptible change in the Desert Duke's face. The corners of his eyes narrowed, the corners of his mouth twisted -- but that was all.

Nobody saw it. Only I. Only I could look upon him and live.

And suddenly I called to mind why my beloved friend had warned me. Suddenly I realised the folly of my deed. I bowed down again, too late. I pressed my nose into the marble but all too late. Only then did I understand my beloved friend's warnings. Only then did I understand that now I was in mortal danger.

We both were, my beloved friend and I. I knew the Desert Duke would not let us live.

Hot tears would have stained the ground that day had I not been so afraid and so regretful of my rash act, and so anxious. Not for myself. I cared not for myself, I cared only for my beloved.

Oh, beloved friend, dearer to me than my own life. My love, my soul, what have I done to thee?

~~~~~

Fascicle the Seventh

I know not how the rest of those incantations passed, nor how I managed to rise at the end of them and walk towards the blue-green gate as if the day were the same as it had been when first I awoke.

Silent was the crowd and hot was the sun upon our heads. I, too, was silent. I, too, shuffled along in that throng of men. I shuffled along next to my beloved friend, my Sean ben Bean, but I did not look at him. I did not look at anyone. I kept my gaze on my feet for I was afraid that if I did not anchor my steps with my eyes, I would falter and fall and never get up again.

Once we had passed through the gate, the silence broke. All about us, friends burst out laughing and greeted each other, backs were clapped and hands clasped, there were jokes and gesticulations. All about me, relief broke the dams of fear as water bubbles out of the desert springs after a severe drought.

Only I could not laugh. The serpent of fear lay coiled about my heart, and the eagle of terror pecked at my liver. And yet, even as I walked as a man half-dazed, I could not be sure whether I was unsettled more by the might of the Duke or by the power he had touched to life inside me.

The voices of my companions rang out as if from far away. I heard the jovial tones of Uncle John and the measured replies of my Sean, and then the louder pitch of a direct address as a hand fell on my back. I started.

But it was only John ben Rhys. "Young son," he chuckled, "methinks that you are quite befuddled by what has passed. And I will not deny that it is a sore trial for anybody, especially one so young and one so new to the ways of this fortress. But come now and take cheer, it is over and it is time for our luncheon. You both must come and join me. I have figs and curds and unleavened bread, and plenty of wine, always that, and I will save the best vintages for you!"

I had kept the folds of my turban wrapped around my face, and I kept them there now. So John could not know that I was more than just befuddled. He could not fathom what had happened to me in the Duke's courtyard. He could not -- but my beloved friend could.

I saw my friend, my Sean ben Bean, glance at me. I felt his hand upon my arm, and I heard his voice, low and tender, meant only for my ears and no one else's:

"Are you unwell, Orlando? You do not seem yourself."

I did not reply. I could not. Fear had come to roost in the house of my heart. Fear cast a shadow over my words and placed a lock upon the door of my soul. It was the first of the evils wrought by the Desert Duke and perhaps, despite all that followed, it was also the worst. For it drove a barrier between my beloved friend and me. Fear throttled my words, and when it had finished throttling them, it released them one by one but twisted and turned and full of confusion.

"It is nothing," I murmured into my turban's folds. "I feel only a little faint. The heat, the travails of the journey, the unfamiliar food... It will pass."

"So, my dear friends!" boomed the voice of John ben Rhys and, terrible as it may sound, I was relieved at the interruption. "Are you coming or not?"

My beloved friend was still looking at me with the quiet intent of his eyes. Then he turned, and I heard him say, "Be thanked, John, and let my gratitude sweeten your meal. Later, we will join you but now we must rest and prepare for this afternoon's work."

There was some more back and forth, in the manner of polite men pressing for acceptance on the one hand and declining it on the other, but in the end our jolly companion left, and with him all the merriment of that crowd of men.

We turned a corner into an empty lane. My friend slipped the cloth from my face. He said nothing then but he looked at me for a long spell. He looked at me with his clear and serious eyes. He looked at me with all the love of a lifetime, and under that look I quailed and shook. The turmoil in my heart fell into my belly, and from my belly it rose up and heaved into my mouth. I doubled over and was sick on the paving slabs, like a cur kicked in the kidneys by a pack of beggar boys.

Quietly, my beloved Sean handed me a kerchief and I cleaned my mouth and nose. He waited until I had righted myself, then he placed his hand upon the side of my neck. The gesture brought tears to my eyes. It was a memory of times long gone, a gesture from my boyhood when my beloved friend had to chide me for some misdemeanour or other. For he had been my guardian as long as I could remember, and he had cared for me as an older brother cares for his charge. How often had he come upon me -- me with my hand in the honey jar or my foot in the stirrup of a fellow merchant's camel --, how often had he come upon me in such moments, placed his hand upon the side of my neck and spoken gentle words of reprimand.

Never had my beloved Sean raised his voice at me, and never had he taken his hand to me. And even now, in the hour of our greatest peril, he simply smiled a sad smile and said, "You did what is forbidden. Is this not so?"

Words then came forth, but not the right ones. Although, if I think on it now, I cannot divine what would have been the right ones. And perhaps there were no right words for that time and that place.

"Yes," I whispered. "Oh, my beloved friend, yes, I did what you begged me not to do. I lifted my eyes and I looked up at the Desert Duke. Forgive me for I have brought death upon our heads."

I opened my mouth to go on. I opened my mouth to tell my friend of the other thing that I had learned, of the strange power within me, but instead, I fell on my knees and pressed my lips to his shoes.

He pulled me up. "Orlando," he said. "There is no need for this. You are not to blame. It is my fault for bringing you here. You were not ready for it. My dearest heart, angel of my eyes..." He clasped me to his bosom then, only briefly, and then held my hands as he spoke. "Did anybody see you look upon the Duke?"

"Yes," I replied in anguish. "Yes, of course. The Duke himself saw me! Oh, all is lost."

"Softly, my angel. You have faced great danger, and you have survived. And that gives us hope. For at least we know this: the tales of the Desert Duke's evil eyes are nothing more than that -- mere tales to keep the people in fear."

"Oh no!" I cried. "It is true that we are now in mortal danger. It is all too true!"

"Yes, I fear you are right. I doubt not that the Duke will seek to persecute and kill us. He will not want the secret of this tale to be revealed. He will need to keep his subjects superstitious and afraid."

I shook my head for I knew the Duke's power to be real and true and more terrible than any tale but still I said nothing. I had not told my beloved friend of my inner secret before, and I did not tell him of it then, now that it had been twisted into something that frightened even me.

And who can be certain that he would have believed me? Regret is easy but, as I now know, choosing the right path is hard, and there was none and nothing to guide me.

"Listen well, Orlando," my Sean said to me in that shadowy lane. "I see no guards -- yet. I hear no clank of metal on metal -- yet. There may yet be time to flee this place, and here is what we will do."

My Sean spoke in quiet but urgent tones as he laid his plans before me. And I, I listened and nodded, and slowly I felt the blood return to my limbs. For despite the fear in my heart and the shadow in my soul, the voice of my friend could still soothe me and the balm of his love was strong. Each of his words stilled my unquiet pulse, and each of his words showed me again the true nature of my beloved friend.

For he was undaunted and fearless, and his mind was as logical and clear as one of the irrigated gardens in a sultan's palace.

Here is what my beloved friend's plans were: We must leave at once but without undue haste lest we be noticed. He would go to our friend, John ben Rhys, and leave him with money to settle our bills. He would also ask around to discover if there were ways to get out of the castle without passing through the main gates. Then he would go to the stables and saddle our mules, and I should meet him there at moonrise.

"Moonrise?" I said. "That is many hours hence. Can we not leave earlier?"

"My dear heart," he replied. "I understand your impatience. I feel it, too. But the nearest oasis is two nights' ride away. If we leave in the heat of day, we will end up as fodder for the vultures. Remember that this citadel is guarded not only by high battlements and guards but by the desert itself. We must take plenty of water and we must not exhaust our steeds for the desert sun is fierce and the way is long."

I saw the sense of this although my heart quaked.

My friend went on. "You, Orlando, must hide among the crowds. Mingle and wander. Do not return to our lodgings. Do not draw notice to yourself."

It was strange, strange and unreal, to be making plans like this while nothing moved in the lane except a scarab scuttling along the gutter and flies settling on where I had fouled the stone. There were few voices from the main streets beyond as people had repaired to their taverns and tables for the midday meal. It seemed hard to believe that our lives had changed from one moment to the next.

My life had changed. But Sean's had not.

I started to whisper fiercely. "My beloved friend," I urged, "the best-laid plans may fail. If I am caught and if I am not at the stables this evening, promise me that you will not wait for me. Promise me that you will leave at once and not look back. It is not you they want to keep here."

"Do not speak like this," my beloved Sean replied. "You know that I will never leave you. You know that I will fight to the death for you."

"I know," I said then, "and it is just what I am afraid of."

I also knew that he would not be swayed, and although my mind wished that he would go without me, my heart was glad.

"Now we must part," Sean said, "until tonight. Here, take this pouch. It contains half our takings of this morning's trade. It may prove to be of use. Perhaps one of the guards may be bribed."

I did not believe that money would buy us freedom. Indeed, in the depths of my being, I did not believe that any part of my beloved friend's plan would come to pass but nevertheless I clung to my friend's hope and to his conviction that through cunning and circumspection we might yet escape this cursed citadel.

"Let us not tarry longer," my beloved friend said. "It is best, I think, if you keep on the move. Speak to nobody, and if you must, tell them nothing of importance. Tell them we are planning to stay here for many days yet and act carefree as if you suspect nothing."

I embraced my friend, and he embraced me, as comrades-in-arms embrace one another before a battle. But then my beloved friend pressed his lips to my forehead and muttered, "Take heart, little treasure. Tyrants are powerful but they are not all-powerful. They often have enemies, and these enemies may become our friends. So take heart and we will see each other soon."

My throat felt too tight for speech. My beloved friend had not called me his 'little treasure' for many years, not since I was a child in cap and slippers.

"Be bold," said my beloved friend, my Sean ben Bean.

And then we parted.

I drew the folds of my turban about my face once again and tried to walk upright as I made my way back to the thoroughfare. A man rounded a far corner. A sparrow hopped along the ground, hugging the shade of the walls. All was calm in the noonday heat. But that was the worst of it, that was the worst of all. I made myself grey as a mouse but I was a mouse caught in a trap, and the Duke was just toying with us as he left us to scuttle around the maze of his deceitfully peaceful realm.

I tried to go unnoticed but I had been noticed already. I had been noticed by the Duke's gaze, and that I knew. But I had been noticed by other pairs of eyes, and those I did not know. The Duke was not the only one vigilant in the Desert Citadel. His castle was full of spies and full of eyes. And the eyes and the spies had been following me, they had been keeping watch, they had kept alert and attentive, and they would not let me escape.

~~~~~

Fascicle the Eighth

Long was that afternoon, and long were the streets of the citadel under my wandering feet. No doubt the pinnacles glinted with gold as they had when I first rode into this city -- but my eyes saw them not. And no doubt the fountains played as they had the evening before and the birds sang in the walnut trees -- but my ears heard none of this, and I no longer marvelled at the splendour of the fortress. Everywhere lurked danger. Every tiled courtyard harboured a threat; every shaded arcade was a trap.

During those first hot lonely hours, I saw no guards at all. I heard no soldiers' footfall. No lance stopped my progress. No arrow hissed through the sultry air. Small sharp shadows fell across the deserted lanes, and from far away I smelled braised lamb and heard the hubbub of people at lunch. Soon, though, all fell silent. It was the hour of midday rest, and the only things that stirred were my heart within my breast and my legs upon the pavement.

'Keep on the move,' my beloved had said, so I kept on the move. I walked aimlessly, in feverish circles and loops, spiralling ever deeper into the labyrinth of the Duke's fortress. And my thoughts spiralled in similar hoops, in and out of the shadows of my mind. They touched upon the dear face of my beloved Sean, upon the memory of the citadel as seen from afar, a vision on the horizon -- was it really only the previous day that we had arrived here? They dwelled on Uncle John, on that morning's trade, on the hand I had seen from the window, the boys I had spied on in their garden, and finally, although I tried not to permit them, my thoughts crowded around the memory of the Desert Duke's gaze. Those terrible eyes had burned themselves into the back of my head as if they were two glowing coals pressed into the sockets of my own eyes.

The last thing I came upon at the very core of my soul's maze was the Desert Prince.

The memory of him rose unbidden into my thoughts, like a cloud of smoke curling upwards from a candle just snuffed. It was the memory of his proud face and of the curl of his lip. It was the memory of the spread of his fingers around the hilt of his sword. I remembered that disdainful brow which surely meant destruction as clearly as did his father's Eye. I remembered those fingers which could probably draw his sword and slit a man's throat within the blink of a lizard's eye. I knew all this and still a strange heat shot through me at the memory of him who was to become my destiny, my doom, my prince of torment.

I felt faint with hunger but I dared not stop to buy myself any food. I felt parched with thirst but I dared not stoop over any of the sparkling fountains. I walked as if in a dream that would never end. The shadows did not appear to lengthen. The sun did not drop towards its night-time bed.

But as the day drew nigh, as the heavens finally turned slowly on their axes and dusky light bled into the sharp shadows of noon -- then my thoughts quieted, and fear took flight. For despite all I had seen, I was still as innocent as a new-hatched chick, and I was also eager and curious and full of a passion for life. I could not remain fearful for long, and as the street vendors returned to cry their wares and tousled-haired urchins began once more to dart from corner to corner, my step quickened and my gaze grew bright.

'Hide among the crowds,' my beloved had said, so I hid among the crowds. In the covered taverns, metal lids clinked on tall glasses of mint julep tea, and there was the wooden clack of draughts pieces and the hoarse laugh of old men at play. Mules pulled carts laden with planks and sacks. In the shade of a palmetto, a gaunt youth displayed his trained lizards and I gathered round among the throng of men and boys to watch their antics. The lizards jumped through tiny hoops and climbed on top of each others' backs, they chased balls and ran up the youth's sleeves, out at his collar, across his head and back down his other sleeve. Everyone laughed, and yes, I laughed, too. I dug into the bag slung around my waist inside my gown and drew forth some coin to throw into the lizard tamer's cup. I bought myself some sweet cakes at a nearby stall, and some hot spicy tea at another. I sat on the rim of a fountain, surrounded by people; I sipped my tea and scaled the city's walls with my eyes; I felt strong and jaunty and wild with trust.

You may wonder that I could laugh, and remembering it, I wonder at it myself. But it was so. I found that I could not remain disconsolate for long. For I had rested securely in the hammock of my beloved friend's care for all of my life. I had been borne aloft in the palms of his hands. My beautiful friend's love had been as the warm breath that blows the feather across the deepest of chasms. Deep down, in my inmost heart, I did not doubt that my friend would save us. Even though I had felt the Desert Duke's might, even though I had seen the Desert Duke's Eyes and felt a multitude of men tremble in mortal terror at the Desert Duke's feet, even so -- I believed my beloved companion, my Sean ben Bean, would breach all walls and defy all foes. He would drive away terror, just as he had driven away the band of brigands with nothing but a whip and a club. He would slay fear, just as he had slain the lion with one blow of his dagger. He would be cunning and fearless, and we would be saved.

'Be bold,' my beloved had said, so I was bold. 'Take heart', he had said, so I took heart.

'Speak to nobody,' he had said, and yet, when the opportunity arose, I spoke. 'The tyrant's enemies may become our friends,' he had said, and I, happening upon those who seemed to be the Desert Duke's enemies, took them for friends and fell in with them.

The first person I met thus was one I had encountered before. He came upon me without warning, in the first flush of evening's cool. I turned a corner, and there he was: the boy with the braided hair, without his blue-eyed companion this time and reclining upon a litter borne by two servants. He wore soft clothes similar to the ones I had seen him in, but of a different colour. He was lazily sucking on a fig, and sticky juices dripped over his bejewelled fingers.

My heart stopped still within my breast.

He looked at me and appraised me with his slow, half-lidded eyes. A flick of his wrist, and the litter bearers halted.

"So," drawled the boy. "Do I know you?"

He could not possibly have seen me peering through the keyhole. Yet there was a deliberation about his question, as if he had come looking for me with a purpose.

I shuffled my feet in confusion. I hardly knew how to address him -- as sir? as lord? as a friend and equal? Or was he a high-class servant? He did not have the air of a master yet there was a certain peremptoriness about him that spoke of familiarity with a master's ways.

"Greetings, stranger," I finally replied. "No, you do not know me."

"What is your name?" asked the boy. "And what is your business in this citadel?" He crossed his feet, and the bells around his ankles jingled. I remembered how he had kissed his companion in the nocturnal garden and felt myself blush under his lazy gaze.

"I go by the name of Orlando ben Bloom," I replied. "I am the apprentice of a cloth merchant come to trade in this city."

"I see," said he and took another bite of his fruit. "Well, I am Dominic, and never mind the bens and the ibns; I forfeited my father's lineage a long time ago." A shadow passed across his face but only briefly; then he again assumed his expression of bored complacence. "Orlando: it is a pretty name, and as you are also pretty, I doubt not that we may meet again. At my Master's pleasure, of course." At that, he threw back his head and laughed. Fig juice streaked the underside of his chin.

"Your Master?" I said with a dry throat. "And who may that be?"

But I had guessed the answer already. 'The Prince likes young boys', Uncle John had said at supper. 'The Prince calls for you,' the braided boy himself had said in his garden. The Prince, the Prince, the Desert Prince.

Too late did I recall that I had just told the stranger my name and my business, and my heart sank with the realisation that I was piling folly upon folly.

"Oh, you will meet him by and by," said the boy Dominic and laughed again. It was not a pleasant laugh. It did not ring true, and there was a resigned desperation about it. He looked at me once more, and then he grew serious and said, "Almost I wish... I don't know you, Orlando, but almost I wish that we might have met under different stars, at another time and in another place. You have the air of someone..."

I held my breath but the boy said no more. He waved his litter bearers on, threw the chewed-up fig skin behind his shoulder into the lane and licked his fingers. Soon, he had disappeared from view and I was left trembling with the knowledge of what I had said and also with something else, something ineffable, something as rich and elusive as damascene silk.

But this was not my strangest encounter of that strange day.

~~~~~

Fascicle the Ninth

It was not my strangest encounter by far.

The boy Dominic had gone. By my feet lay the discarded skin from the fig he had been eating. For a while yet I could hear the tinkling of the bells suspended from the corners of his litter, then they were swallowed up by the silence of the stones.

My breath was quick within my throat; my heart beat fast. But it was not fear that made my pulse shudder. Or perhaps it was fear but a fear transformed, a fear forged into elation.

I resumed my wanderings but a new mood had befallen me after my encounter with the braided boy. My spirit was growing large within me. My heart took wing, and certainty fortified my steps. I looked up at the battlements and saw that the shadows were long, and I rejoiced because the appointed hour was drawing near. I was filled with glad confidence and felt suddenly sure that my brave and beloved friend had found a way to escape. He had bribed a guard, he had discovered a long-lost egress, he had argued his way past wardens and sentinels. Even now he was loading our mules with blankets and water gourds. And soon, soon, we would be reunited; we would ride side by side, as we had done for so many weeks and years. I would look at his beloved profile, and then I would look straight ahead, and we would reach the horizon by midnight this night.

I was wrong, of course. My confidence lived only in my mind. Yet there it grew strong. There it fed on the power rising within me. I no longer dwelt on the dangers facing us; I thought only of victory and freedom. I even dared call to mind the Desert Duke's terrible visage, as I had seen it that noon. It did not seem so terrible any more: had I not looked and lived? Was I not alone among men in my defiance of the Duke's might? The Duke could not harm me! Or so I thought, in my ignorance and conceit.

I clenched my hands into fists and smiled a fierce smile of triumph.

Then I looked about me with washed eyes. All at once it seemed as if I had known these walls and these stones all my life. I moved through the streets like an ant through a maze, and my step was assured. My meanderings gained purpose. I walked as if drawn by invisible strings.

Before long, I found myself back at a place I recognised. There were the honey-coloured walls, and there were the broad smooth flagstones. But the carved shutters were closed now. No laugh rang out, no woman's hand turned in the window.

Still, somehow I knew. I knew where the entrance lay to the forbidden realm behind these walls. Without hesitation, I turned and wove my route along the ways and the byways, around and about, skirting the selfsame wall all the while, trailing one finger along it much as a child keeps a finger within his mother's robes.

I remembered what Uncle John had told me: 'They lock the women up in their own quarters. They guard them more securely than anywhere else.' But in all that perimeter wall I saw not one lock nor latch; I saw not one guard. And I felt no chink in the masonry. There appeared to be no way in and no way out. Yet my feet continued to carry me as if of their own volition, and presently I reached what I now know to be the other side of that hidden compound, the wall farthest from the city gates.

The lane I was in looked like any other. Some men passed by, a boy with a goose, a servant bearing two buckets of steaming lentil soup slung across his shoulders by a pole. Grit had gathered between the paving stones. My hand still rested on the wall, and the wall still stood, smooth as the flank of a dromedary.

But something stayed my steps. It was a door set into the wall. It was a plain door, low and made of bowed wood. It had once been painted but the colour had long since faded to a bleached grey. I did not know then why this door should intrigue me so. There was no special mark upon it, and nothing distinguished it from countless other doors, save the circumstance that here was a door in a wall that had shown me no doors so far.

I did not know then why this door kept me standing still so long in that alley. It was as if a faint scent arose from it, or a very low, far-distant hum, as from the strum of an instrument played somewhere in the belly of that fortress. I did not know then to what secret place my steps had been bent. My heart beat quietly within my breast but somewhere, deep within me, deep within the recesses of my soul, something stirred and shifted.

Then the door opened and with a jolt of my heart I realised what place I had reached.

Quick as a snake's tongue, a bent figure darted out and towards me. A bony hand curled around my wrist like the grip of an iron shackle. I was pulled across the threshold, into the musty dimness of a passageway. For a second, I stared at the lined face of an old crone, then the door closed and I stood in pitch blackness.

I had discovered the forbidden zenana. I had entered the quarters of the hidden women of the citadel.

~~~~~

Fascicle the Tenth

The old woman did not speak but she continued to grip my wrist and began to pull me along the dark corridor. And I followed her without demur.

It may seem strange to you that I did not struggle or cry out nor even ask the old hag's name and business. I simply hastened along behind her, following the call of that deep-down strumming, and at that moment I could not tell whether it came from the inside of the fortress or from the chambers of my very own heart.

The dark passageway was not long. Soon, we passed through a heavy curtain into a wide hall, and then down a spiral staircase and up another, along a covered walkway, through more corridors than I could count, until we came into a grand and splendid courtyard. Its walls were hidden by lavish tapestries, and its air was heavy with frankincense. In the centre was a sunken bath, as large as a small pool, and upon the surface of its tranquil waters floated lilies and candles in reed boats. An arcade surrounded the pool on all four sides, and its columns and arches were clad in green and turquoise and gold tiles. The ceiling above was open to the skies. At one end of the bath stood an immense incense burner, and at the other end of the bath stood a tall and wide couch of black juniper wood and hung with a canopy of cotton brocade.

I had no time to stand and marvel at these splendours for the old woman continued to lead me onwards. When we had reached the black divan, she stopped and released my hand. And with a quick, strong sweep of her arm, she drew the curtains around the couch apart and revealed to me what lay behind.

Three fair maidens reclined on the divan. The first had eyes of jet and a raven's hair, the second had eyes of velvet and hair of spun starlight, the third had eyes of silk but her head was covered in a shawl and I could not see her hair. The women's arms and feet were bare, their garments glittered with sequins, their wrists and ankles jingled with gold. Their teeth were like grains of rice, their necks like palm saplings, their foreheads like clear wells after the first rains, and their bosoms like the snowy mounds at the summit of Mount Damarvand. They were the moon, the sun and the evening star. And as the poet says,

'No lovelier beauty than beauty reflected in its own loveliness,
No greater succour than water to the parched traveller's throat,
As the gazelle is surprised out of her lair by the footfall of the hunter,
So is the hunter startled by the grace of a hoof in flight.'

I was bewildered by the sight before me. In my confusion, I sank to the ground and pressed my forehead to the tiled floor. I dared not look up but I drew in the aroma of the women's perfume, attar of roses and chypre and the heady scent of orris root.

I stayed silent, and it was they who spoke first.

"Welcome," said the first, in a voice as deep as the ocean's song.

"Welcome, traveller," said the second, in a voice as clear as a goatherd's bell.

"Welcome, visitor, to our humble abode," said the third, in a voice filled with silent laughter.

"We have been waiting for you," said the first.

"We have been waiting for you all this day," said the second.

"Yes, we have been waiting for you all these lives," said the third.

"But now, come," said the first.

"Pray, rise, and enjoy our hospitality," said the second.

"For you are our guest now," said the third, "and you may rest secure: our hospitality is like that of no other."

With that, they all laughed, and their laughter filled the room like the ripples of a mountain stream fill the bowl of heaven.

I heard a rustling and a jangling, and suddenly they were all around me. Gentle hands lifted me onto the couch. Soft tresses brushed my arms and cheeks. I was surrounded by warmth and fragrant breath, and I sank into plush cushions. Still, I dared not look my hostesses in the eye. And still, I could not think of a suitable greeting.

"Oh, but he is lovely," said the first.

"See how he blushes," said the second.

"He is sweet like a fig in winter," said the third.

"Sweet like honey."

"Sweet like a honey bee."

"And I wager he has a sweet sting, too!" laughed the third.

"Indeed," said the first and began to unwind my turban, "we have never come across a one like you."

"Truly," said the second and slid the shoes from my feet, "we had hardly dared hope that such a one like you could exist."

"Yea," said the third and untied the string that fastened my gown at the neck, "we are even now not certain what you are."

As they unclothed me, I finally found my voice and cried out, "Fair ladies! Who are you and why did you bring me into your house? Are you visions, or are you witches? Are you a dervish's servants, or are you the illusions of a drugged mind?"

They laughed again. They laughed like doves, and their soft fingers did not stop moving over my garments and through my hair.

"We do beg your indulgence," said the first.

"We beg your forgiveness."

"We have been remiss. In our excitement, we have forgotten what is due to an honoured guest."

"I am Liv, daughter of Bebe," said the first.

"I am Miranda, daughter of Otto," said the second.

"And you may call me Cate," said the third, "daughter of the desert sands. Welcome again, welcome and thrice welcome, Orlando ben Bloom."

"I beg you, dear ladies!" I cried again. "How do you know my name?"

"Oh, we know many things," said Liv, the first.

"We know many things about you," said Miranda, the second.

"We know things about you that even you may not know yourself," said Cate, the third.

"And you may know some that we do not know."

"And we must find out."

"But first, let us feed our guest."

"Let us give our guest drink."

"Let us bathe him and relax him. Let us know him a little better."

They washed my hands and feet with warm water. They gave me tiny cups of hot, spiced tea to drink. They fed me morsels of fruit and all manner of sweetmeats. They laughed, they whispered, they stroked me and made a pet of me. They pulled off my turban and my outer robes; and then the third one, the one with the shawl and the eyes of silk, said to me,

"Let us find out what you are and what you are made of."

They grew still, then. I did not know why.

"Let us find out," Cate murmured and buried her hand in my lap.

"Let us both find out," Liv muttered as she, too, placed her hand on my front.

"Let us all find out," whispered Miranda, and then my groin was a worm's nest of fingers. My eyes fell shut; my loincloth fell away; soft fingers and soft lips caressed my flesh; and soon I was overcome by the sweetest bliss.

After that, the three maidens grew more thoughtful. They spoke little as they dipped me into their fragrant pool and bathed me among the water-lilies. They were silent as they dressed me again and tied the flutes of my turban about my head. I, too, said nothing but a great tranquillity had come upon me and I let them do with me as they wished.

Well may you marvel at how easily I could forget my plight. Was it the incense spreading its dream-like fumes, you may ask. Was there a potion in the tea or poison in the fruit, you may wonder. Or you may smile and say, what else does a boy do when in the company of three lovely ladies? Is not the touch of a lusty wench enough to overwhelm any young man's senses?

And it is true that my senses were overwhelmed. But it is also true that there was something else, beneath the delight of the flesh. As I lay among Liv, Miranda and Cate, I do not think that I had ever felt as contented. I was not only sated in my desire but I was also filled with a sweet, restful yearning, and the three maidens seemed to me like the three sisters I had never had. I wanted to lie forever in their soft bed and hear their soft breaths. I wanted to know all their secrets, and some part within me knew already that their secrets were my secrets.

It was an innocent moment, and it was soon over. For Cate of the silken eyes then straddled my thighs, lifted my chin and stared into my eyes. It was the first time I had looked straight at one of the maidens' eyes, and now I saw that they were filled with sorrow.

Miranda was next. She turned my head and stared at me, and her eyes, too, were caves of sadness.

Liv was last, and her eyes were like seas of grief.

"So you are a man," said Liv.

"A boy," said Miranda.

"A youth of blood and flesh," said Cate. "It is well."

"Though strange."

"Though beyond our ken."

"But it is also good."

"Exceeding good," said Liv and kissed my left ear.

"Exceeding useful," said Miranda and kissed my right ear.

"It could not be better," said Cate and kissed my mouth with her mouth and my tongue with her tongue.

"Ladies," I said and struggled to sit up. "What do you want from me, and who are you? You have told me your names but you have not told me who you are."

"We are the ladies of the harem," said Cate. "The only women alive in this citadel of men."

"But whose harem?" I asked.

"There is only one harem permitted within this city," said Liv.

"And only one man is permitted within this harem," said Miranda.

"And that man is not you," said Cate.

"Tell us," said Liv, and her voice was suddenly hard as stone.

"Tell us, and be quick about it," said Miranda, and her voice was suddenly cold as night.

"Tell us before we are discovered," said Cate, and her voice was sharp as a freshly-honed blade, "because do you know what they will do to a man caught in the Desert Prince's harem?"

"The Desert Prince's?" I gasped.

"Do you know what they will do to you?" asked Liv.

"They will roast your balls," said Miranda. "They will cut them off and roast them over a slow fire, and then they will stuff them down your throat until you vomit them up again."

"And after that," said Cate, "they will slice open your manhood, and they will..."

"Stop!" I cried.

They fell silent. There was no laughter now.

"So you understand," said Liv, "that you must be quick. And we will not tell you..." She looked away.

"We will not even tell you..." said Miranda. She looked aside.

"We will not tell you what they do to the women who are caught with a man in the harem," said Cate.

"Not that it could be worse than they have already done," said Liv.

"Not that it could be worse than snatching your innocent child from you," said Miranda, "your little son whom you have cherished close to your heart, whom you kept hidden within the folds of your dress, whom she had to give up to be brought up as a son of the citadel, to be brought up to hate all women and to hate his mother. And when you look out of the highest window for a glimpse of him, you see him sneering and spitting but you can't lose your love, you can never lose your love for him."

"Not that it could be worse than ripping your baby unborn from your womb," said Cate, "and tearing the cord that binds you together, and leaving you to bleed as you listen to your daughter's last screams on this earth."

There was a sound of feet on the tiles. I looked up. It was the old woman who had waited by the pool all this time. She stepped forward, and she said, in a voice as blanched as the bones of a fox under the desert sun: "But at least your daughter never knew pain. At least your daughter was not suffered to grow up and to learn love and to sing sweet songs in the halls of the citadel. At least your daughter was not yanked by her hair, her beautiful hair, to the chamber of the Duke like a she-goat to the slaughter. At least your daughter's eyes were not put out with a flaming torch, and at least she was not left to choke in blindness as her body was mauled and the song forever driven from her throat."

There was silence. All that was heard was the shifting of coals in the incense burner and the soughing of the evening breeze above the skylight. After a while, the old woman drew her veil across her face and bowed her head.

"Nothing like the grief of love lost," said Miranda. "Nothing like the desire of the heart torn from its other half. Nothing like the living tomb of this gilded prison in which we count out our days without hope."

"But now we have hope," said Liv.

"Now we have you," said Miranda.

"And we must ask you," said Cate. "What are you?"

"What do you mean?" I asked. For in truth, I was startled and made afraid by their tales and their cold, hard voices

"Do not play the fool," snapped Liv.

"Do you want your balls roasted and to eat them alive?" snarled Miranda.

"Tell us," whispered Cate," why the Desert Duke's eye cannot kill you."

"Like it cannot kill us," said Liv.

"Like it cannot kill any woman," said Miranda.

"Which is why the women are hidden away and the girls butchered at birth," said Liv.

"Which is why only a few are kept," said Miranda.

"Which is why the halls of the harem echo with emptiness," said Liv.

"Which is why only the Prince may touch us," said Miranda.

"And a handful of selected favourites."

"We are an award."

"A cheap prize."

"But we must never look upon the Duke."

"For the Duke knows," hissed Liv.

"The Duke knows," said Miranda, "that we are immune to his gaze of death."

"The Duke never looks at a woman," said Liv.

"He looked only once," said Miranda.

"Twenty-eight years ago he looked."

"The woman was blinded and he raped her while she lay chained to the ground."

"For twenty-eight days she lay chained."

"Maggots started to live in her eye sockets."

"Her face was yellow with pus."

"She lay chained until she had become pregnant."

"And then she lay chained some more."

"For nine more months did she lie chained."

"More dead than alive."

"And then she gave birth," said Miranda.

"A terrible day," said Liv.

"A terrible night," said Miranda.

"Twenty-eight hours did she labour to give birth to her child," said Liv.

"Half-dead, and yet she laboured."

"Barely alive, and yet her breasts were wet with milk."

"And then the child was born."

"And it was a boy."

"They cut the cord. They took the child away."

"Not once did it suckle at its mother's breasts."

"Not once did she hold in her arms what she had nourished under her heart, what had been more alive than she."

"And then they killed her," said Liv.

"Her remains were thrown to the dogs outside the city walls," said the old woman through the folds of her veil. "Not a single bone remained for her mother to collect and to bury."

Still seated across my thighs, Cate of the silken eyes leaned towards my face. Slowly, she drew the shawl from her head and revealed herself. There was no hair upon her head. There was only her naked scalp, and it was ravaged by scars.

"Listen, Orlando," she said in a very low voice. "The Desert Duke's eyes kill only men. You seem to be a man. Yet the Duke's eyes cannot kill you. What are you really? What are you, who have the flesh of a man but the eyes of a woman?"

I did not know what to answer but in the cauldron of my soul, there was turmoil.

"We do not know how such a thing can be," said Cate, in the same low voice. "But it is so. We know it must be so. It must be ordained that you came here. You are the first person, perhaps the only person treading this living earth, who can walk freely outside, who is free to go and look upon the Desert Duke, and live."

"But how long?" added Liv.

"He will not let you live long," said Miranda.

Suddenly, Cate took my hands and looked at them, as one who searches for water in the summer sands. She traced the lines on my palms with her finger. Then, equally suddenly, she dropped my hands, roughly brushed my hair out of the way and pulled my ear forwards. She traced her finger over my earlobe; she prodded the horny back of my ear. Then, just as suddenly, she left my ear alone and tugged my eyelids up. She inspected first my left eyelid, then my right eyelid. She turned each lid inside out; she crushed the lashes between her finger.

"We could pull out your finger and toe nails," she said.

"We could probe your arse," Liv said.

"We could turn your cock inside out and still not discover it," said Miranda.

I did not know what they were trying to find, and they did not tell me.

"But we haven't time," said Cate. "We have so little time."

"And we must be sure that he will do it," said Liv.

"Yes," said Miranda, "we must be sure."

"What is it that you would have me do?" I whispered.

"Kill him, of course," said Liv.

"Kill him," said Miranda.

"Kill him before he kills you," said Cate.

"Here, take this," said Liv and pressed a phial into my hand.

"And here, take that," said Miranda and pressed a vial into my hand.

"And this," said Cate and pressed a small metal disc into my hand.

"Poisons," said Liv.

"Potions," said Miranda.

"They will burn him up from the inside," said Liv.

"They will shrivel his balls and eat up his guts."

"Tear apart his kidneys. Scorch his lungs."

"He will die like a pig," said Miranda, "rolling on the ground in his own shit, with foam spewing from his mouth and blood oozing from his evil eyeballs."

I shuddered, and I thrust the phial and the vial and the small metal disc from me. They slipped across the cushions and fell to the floor with a clatter.

"Fool," hissed Liv.

"He cannot be stopped," said Miranda. "We cannot stop him. His palace is thrice girt with thick walls, and the corridors of his palace are lined with guards. They fear him more than they fear life. He kills one every day, for sport and to keep the others afraid. Nobody can touch him. Nobody can get to him."

"Two eunuchs stand outside his bedchamber. They are as tall as mountain cedars. They are as strong as the oxen of the field. They cannot speak; their tongues are severed at the root, cut by the Duke's own knife."

"No woman can get near him."

"Only you can," said Miranda.

"For if you do not kill him..." said Liv.

"... he will kill you," said Miranda.

And at that moment, there sounded a dull cough. The tapestries on the wall beside the black divan parted, and a man stepped out from behind the drapes.

We had been discovered. We had been heard plotting.

All was lost.

~~~~~

Fascicle the Eleventh

The man was small and fair, fair of hue and fair of hair. He had the pale eyes and curved lips of the peoples of the north. His chin wore a short, pointed beard, styled in the manner of a courtier, but when he emerged from the curtains I saw that he was wearing a woman's garments and that a woman's veil had slipped from his face and hung about his neck. And strange it was to see that man with his man's beard and his man's clear brow enrobed in a lady's finery.

"Billy!" Liv exclaimed. "Did we not tell you to keep hidden?"

But the man did not answer her. He came up to me with a swift step. He touched his right palm to his lips (and as he lifted his hand, I saw the ducal seal upon his finger's ring) and then folded his hands over mine, using the greeting of the tribes of the north.

"Welcome, young master Bloom," he said. "This is no time for ceremonies so I will simply ask you to call me Billy. Speak to me now, and then forget that you ever saw me."

I was speechless with amazement, and my heart was still beating with the fear of discovery. But the women laughed and lay at their ease, and I saw that they knew him well and that he was nobody to fear.

I also noted that he bore no weapon upon his person and this soothed my alarm. Alas, what I did not know and what I did not learn until much later was that the most dangerous arms are not always displayed for all to see, and that the deadliest weapons are often those that lie hidden and wait their turn.

But fearing nothing, I knelt and kissed the ground at the stranger's feet, and when I rose again, I read kindness written in his eyes and I smiled at the smile upon his lips.

And this is how I met Billy. Dear Billy, teacher, advisor, companion of my tears and helpmeet in my darkness. And yet, even then, as you smiled at me in the castle's harem on that day, you were plotting my betrayal, and even now, as I write these words, my eyes weep to remember how I betrayed you in turn.

"I come in hiding from the palace," Billy told me. "No man is permitted to visit the harem, as you know, so I must make myself into a woman when I come here. I stand before you in women's clothes but your eyes will tell you plainly that I am no woman. No more than you are yourself."

"You know not what you say, Billy," the voice of Miranda came from the divan.

"Do not listen to them," smiled Billy. "Pay no heed to their superstitious prattling about maiden's eyes inside a man's body and who knows what other nonsense. It is but the idle chatter of womenfolk."

I marshalled my confused thoughts. "But the Desert Duke could not harm me," I finally said. "I looked upon him, and I live. Is it not true that only women are safe from his deathly gaze?"

Billy looked thoughtful, then, and his voice was serious as he spoke. "It is true. And yes, I know that you survive, and it is wondrous strange. There is a mystery here, to be sure, but where there is a mystery, there is also a solution. We do not know the answer to this riddle yet but we will find it out."

"You must know, Orlando ben Bloom," said Cate's voice from the divan, and it was full of laughing mockery, "that Billy is wise beyond compare and learned without measure. He holds high office at the palace: he is the Keeper of the Archives, the Librarian of the citadel's ancient Treasury of Books, and Chief Scribe to the Duke."

"Do not laugh," said Billy, and he sounded stern but also stirred by passion. "Young master Bloom, you may not know this but the palace archives are beyond compare. There is nothing like them in all the desert lands. The Duke's collection is one of the rarest and finest in the world. It rivals the library of Alexandria before its consumption by fire. It outshines the House of Wisdom of the caliphs of Baghdad. It houses more glories than do the great libraries of Cordoba, Rome and Nisibis together. Untold is the knowledge hidden between its pages, uncounted are its books and scrolls, its parchments older than the tribes, its manuscripts illuminated in gold and emerald, its ancient folia inscribed with scripts only the most learned can now decipher..."

"And know also, Orlando ben Bloom," interrupted Miranda drily, "that you should only mention the palace library to Billy if you have at least an hour to spare to listen to its praises sung. And that where others grieve for blood spilled, Billy mourns only for the loss of his books."

"The womenfolk will laugh" said Billy in a bitter voice. "And you may agree, young master Bloom, and tell me that these are but dry pages, written by hands long dead. But each book is a gate to a man's mind, and nobody knows it better than the Duke himself. For it is he who has locked the archive's door and swallowed the key. It is he who has destroyed all learning and all scholarship in this city, who has reduced this splendid citadel to a barren tyrant's ship. He knows what goes along with learning and the love of wisdom! It is the freedom of men to choose their own destinies, the ability of men to know their hearts and minds and to live in dignity, the keys to unlock secrets and mysteries and to dethrone despots...

"Nobody chooses their destiny, good Billy," said Cate and her voice was a blade, cutting his speech in half, as if he had said enough. As if he had said too much in front of me.

"And happily," interjected Miranda, "not all of the archives are shut up, are they now?"

"No," echoed Liv. "For the Prince has some influence, does he not?"

"The Prince," repeated Cate.

"The apple of his father's eye," added Miranda.

"The ember of his heart," said Liv.

"The thorn in his side," said Cate.

"But unlike his father, dear Billy, the Prince loves beautiful things, does he not?" asked Miranda.

"Beautiful books," continued Liv.

"Beautiful..." began Cate but did not finish.

At that, they fell silent and looked at me, I did not know why.

"It is true," Billy said slowly, "that the Prince is a man of learning and culture." And then his voice changed, and in decisive tones he continued, "But enough of this." He seized my hands and placed them between both of his, giving the pledge of the old tribes of the northern mountains.

"Young master Bloom," he said in a voice earnest and urgent. "I know well that all of this takes you by surprise. Listen not to the tales of prophecy and girls within boys that these women have been confusing you with. Listen to the words of a man, and act like a man. You must fight. You must fight tonight. Take the weapons the women have offered you. I would that you could fight with the arms of a man but we must be cautious. Even so, you will be searched and will need to hide these things carefully, these vials and phials."

"Good sir," I said, "you misunderstand. I am useless to you. I am but a humble cloth merchant. I am not versed in the use of poisons or potions. I have never killed anything larger than a flea. I cannot..."

"Hush," he said. "We choose none of us to be killers. But sometimes circumstances choose for us."

"Fate chooses," said Liv.

"Destiny preordains," added Miranda.

"The stars have willed it," finished Cate.

Their voices wove a web of words around my ears. I looked from one to another, and they looked at me and also at each other. I understood that I had stumbled into the maze of palace intrigue, and I sensed even then that not all was as it appeared, that in this room there were deceivers and deceived, but I could not tell who was using whom, and what was truth and what was not. Billy had forthright eyes and a man's honest hand clasp but the women's tales touched me strangely and moved the core of my heart.

Perhaps there was too much frankincense burnt in that gilded hall but all of a sudden, I felt faint, and dizzy with fumes.

Looking from the crone to the women, from the women to the man veiled as a woman, images within images and claims within claims, I remembered the one true thing in my life.

"I am not alone," I said. "I have a friend in this citadel. He is my companion and my guardian. He waits for me in the stables. We leave tonight."

"The Duke will not allow him to leave," said Billy in a flat voice.

"So the Duke will kill him?"

"Perhaps," said Billy gently. "But not if you kill the Duke first."

"No!" I shouted. "No, no! Do not tempt me to do your bidding in this way! I will not listen to any artful cunning. I will not!"

"And you must do it soon," said Liv as if I had not spoken at all. "For time is running short."

"The sand runs ever through the hourglass," said Miranda.

"As the moon climbs the ladder of the heavens," said Cate.

The moon! A cold fist closed around my heart. I turned around, and there, behind the old woman still hovering at the edge of our meeting, was the tranquil pool, and in its still waters I beheld the reflection of the white sickle moon.

"I must go," I said.

Billy said nothing, and the women were quiet. But they exchanged glances that were full of unfathomable meaning.

"I must go!" I cried. "The moon has risen, and I must meet my friend at the stables. I need to leave at once. I am most terribly late!"

"Young master Bloom..." began Billy.

"Good sir," I said in a rush, "I thank you for your confidence, and I feel pity in my heart for your plight, and I wish you all the fortune in this world in your quest to overcome the man who rules you so cruelly. But it is your quest; it is not mine. This is not my citadel. This is not my home. I am but a traveller on my way through. I beg of you, let me leave. I cannot fight your fight. I cannot kill this Duke. I have business of my own to attend to, and I have duties of the heart. Have mercy, I implore you, and let me go now."

"Very well," said Billy. He looked at the damsels.

"Good," said Liv in her voice of stone.

"It will pass as it shall pass," said Miranda in her voice of night.

"And failing that, we always have," said Cate in her voice of a blade, "the Black-Footed Assassin."

A chill seemed to travel through the hall, and the moon shivered on the water.

"Who?" said Billy in a voice keen and alert.

"Oh," said Liv and Miranda and Cate all at the same time, "nobody." And they shook their heads, making their earrings to jingle.

"And now, go," Cate said to me, in commanding tones.

I bowed and turned to leave but Billy placed his hand on my arm and spoke.

"Wait just one moment, young master Bloom." He picked up one of the things I had dropped on the floor and pressed it into my hand. "At least take this. It is the talisman of our brotherhood."

I opened my palm. It was the small metal disc. I looked at it carefully and saw that it was a tiny amulet, no larger than the nail of my little finger, no larger than a musk deer's nostril and not unlike one of Uncle John's good-luck charms. It was made of red copper, fashioned into the shape of a five-petalled jasmine blossom, and the core of the flower was worked into the images of a horned moon and a star intertwined.

"It is our sign," Liv said. "The sign of our secret sisterhood."

"It is the emblem of our future," said Billy.

"Hide it well," said Miranda. "In this citadel, it may spell certain death. But it will also protect you from death, if revealed at the right moment to the right person. Hide it inside the tunnel of your ear where none may see it. Hide it under the nail of your big toe. Sew it into the pockets of your skin."

"Do not hide it in the obvious place, however," said Billy. "For that, I fear, is the first place he will look."

"What do you mean?" I exclaimed. "Who?"

"And show it only to those who show you an emblem of a similar type," continued Billy. "For you are not entirely alone. We have a man inside, besides myself."

"Go stealthily," said Cate. "Trust not to appearance. Not everybody is what he seems in the Duke's palace."

"I must tell you one last time, dear ladies: I am not going to the Duke's palace!" I cried.

"And now, fare you well, Orlando..." said Cate.

"...ben..." said Miranda.

"Bloom," said Liv.

Their silence rang in my ears as I hastened all the way down the tiled hall, past the sunken bath and the incense burner, along the arches and columns of green and gold, always following the old woman who hobbled before me at a surprising pace. Again, I came through the coiled corridors of that place, down the spiral staircase and up another, and into the narrow passageway to the plain wooden door. The crone undid the bolt.

"Good-bye," I said to her hurriedly and issued forth from the serail as a puff of steam issues forth from the kettle's spout. Cool fresh night air blew upon my heated cheeks.

I stepped into the moon shadows of the lane, into the freedom of the city, and straight into the arms of two large masked men. The sigil of the Duke's eagle and snakes glinted upon their armoured chests. Before I could run or cry out, they had gagged and bound me. Their grip on my arms was merciless, their silence more menacing than fear.

The last thing I saw before a blindfold was tugged tight around my eyes was a light in a window high above. The latticed shutter had opened a fraction. There was a flutter of silk, and it reminded me of that other window I had seen earlier in the day, of those other shutters, of that woman's tinkling laugh. And in a flash I recognised that laugh from my memory's well: it was the laugh of Liv, lady of the harem.

I stared at the silken veil billowing in the breeze above me. This time it was not a woman's face behind the half-open veil: it was the face of Billy, the man. Billy, the traitor.

I struggled and moaned into the muzzle in my mouth. But I was cuffed around the head, punched in the belly, winded, trussed and thrown over someone's shoulder like a she-goat on its way to slaughter.

~~~~~

Fascicle the Twelfth

Bound, gagged and blindfolded, I was carried through the streets. My captors marched in circles and whorls, along quiet alleys, no sound of voices, up and down stairs, round corners. Still, my senses were strangely alert, and I am certain that had they permitted me to run free, I could have found my way back, without haste nor hesitation, to the door at the back of the women's quarters.

They never spoke, and I wondered whether these were the mute eunuchs that the damsels had told me about, and at the memory of the ladies and at the kind things they had done to me, and at the memory of Billy the librarian and at the gentle smiles he had bestowed on me -- at the memory of all these things, my mouth filled with bile and my belly with anger. But I felt fear, too: terrible, heart-numbing fear. And the pulse of my blood seemed to whisper 'Sean, Sean, Sean', and I wanted to weep but I did not.

The henchmen thrust me finally up a flight of stairs and across a long, smooth floor, and threw me down on some sort of soft surface. Then they pulled off my blindfold.

I opened my eyes and looked about me in surprise and amazement. I had expected to find myself in a dungeon. Instead, I was lying on satin cushions in a resplendent pavilion. A fountain plashed on a terrace, just visible through large latticed doors. There was music playing in the background, and before me, on a low table, were set out dishes of fruit and sweetmeats. The air was perfumed with the scent of lime trees and magnolia.

I had thought our lodgings in the citadel's merchant quarters were gorgeous, and I had thought the halls of the Duke's harem were splendid, but all these were nothing compared to the magnificence of this chamber.

I lay as one stunned, and my eyes were dazzled by the light of forty times forty candles burning in forty times forty sconces and reflected from the polished marble floors and the gleaming tiled walls. The pavilion was circular in shape and lofty in height. The table before me was of mahogany inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and its feet were carved in the forms of intricate birds and beasts. When I turned, I beheld a dais raised in a niche of the room upon which sat a trio of musicians, one playing a dulcimer, one playing a reed pipe, and the third playing an instrument I had never seen nor head, but it sounded more sweetly than the nightingale at the break of dusk.

Besides the musicians, there were only two other men in the room: two guards standing to either side of the inner door. I saw the swords by their side; I saw the lances in their hands; I saw the coldness in their eyes.

But nobody spoke. Nobody took notice of me. The room was beautiful and calm. The music was a long, slow and complicated. A breeze wafted in through the open doors. Still, my heart beat hard and fast, and my thoughts would not be quiet. But it was a curious thing: only a part of me was frightened, the rest of me felt strangely excited, much as the hunter feels excited as he crouches above his trap and waits to pounce on his prey.

Only here it was I who was trapped and it was I who was the prey.

After a while, I became aware that I was still holding the small copper disc that had been given me by Billy and the ladies of the harem. I was clutching it in my fist, and its points had dug grooves into the skin. A flash of fear gripped me and I wondered feverishly where I might hide this ward of death. I glanced at the musicians and at the guards; they did not glance back but I feared their notice. Finally, I made as if to adjust my robes and my undergarments, and I thrust the talisman into the folds of my loincloth. I cannot now believe that my captors did not see me do this, and that they knew what I was hiding all along, and that they did not say so for reasons of their own.

The moon rode the sky's arc. The tuneful composition soothed and abstracted. I sat rigid as a heron.

Then there were steps outside on the stair. The music stopped. The guards sprang forward and opened the door. A draught made the sconces smoke and the curtain billow, and in strode the Desert Prince.

He was resplendent in robes of white and a sash of red. Something gold shone in his hair, something silver gleamed by his side -- but that was all my eyes took in, for as soon as he had entered the pavilion, I fell to the ground and pressed my lips to the marble floor.

I stayed thus for what seemed a long time. Nothing happened; I was not heeded. Orders were given, there was movement, there were steps, the music started up again -- while I lay on the floor, my chest tight and my face hot. The Prince spoke to his minions but I could barely take in the words through the roaring in my ears.

Then, suddenly and without warning, I felt two men kneeling by my side; they pulled off my turban and parted the hair at my nape, and my blood froze within my veins for I was certain that they were baring my neck and that I was to be beheaded at once.

But it was not a blade that descended upon my trembling neck but a foot, and I soon realised that it was the Desert Prince's foot. It was the Desert Prince's leather slipper that was pressed against my neck until my Adam's apple was ground into the floor and my breath stopped short within my lungs, and it was the Desert Prince's voice that spoke into my ear. And what a soft voice it was, rich and soft, deep like the bronze gongs in the hidden caves of the Taurus mountains, sharp like a cameldriver's whip, and deadlier than the whisper of the scorpion's sting.

"So this is the viper that gnaws at the roots of my father's house," said the Prince. "This is the spy that dares to defy my father's authority. This is the impostor that crawls upon the streets of my father's citadel like a louse in the lion's mane."

He bent low over me, low enough that his hot breath burned my face. "Orlando ben Bloom," he hissed, "if that be your true name."

Every word the Prince spoke dripped with venom, and every syllable of my name as he uttered it was tipped with contempt. Yet, to hear my name in his mouth thrilled my blood most strangely, and I forgot to wonder how he had found it out.

"Orlando ben Bloom," the Prince repeated, and his voice was menacing but soft as the adder's tongue. "Do not think that I do not know who and what you are. Do not imagine that I am ignorant of the little game you play. Yes, I know you call yourself a cloth merchant. But you are no merchant. You are a maggot left at my father's doorstep."

Then there was the whistle of a blade being drawn from its scabbard. The weight on my neck shifted, and I felt the cold sharp edge of a dagger pressed against the side of my neck.

"And do not flatter yourself," the Prince continued, ever softly. "This is not a game you will win. I could kill you here and now. I could drive this dagger through your neck until you screamed your life and your guts onto these marble slabs, and nobody would care, nobody would come to your aid, and by morning the vultures and dogs of the desert would pick at your bones and slurp the jelly from your eyeballs."

I felt sick. Fear and confusion clouded my senses. The blade cut into my skin. It was so sharp that it left no trace of pain at first but hot blood trickled down the side of my neck and down past the neckline into my gown. I would have cried out but my throat was pushed so hard against the floor that no sound could pass through, and for a moment I thought I might gag or pass out.

But then I felt warm breath upon my cheek, scented with musk and the oil used to comb men's beards, and my senses returned to the chamber.

"But I will not kill you," whispered the Prince into my ear. "At least not yet."

The Prince breathed on me for a second longer, no longer than the lizard blinks before it spears the beetle with its tongue. But it was long enough for his breath to flow into the very air that flowed into my own lungs. I realised I would survive, and that the blood was not the harbinger of death but the elixir of life.

At least for now.

The Prince's foot withdrew along with his blade. An order was given. Servants' hands pulled my head up roughly by the hair.

"Get up and kneel," said the Prince in a voice still quiet but as resonant as thunder and as scornful as the rainclouds that mock on the horizon but never come. And had my blood pounded less loudly in my ears, I might have heard another note underneath the thunder and the clouds, a note that I later came to recognise and fear, a note that must have been there at that hour and in that place: a note of keen hunger and ruthless need, and it was more than the need of lust. But all I heard were the Prince's words, and my limbs struggled to obey their command.

"Kneel and look your Prince in the face. Get up, for I wish to look upon these fabled eyes that can resist my father's might."

The servants tugged and pulled me until I knelt upon my shins and knees, as one who is about to be beheaded. I coughed and touched my neck but the two lackeys pinned my hands behind my back, grabbed my locks again and forced my head up.

And there, before me, less than two ells from my sight, was the Prince.

He was as majestic as he had looked standing on the palace platform at noon that day. He was as grand and remote as he had appeared when presiding at the daily rites of obeisance. He was a man, with a man's bearded chin and a man's stern jaws, but now, seeing him so close, I also saw that he was a young man yet, with the bloom of youth upon his cheeks and the impatience of boyhood flaring his nostrils.

And when I looked into the Prince's eyes, a wind swept through my soul, hot and wild like the storms of summer that whirl across the deserts of the north.

And within that instant I knew who I was, and what I was, and my body trembled like a feather under the gaze of the Desert Prince, and my face went hot with the blush of a maiden freshly unveiled.

The Prince's eyes were proud, and the Prince's eyes were inscrutable. They were rimmed in kohl, and their deep and golden depths kindled a fire deep within the depths of my own self. For there was something in the Prince's eyes that I recognised, and there was something that recognised me, and the power that had stirred within me ever since we had entered this citadel, the secret that had lain dormant ever since I could remember, it rose up and greeted its kin with a yearning such as I had never known.

"Verily," said the Prince, and his voice was now neither thunder nor cloud, neither whip nor weapon but hoarse and mellow like the reed pipe, played for the first time by an inexpert mouth and stuttering as it hits the first notes of an unfamiliar tune. "You are not what I expected."

His lip curled in disdain but there was hesitation in his speech and a dark question in his eyes. I saw these things for only a moment; they fleeted across his face and were gone, and when next he spoke, his voice was once more unyielding.

"Look to the side," he commanded.

I obeyed.

"Look to the other side."

Again, I obeyed.

"Look up."

He bade me roll my eyes in all directions, close them, open them again, and finally, he had his servants tug me to a standing position before him.

"Interesting," the Prince said in a tone that was half sneer, half drawl. "Your eyes look no different from any mortal's. They are pretty, to be sure." And at these words, a wolfish smile played across his features. "But so are many boys' eyes, and still they fall before my father's gaze." He lost his smile and his voice became hard. "You are clearly no merchant. No merchant boy looks like this. Merchant boys are rough, they have rough hands and blunt fingertips, they have large ears and vulture's noses and hungry bellies and sharp, shrewd eyes. But you... you have the blood of noblemen coursing through your veins."

I opened my mouth to say 'nay' but before words could form on my tongue, the Prince's hand had closed around my throat, and I was choked into silence. The Prince's thumb pressed firmly against my gullet, and the Prince's forefinger traced the cut his blade had made at the side of my neck, and then he recited the following verse:

Unblemished is the face of perfection,
And the sun and moon hide their radiance from beauty's mould.
We must mar flawless loveliness,
For how can we live in eternal shadow?

For a moment, I expected that the Prince would draw his dagger and cut me anew, perhaps on my face -- but he did not. Instead, he held up his finger, red with my blood, and he pressed his finger against my lips; so I opened my mouth and I licked his finger clean, and the iron taste of my own blood spread across my tongue, that and the taste of the Prince's skin.

And I saw that his breast was heaving with the effort of drawing air, and I saw that his eyes were clouded with desire, and my own desire welled to the surface in answer to the call of his, and the longer he gazed at me and the longer he kept his finger within my mouth, the louder the song in my blood sang, and the fire in my heart burned true and strong, and I felt the power within me, the power that women have always held over the men who seek to master them, and it was my power, too.

My power and my downfall, both.

"Very well," the Prince finally said, in a voice of resolution, and also in a voice thick with lust but at the core of his desire was something else, at the kernel of his want was a steel nut of calculation. He withdrew his finger, wet with my spit, and wiped it quickly on my robe. "Cloth merchant. We will see what you are made of and how closely you have spun your tale." Then I was startled because he made a bow to me and continued in a lemon-sweet voice: "It is most dreadful but I seem to have forgotten a host's first duty to his guest. I must not let you stand here, in your dusty robes that are sullied with blood. Here." He clapped his hands once, and two servant boys jumped out from behind him.

Indeed, the room was now filled with servants. I had not noticed them before but upon entering, the Prince must have brought in a whole entourage. Guards lined the walls, servants stood to attention, waiters held covered platters, and behind the table, two boys were positioned with large fans made of ostrich feathers.

"Dress him," said the Prince, "in something more suitable for my pearl pavilion."

And then, for the second time that day, I was stripped of my garments. I was stripped down to my shirt, and then down to my underdrawers and loincloth, but they spared my nakedness, and I was saved from the discovery of the talisman. The Desert Prince had settled himself upon a leather cushion on the carpet, his legs crossed at the ankles, his fingers idly playing with his rings, and all the while, his regard was fixed upon me. And I felt it. I felt his gaze, and it made me stand tall and straight at the same time as it made my skin burn crimson, and even though I was not entirely nude, I still covered myself like a virgin. And I felt glad that the ladies of the harem had bathed me and that my hair was scented with musk.

The boys then brought out a chest of sandalwood inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and thence they drew forth magnificent robes and adornments, and they dressed me in clothes of silk and taffeta. About my wrists, they clasped bracelets of gold, studded with amethyst and green beryl, about my waist they drew a sash of the finest watered silk, and on my feet they placed slippers of the most supple goat's kid hide.

After I had been dressed and adorned and given water in a bowl to wash my face, the Desert Prince bade me sit opposite him at the table, and after gazing upon me for a time, he recited the following verse:

His ringlets dance like steam curling off a hot spring in the frosty morns of winter.
His waist is a sapling; his flanks are as tender as the hips of a newborn foal.
The moon herself blushes to see him walk into her shadow.
His eyelids are as delicate as twice-shriven parchment; his belly is as creamy as cat's milk.
His eyes are like the soot of an oil lamp and bewitch all who pass through their lambent spell.

And as he declaimed these lines, the Prince's voice flowed like the sand over the dunes, and I remembered what Billy had told me, that the Prince was a man of learning and culture, and I could not believe in my heart that one who recited such poetry would wish to kill.

Thus was my innocence beguiled, on that first night in the Prince's pavilion.

I also remembered what Uncle John had told me, that the Prince had strange preferences, and I hardly knew where to look when his recitation was finished and the arrows of his gaze pierced my skin.

"Now, cloth merchant," said the Prince. "Show me the mettle of your trade."

He gestured to the attendant boys, and they brought another chest, larger than the first. The Prince opened its clasp and withdrew a length of folded cloth. He shook it out and then threw it across the table into my lap.

"Let me hear you speak," he said, "and let me hear you explain what manner of cloth this is."

I understood that it was a test, and I knew that I must pass this test. I bowed my head, and although my lips were dry and my throat was tight, I managed to speak in clear words, with only a small quiver in my voice:

"To hear is to obey," I said.

I looked at the cloth, a tumble of hardy stuff, about the weight of a quarter-fardel, and I felt it quickly with my fingers.

"This is worsted wool," I said, "sprang upon a fixed frame for durability."

I do not know how the Prince reacted to my words for I did not lift my eyes and he did not reply. Instead, another pile of cloth landed in my lap. I licked my lips but my tongue was no wetter than they. I studied the fabric in my lap: it was a blue-and-red ceremonial scarf, square in shape and hemmed with a broad strip of contrasting colour. I passed it between my thumb and forefinger, I blew upon its surface, then I let it ripple across my palm to catch the sideways light from the candles.

"My lord," I said, without looking up, "this is finest silk, spun from the worms of the mulberry plains of Bursa and blessed with a talismanic charm sewn into the hem to bestow good fortune upon its wearer. It is mordant-dyed with pigment extracted from the indigo plants of India but the hem is crimson with the juice of the kermes insect that lives in the oaks of Eastern Lebanon."

The Prince was silent.

Finally, I heard him reply. "Very good. Now let me see how you perform with no eyes to aid your judgement."

There sounded a clap, and an attendant appeared by my side to wind another blindfold around my face. My vision was blacker than a moonless night; the music seemed to sound louder in my ears, as did the beating of my heart.

"What is this, cloth merchant?" A heavy bundle fell onto my lap.

I passed my hands across the cloth, lifted a corner to my nose and stroked it along my cheek.

"This is an elaborate fabric," I said. "It is tabby on a silk damask ground, patterned and textiled and dyed first in shellfish purple, then dipped in safflower so that it may only be admired by candlelight for it will fade to yellow when seen in the light of the day's sun."

There was silence. My world was dark but my ears heard the plashing of the fountain and the breathing of the servants' noses.

"Merchant," said the Prince at last. "How do you know the colour of the fabric if you cannot see it?"

"My lord, oh Prince," I replied, "I know the colour because this is cloth I bought myself in the silk market of Damascus, and I sold it to your palace envoys only this morning."

For a long time I heard nothing besides the fountain, the breathing, and the beating of my own heart. Then there was the sound of the rustling of robes, of shod feet upon marble, and all of a sudden, the voice of the Prince quite close to my ears.

"Very good," said the Prince, not half a yard away from me. "Now tell me, what is this?"

My hands were grasped, and I was sure they were grasped by the Prince's very own hands, and my hands were placed upon somebody's chest, and I was sure it was the Prince's very own chest, moving with his breath and hard under the softness of his gown.

"What is the cloth upon my person?" asked the Prince.

For several moments, I could not speak. I had caught glimpses of his robes earlier but I had paid no attention to their weave at all. I dared not move my hands to test the fabric; only my fingers wandered back and forth across its warp and weft, and softly pinched the material. The cloth was thick and rich yet still I felt the heat of the Prince's flesh through its threads, and I felt the beat of the Prince's heart under my right-hand palm.

His heart beat hard and fast, oh it did; my Prince's heart beat hard and fast.

And so did mine, and I thought then that his heart beat for me and that he would never kill me.

I spoke, and my voice shivered like the flurry of moths' wings or like the trembling of a lake before the early evening breeze.

"My Prince," I said, "this is rare cloth indeed. It is finest silk, made of reeled yarn and sold by grade of purity, not weight. It is embroidered in a most intricate design, and the only silk that I know which is so embroidered is imported from Nanjing where it is worked in complicated invisible patterns of white-upon-white. The only way to see the beauty of the figures is to shine a light onto the material from the side; then the designs shimmer and shift. Their meaning is best captured between the fingertips and felt with the skin, rather than seen with the eyes. It is a good choice for testing blind."

"So, merchant" said the Prince in an uneven voice. "Tell me what the pattern is."

I bowed my head. "To hear is to obey," I whispered, and then I ran my fingers down the Prince's chest and along the sleeves of the garment but my hands were shaking so hard that it took me a long time to discern the pattern of the embroidery. Yet the Prince never moved during that whole time, and his heart continued to race within his chest.

"My lord," I finally said. "This robe is bedecked with dragons and dragonflies, with butterflies and praying mantises, and with the long curving lines of Chinese clouds. The design is known as Sinuous Meanderings of the Happy Mind, and it is the most intricate and expensive of all the patterns of Nanjing."

The Prince's lungs continued to lift and fall with his breath, and the Prince's heart continued to beat hard and fast, and I did not take my hands away from his chest.

Then the Prince spoke. "I paid a great sum of money for this robe," he said, " and I am pleased to learn that I was not cheated."

"No, my Prince," I said, "you were not."

"You say you are a cloth merchant," the Prince said slowly, " and verily, it appears that you are, or at least, that you have learned your trade well enough to pass for one. But..." And then his voice changed to that of a fox circling a pheasant's nest. "... you are too young to be a master tradesman, and I believe you are the apprentice of another. Is this not so?"

I dropped my hands. My skin went stiff with fear. I answered as calmly as I could:

"No, my lord. You are mistaken. I am alone."

At that, he struck me in the face. I was startled within the darkness of my blindfold, and I fell sideways and hit my head against the edge of the table.

"Alone, are you? Alone? So you have never heard of the cloth merchant, the master Sean ben Bean?"

A darkness threatened to engulf my eyes, darker than the black light of the blindfold.

"No," I said, "I have not."

He struck me again, and I toppled backwards and hit my head on the marble floor.

"Very good," he said, and I could hear him standing up. "That is well for he also claims not to know you: never to have heard of an apprentice merchant named Orlando ben Bloom. And as this is so, and as you do not know each other, grant me the honour of an introduction." His voice changed as he addressed the servants: "Remove the blindfold. Fetch the other traveller." Then me: "And you, stand up as befits the manners of a guest."

The blindfold was taken off. I swayed as I got to my feet; my face felt bruised.

The Prince clapped his hands. The doors opened.

"Meet a man you have never heard of before," the Prince announced in a voice liquid with sinister courtesy. "Meet master Sean ben Bean."

~~~~~