The Sleeping Sands (25 page)

‘None at all,’ replied Layard, ‘save for the brother of the local khan, who arrived after us.’

‘We are hearing too many such tales at Kala Tul,’ frowned Au Kelb Ali. ‘Since we returned from the high summer pastures, it seems as if every day travellers come to Kala Tul with stories of deserted settlements and missing people. Our brother will no doubt wish to discuss this matter further with you.’

On his first night in Kala Tul, Layard slept fitfully, woken periodically by the snoring of his companions in the cramped guest quarters and troubled by dreams of something dark and nameless prowling among the shadows of Kala Tul. He was happy the next morning to leave the oppressive walls of the castle to walk among the tents and booths of the Khan’s followers that clustered around its foot. News spread quickly among the Bakhtiari that a Frank was among them and Layard soon found himself surrounded by a group of supplicants asking for his assistance with various maladies and injuries. The Bakhtiari considered all Franks to be supernaturally adept physicians and Layard was faced with a busy day responding to their requests. He sent to the castle for his medical kit and set about administering to those of the sick and injured that he felt best able to help.

He was preparing some salts in the tent of a young man who had complained of excessive stomach cramps when a polite cough alerted him to the presence of Seyyid Kerim, who had quietly entered the tent and was watching the Englishman go about his preparations.

‘My colleague and the doctor from Isfahan were called to Kala Tul to attend to the Khan’s son,’ he explained. ‘I came with my colleague from Shuster to provide company on the road, although I have no knowledge of medicine. The physicians have been treating the boy for days, but it appears their knowledge is not sufficient to cure him. His condition has deteriorated daily.

‘When word reached the boy’s mother that you were a physician, she asked me to come and see you to ask if you might cure her son.’

‘I am no doctor,’ protested Layard, ‘I simply have some European medicine with me and a little experience from my travels.’

‘Still, I have heard that Frankish medicine can work wonders,’ said Seyyid Kerim gently. ‘The Khanum has been most kind to me during my stay here. I would ask you for her sake to see the boy.’

‘Of course,’ said Layard, ‘I only meant to say that my knowledge would not compete with that of two trained physicians.’

‘No doubt you will find no disagreement from either of them on that count,’ smiled the seyyid.

‘Outrageous!’ blustered the seyyid’s colleague, his black eyes flashing angrily beneath a pair of bushy eyebrows. ‘Preposterous! It is intolerable to even consider an infidel treating the prince.’

‘I must concur with my learned colleague,’ squeaked the physician from Isfahan, a little weasely man with a tall goatskin cap, ‘there is no evidence that these foreign remedies have any efficacy whatsoever. Both they and the hand that administers them,’ he looked sideways at Layard, his eyes narrowing, ‘are most unclean! They would do nothing but exacerbate the boy’s condition.’

‘With respect, Khanum,’ insisted Layard, addressing the Khan’s principal wife, ‘your son suffers from an intermittent fever, by which I have myself been afflicted during the course of my travels. If you would simply administer the quinine I have given you, there is a strong chance that he will recover.’

‘My Lady, this heathen has no qualification in the matter,’ said the Seyyid angrily. ‘It is a widely known fact that diseases which infect the infidel are of a different nature completely than those that afflict a clean body. Why, the differences of diet, environment and physiology alone are such that the illnesses that affect Europeans cannot be considered in the same class. They have no clean, natural treatment for these diseases and must rely instead on their alchemy.’

He gestured angrily at the packets of quinine that the boy’s mother now held.

Khatum-Jan Khanum turned with pleading eyes to her husband’s chief mullah, who had impassively watched the exchange.

‘Is it so?’ she asked him. ‘Will the Frank’s medicine do no good for my son?’

The mullah took the packets of quinine and walked to the doorway of the anteroom in which they were gathered. He carefully unwrapped a copy of the Koran that he carried in a bag and pulled a chain from a pouch at his belt upon which hung a brass pendant in the shape of the Hand of Fatima, set with fragments of coloured glass. He knelt on the floor and opened the Koran, flicking randomly through its pages so that it fell open on a chance verse. He held the chain up so that the pendant caught a narrow beam of sunlight penetrating the doorway. He began to read in a low, singsong voice, while twisting the chain so that bright patches of red and blue light flickered across the book, the walls and his own face. He held the quinine out so that it too was dappled with the dancing coloured light. After a few moments, he replaced the Koran and the chain and rejoined them.

‘The augury is unfavourable,’ he said, handing the medicine to Layard. ‘The Frank’s medicines will not help the child.’

The Khanum looked at Layard. For a moment, he saw a look of helpless anxiety on her face. In a moment, she had collected herself and, with a calm and gracious nobility, she dismissed Layard, thanking him for his time.

‘You must understand that I do not share my colleague’s views,’ apologised Seyyid Kerim, as they walked back to the guest quarters. ‘I believe that there is little in the way of physical differences between believers and infidels and that there should be a place for both schools of medicine in the modern world.

‘Still, the Khanum had no choice but to accept their advice,’ he continued. ‘If she had gone against an augury by her husband’s mullah in his absence, it would have been akin to going against the word of the Khan himself.’

‘How are they treating the boy?’ asked Layard, still smarting at the mullah’s verdict.

‘With prayer,’ the seyyid replied, ‘and baths of melon juice and cold Shiraz wine. To this they add fresh water that has been poured into a porcelain cup containing verses of the Koran, written in ink. I understand all concerned agree that it is the best treatment for his condition.’

‘And they truly think that this magic will cure the prince?’ asked Layard, incredulously.

‘I wouldn’t expect an infidel to understand the power of such things,’ replied Seyyid Kerim, tolerantly. ‘They can be very effective, but I fear that the boy’s fever may be too strong for them.’

‘Then the boy may well die,’ insisted Layard.

‘That would be unfortunate,’ said the Seyyid. ‘I hear that his father returns tonight. If the boy dies, the mullahs might well augur that the treatment was polluted by the presence of an infidel in the castle.’

‘What would that mean for me?’ asked Layard.

‘Ah, that is a fate which could not be contemplated with indifference’ answered the seyyid. ‘Come, these thoughts are far too dark. If your days are truly numbered, then we should be filling them with thoughts of beauty instead. Tell me, what do you know of the sonnets of Hafez?’

The sun had set behind the tall peaks when a rumble of hoof-beats and chorus of loud shouts announced the return of Mehemet Taki Khan to Kala Tul. Along with the other guests and every other adult male in the castle, Layard rushed to the hall to greet the Great Khan. When he arrived, he found the hall packed and crackling with excitement at the Khan’s return. In its centre, on a raised platform and surrounded by his brothers, his vizier and a group of white-bearded elders who served as his advisors, sat the Khan himself. Layard pushed through the crowd to introduce himself and to have the opportunity to inspect the man who held the power of life and death over not only the greatest part of the Bakhtiari people but also, Layard imagined may well soon be the case, over the castle’s English guest.

Fresh from the saddle, the Khan was dressed in his travelling clothes. He wore a tight-fitting cloth tunic over long silk robes that were tucked into baggy trousers, wound about with embroidered bands and themselves tucked into riding boots. He wore the characteristic Lur skull cap of white felt, around which was twisted a brightly coloured Bakhtiari lung of striped cloth. His weapons were of the finest quality. He carried a long gun, its barrel finely damascened and its stock inlaid with ivory and gold. At his side hung a scimitar of the finest steel, with a hilt traced in patterns of silver and gold and into his belt were tucked a jewel-encrusted dagger and a similarly decorated pistol. In characteristic Bakhtiari fashion, his person has hung about with powder flasks, shot pouches, tampers, primers and all manner of devices for the operation of his guns, all of the finest quality. The Khan’s arms matched the Matamet’s in their quality and richness, yet upon him they had no appearance of ostentation. Rather, on his powerful frame they looked to be the fitting accoutrements of an unrivalled warrior; a man who had raised himself up by force of arms to become the leader of the most powerful tribal nation in the Persian Empire. His horse stood to one side of the platform; a tall, powerful Arab mare as richly caparisoned as her master. From her inlaid saddle hung a second sword and a heavy iron mace. The awe that Layard had felt at experiencing the majesty of the Khan’s brothers in the great hall was now magnified tenfold by the spectacle of the Khan himself. Although of average height and well into his middle age, the Khan commanded the attention of every man in the room with an easy and open manner and force of personality that simply eclipsed every other point of interest in its sphere. His rich laughter and broad smile were those of a man who had no need for subterfuge or deceit. His will was won by the honesty of the sword blade and the mace rather than by courtly wiles.

Layard moved forward into his presence. The Khan turned his attention to the foreigner, his face becoming stern. He waited in silence for the Englishman to present himself.

‘Great Khan,’ said Layard, bowing deeply, ‘I am Austen Henry Layard, a traveller. I am travelling under the protection of the Governor of Isfahan, who bids me present his firman to you.’

He stepped forward and, bowing once more, handed the Matamet’s firman to the Khan. The Khan glanced at the firman briefly. Then, with a snarl of displeasure, he crumpled the paper in his powerful fist and tossed it to one side. The Matamet’s official, standing nearby opened his mouth to protest but, before a sound could emerge, a flashing look from the Khan shut him up.

Layard looked at the angry face of the Khan, his heart sinking. For a moment, he felt Mehemet Taki Khan’s angry eyes transfix him. Then the cloud passed and the Khan’s handsome face brightened. He smiled, motioning Layard forward.

‘The Shah’s firman has no authority among the free people of the mountains,’ he said warmly. ‘You are welcome here as my guest, Mr Layard. As long as you choose to stay here, you must consider Kala Tul to be your home. My vizier has already told me about you and of the service that you have done to my brother. I consider your arrival among us to be good fortune indeed. Now, you must explain to me what it is that has led you to experience the dangers of a journey all the way from England to Kala Tul.’

In the presence of the Khan and surrounded by the splendour and ancient power of the Bakhtiari court, Layard felt a compulsion to tell the truth. No matter the Society’s instructions or the presence of the Matamet’s official, he knew he could no more hide the truth from the Khan than a rabbit could escape a mountain lion. Almost involuntarily, he opened his mouth to speak.

‘I am seeking the-‘

Suddenly, there was a commotion outside the hall and the sound of shrill wailing and a woman’s voice urgently calling the Khan’s name.

Mehemet Taki Khan leapt to his feet without a word and rushed from the hall towards the enderun, his family chambers.

Within a short time, Layard was summoned into the enderun, to the chamber of the sick boy. The boy’s mother was weeping and cradling her son’s pale, gaunt body, while rocking back and forth. The physicians stood abjectly to one side and the Khan’s mullah knelt in the corner of the room, praying furiously. The boy’s eyes were closed in a faint and it was clear from the manner of all in the room that they believed he was close to death. The Khan greeted Layard as he entered.

‘My son, Hussein Kuli, is dying,’ he said, simply and earnestly. ‘He is burning up. I sent for the best doctors I could find, but they have been unable to cure him. I am told by my wife that you have some knowledge of medicine. This boy is the light of my life, Frank. You must do all in your power to save him. I entreat you, if there is anything you hold holy, to cure him. If you save his life, then you may have anything of me that it is my power to give.’

Layard looked at the Khan. The eyes that only minutes before had been those of an implacable mountain lion were now filling with tears; the eyes of a fearful and vulnerable father watching his son slip from his grasp.

‘Excellency, we must protest,’ the Seyyid complained. ‘Your own mullah augured against the use of the infidel’s medicine-’

‘My mullah will consult the Koran again,’ interrupted the Khan, turning to fix his mullah with an angry glare. ‘What are the omens now for administering the remedy?’

With shaking hands, the mullah thumbed through the Koran and muttered a few words of prayer under his breath.

‘The augury is good,’ he said, in a nervous voice. ‘This would be a propitious time to give the boy the Frank’s medicine.’

‘Preposterous!’ interjected the Seyyid.

The Khan whirled to face him, his hand moving towards the hilt of his jewelled dagger.

‘At least let me bless the powders before they are administered,’ entreated the Seyyid, backing away from the angry Khan.

The Khan looked questioningly at Layard, who shrugged and nodded.

‘Very well,’ growled the Khan. ‘There is no time to waste.’

Layard ran to the guest quarters and returned with his medical kit. He took measures of Dover’s powder and quinine from the kit and handed them to the seyyid, who dropped each dosage into a cup inscribed with verses from the Koran.