The Mystic Rose by Stephen R. Lawhead

lady; he bargained like a champion—”
    â€œThat is me: Abu Sharma, Champion of the Bazaar!”
    Otti laughed out loud. “He is crazy, this one.”
    â€œThat may well be,” agreed Cait, removing a handful of coins from the chest.
    â€œBut this is wonderful, Cait,” said Alethea. “Do you not think so?”
    â€œI am delighted.” She counted out coins amounting to eight thousand dirhams, put them in a leather bag which she tied, and returned the rest to the box. To Abu and Haemur she said, “I might have been more delighted if you had accomplished the task in good time.” Taking up a shawl to wrap around her shoulders, she said, “Close the box and bring it.”
    Abu’s face fell slightly. “You do not wish to hear how the Mighty Abu wrestled the demons of avarice, greed, and desire in the marketplace?”
    â€œ I do,” said Alethea.
    â€œLater,” Cait said, moving to the door. “I wish to secure the release of the captives before they close the palace gates.”
    Motioning Otti to help him, the young Syrian took up the casket. “I know,” he said, brightening once more, “I will tell you on the way. It will pleasantly pass the time.”
    â€œExcellent,” said Thea happily.
    Cait turned and handed her the bag of coins. “You are staying here.”
    â€œOhhh,” Thea whined in frustration. “Cait, please, I want to go.”
    â€œAnd keep the door closed until I get back.”
    Thea frowned.
    â€œI mean it, Thea. I will not have you wandering around outside alone.”
    â€œOtti could come with me,” she suggested hopefully.
    â€œI need Otti with me.”
    At Caitríona’s command, Abu hired a small carriage from among those waiting outside the inn. She and Haemur rode in the carriage guarding the box, while Otti and Abu walked alongside. Abu, eager to aggrandize himself in the eyes of his patroness, embellished his story shamelessly. However, the tale that emerged bore at least a passing resemblance to what had actually taken place.
    As directed, the three men had taken the precious objects Cait had given them from among the items in her father’s store, and they had gone to the marketplace, where, in the street of goldsmiths, they sought out the expert valuation of one of the more highly respected craftsmen there. The fellow had examined the items, expressed interest and, when he asked the reason for the sale, had been told the simple truth: to raise funds for the ransom of prisoners. “Fifteen thousand,” offered the goldsmith, upon receiving this information. Abu duly pointed out that the objects were far more valuable than that, but the fellow refused to barter. The offer remained firm. “The walls of Damascus would be easier to move than that pinchfist,” Abu declared.
    Undeterred, they took their business to another goldsmith across the street, who welcomed them with small glasses of spiced wine, sat them down, and proceeded to spend a considerable time examining the items they had for sale. They were fine pieces, exceptional pieces, he told them. The finest materials and craftsmanship, beyond the shadow of a doubt. “Why are you parting with them?” he asked, and was told, as before, that the money was needed to ransom captives of war. “Fourteen thousand,” replied the gold dealer.“Each?” asked Abu Sharma. “For both,” sniffed the dealer. “And I am doing you a favor at that.”
    Nor would he improve the offer. “A rock in the sea would have more compassion,” Haemur asserted with a sorry shake of his head.
    The next goldsmith they visited offered a slightly improved sixteen thousand—but only when told they had already received an offer of fifteen from a nearby competitor. This is when Abu grew angry. They went out and walked along the street for a while to give Abu time to consider the situation. Haemur was