The Mystic Rose by Stephen R. Lawhead Page B

the golden bowl. ‘I see that sacrifices must be made,’ says Abu. ‘But it is forty thousand I must have. So: twenty for the bowl, and twenty for the knife.’
    â€œThe dealer’s eyes grow round. This is a most auspicious day, he is thinking. ‘Truly, my friend, these are exquisite pieces. Therefore, against my better judgment, I will give you fifteen apiece. More I cannot do.’
    â€œâ€˜O, woe, woe! Doom and woe! Why did I ever stray from the paths of righteousness? Alas, I am undone! Cursed was the day of my birth. I must have been fathered by a scorpion!’
    â€œAbu wails and moans, he throws himself about the room, tearing his hair and gnashing his teeth. He scoops up the precious objects and throws them into the bag once more and points accusingly at the silent Haemur. ‘You see? You see? You see how I am destroyed? Now we must make haste and flee the city! Our last hope must be in flight.’
    â€œThe dealer, deeply impressed and alarmed by these words, puts up his hands and says, ‘Wait! Wait! I have a brother who might be willing to help us. From him I can get three thousand more. I will add that to the sum already offered, yes? Let us agree and put your troubles to flight, my friend.’
    â€œUnder the gold dealer’s ministrations, Abu allows himself to be calmed. Thirty-three thousand dirhams it is. The dealer goes out and returns but a few moments later with the gold and silver in a chest. Together he and Abu count out coins amounting to thirty-three thousand dirhams and, with much praising and blessing Haemur and Abu depart, carrying the chest between them.” The young Syrian smiled broadly. “And the rest, sharifah, you have seen.”
    â€œIt is a remarkable tale, Abu,” Cait declared. “If even half of it is true, you have earned your reward. I will pay you as soon as we have redeemed the captives and returned to the inn.”
    At the palace, however, they found the courtyard deserted and the wazir’s secretary less than pleased at having been kept waiting half the day to complete the arrangements he had begun for the release of the war captives.“Thirty-five thousand dirhams,” he informed Cait when she and the others had been brought into the hall where Wazir Muqharik received his visitors.
    â€œI beg your pardon, katib,” answered Cait, speaking through Abu, “but twenty-five thousand was the amount we agreed upon.”
    â€œ That was before you kept the prince’s chief official waiting,” he replied imperiously. “Thirty-five thousand. Pay it, or go.”
    Caitríona motioned for Otti and Abu to bring the chest forward and place it on the table. This they did, and Cait threw open the lid and upended the box, spilling the coins in a glimmering rush over the table. “Twenty-five thousand,” Cait declared. “That, along with my most sincere and profound apologies for the inconvenience you have suffered, should be more than sufficient. I pray you will accept both.”
    Having made his point, the katib accepted the money and the apology. “The captives have been washed, and clothed. They also have been waiting,” he said, speaking through Abu. “If you would please proceed to the gate, they will be brought out to you.”
    Cait thanked the katib and returned to the palace gate where, a few moments later, the five knights were escorted from the guardhouse by a company of spear-bearing Saracens led by the jailer. They were delivered without ceremony in simple Arabic garb of long, belted tunics and sandals—cast-off clothing and well worn, but clean. They were still unshaven, but they had been scrubbed to a glowing luster, and had made a gallant, if only partially successful, attempt to comb the tangles from their long hair and beards. They hobbled from the courtyard and out through the palace gates without looking back.
    Their long imprisonment made walking