Daggers in the Dark (Book 3 of Hanthalah)

Chapter 7

Two halls in the Green Palace were reserved for this...joyous occasion. The guests were partitioned to the hall for males, where the groom resided on a massive rectangular table on a raised platform. The hall itself was filled to the brim with guests – men of note, men of state, men of the battlefield and of palace hallways.

Underneath the dais that hosted the groom's table were a plethora of round tables neatly arrayed about the vast expanse of the lavish hall adorned with all manners of ostentatious decoration.

There were vines carefully placed on the walls, snaking around pillars at the edge of the chamber or rising to the colossal ceiling above. Attached to them were palm tree leaves.

Dotted about the hall were tiny items emitting faint, moth-like light. But there were no mosaics or carved images or paintings or sculptures to be seen, for these were un-Islamic items left behind in 'the age of ignorance'.

I smacked my lips as servants barged in through the massive doorway carrying a large plate of roasted lamb overhead. A great roar washed over those present in their seats, and they began banging their fists on tabletops in anticipation of the great feast that awaited them.

Men abruptly rose to their feet, heads lowered as loud bellows dwindled down to hushed tones, swept away into a stretching silence, the air heavy with the sense of yet more anticipation.

And then the man in question would raise his head, meet the groom in his eyes and begin reciting a meticulously crafted poem, singing to the groom's praises, speaking of his great deeds, his valor, his benevolence, his honesty, his hospitality, strength and piety. All things valued by Arabs for generations.

And then the poem would be concluded with a tongue-in-cheek jab at the groom that would send the chamber riling with echoing guffaws and raspy voices again, the usual raucous and loud joviality that was characteristic of Arabs in special occasions.

"For the groom most valued, I offer thee fifty camels!" one man declared his wedding gift after the conclusion of his poem. "And for the chaste bride, fifty more!"

Studious gasps would follow the bold proclamation, loud howls and cheers were not in short supply. And then another would find his feet, seeking to top the previous man's eloquence of words and the generosity of his gift.

"A hundred brocades of the finest silk!"

"A dozen fur-trimmed riding trousers and just as many sandal-boots!"

"A Turkic horse and a sleek, double-curved Chinese bow of the finest oak!"

"A Persian blade with a silver pommel and emerald encrusted crossguard!"

It was Ramla's wedding.

And I was the one in charge of organizing the event. The irony of fate.

***

"You are a man of great courage, I hear," Marwan ibn al-Hakam initiated a conversation with me as I lounged on a wall in the corner of the great chamber. "You possess prowess unmatched by many."

Marwan ibn al-Hakam was a plain-faced man with a hooked nose, full lips, clean-shaven cheeks and silky brown hair that tumbled neatly to his shoulders. He was of the Banu Umayya clan, an Umayyad, which made him close kin to the likes of Mu'awiyah ibn Abu Sufyan and the Khalifa himself, 'Uthman ibn 'Affan.

And like all Umayyads, he possessed the undeniable charm, wit and a natural competence that were essential to matters of politics and backstabbing.