Chapter CV
As it turned out, Trudy was right concerning the time of the birth and daily I watched her belly grow larger and larger until I wondered that she did not burst. We fell into a routine; a boy of the village took our sheep along with those of the community, for which we paid him a small amount. When he returned I would milk the sheep and in the morning Trudy would turn it into cheese. When the cheese was ready I took it to the bazaar in a nearby town, for the men of an-Nasiriyeh would not speak to me or allow their wives to buy from me.
Morning and evening we worshipped in the church, in my case partly out of defiance against the village men, who scowled at us and turned their backs if I spoke to them. Several times I would have taken Trudy and my sheep and gone elsewhere, but the priest's wife was a good woman and Trudy found in her the mother she lacked. The two of them would sit in the shade for hours talking while they spun thread, wove and made clothes for the baby, and for her sake I swallowed the insults of the low-born fellahin of the village.
It chanced one day that I was sitting talking to the priest when a boy came running down the street, crying something in their language. The priest listened for a moment and then he turned to me.
"Now you will see for yourself how we are treated, for he shouts a warning that a tribe of the beduin are coming. If you take my advice, you will bury anything of value that you possess, for these sons of Shaitain will surely steal it from you otherwise."
I rose in haste. "Papa," I said, "I am not minded to bury anything."
I went into the room he had given us - for we had long since given up living in the tent - and unwrapped my mail and my weapons. I dressed myself carefully but in haste and then went out to the priest.
"I need a horse," I said.
He looked at me, his eyes open wide, and then stood up.
"Come," he said. "Only the sheikh has a horse."
We walked together down the street to the sheikh's house and everywhere men and women were running about in confusion. Several children followed us, pointing and laughing and they attracted the attention of some of the young men, who came also, curious because of my weapons.
The priest went into the sheikh's house and after a time came out again, the sheikh with him.
"It is coming," the priest said - the sheikh said nothing - and a moment later a young man came round the corner of the house leading a sorry nag that looked so ill-fed that it was a wonder it could bear the weight of the saddle.
Still, there was no other horse to be had, so I climbed onto its back carefully lest I break it in two and waited while the youth adjusted the stirrups for me. When all was ready I jerked the reins and rode out into the street.
There was no difficulty in telling where the danger lay, for already the first flocks were entering the village, a great crowd of sheep and goats bleating loudly and crushing one another as they pressed between the houses. I rode towards them and though the horse shied as the animals flowed around its legs, I urged it forward.
"Salaam aleikum," I greeted the first of the shepherds I encountered. "Where is your sheikh?"
The boy looked surprised at being greeted by a warrior but he pointed back the way he had come and I rode onwards, past women driving donkeys, old men leading camels and a scampering crowd of children, until I came to a man riding on a donkey and attended by two or three men with weapons.
"Salaam aleikum, ya sheikh," I greeted him.
"Aleikum as-salaam," he replied, tugging on his reins so that his donkey stood still.
"If you have come for the market," I remarked, "you have come early and in any case the market at Ma'arat an-Nu'man is better."
The man grinned up at me toothlessly.
"Market?" he cackled. "No market, by God."
"Then why have you come?" I demanded, frowning down at him and at the others who gathered round to see what I wanted.
"We come to seek the hospitality of these Nasrani," he said, spitting the words from his toothless mouth. "When they have nothing more to give, we depart."
"May God blacken your face," I remarked. "Who would have thought that a son of the desert would seek hospitality instead of giving it!"
The man stopped smiling and stared up at me. "Who seeks to blacken my face?" he demanded, and those nearby growled in anger.
"I, Hajji Fuad ibn Hassan," I replied. "This village is mine and these people are under my protection."
"Yours?" the man gasped. He stared at me for a moment, taking in the quality of my weapons. It was as well that he could not see the rags I wore underneath!
"The Sultan, may God prosper him, rewards those who serve him," I observed.
The sheikh scratched his head and turned to mutter something to the man nearest him.
"Sid," the man said, "to come here and seek hospitality is our custom. Nevertheless, out of respect for you, we will make our stay short. We will stay here one night and pass on in the morning."
I shrugged. "Ahlan wa sahlan. Perhaps you have not heard, however, that there is a tax now on those who pass through the village."
"Tax!" the man leaped backwards as if a scorpion stood before him.
"Yes," I said. "One dirham per person and five sheep for a dirham. I will send my men round this evening to collect it from you."
"And if we pass round the village?" the man said after consulting with his sheikh.
I shrugged again. "The tax is for passing within sight of the village - and if you damage the crops you must pay for it."
The men talked together for a moment and then they began running forwards and shouting. I thought for a moment that they were running to attack and laid my hand upon my hilt, but then I realised that they were calling to those ahead of them, summoning them back. I sat still and watched as the tide of men and animals slowly turned and retreated.
As they passed me, the sheikh's companion turned to me.
"How long are you staying here?" he asked.
"Until the Sultan gives me a larger estate," I replied. "Already the men of the village are building me a house and a masjid."
I pointed to where rows of mud bricks lay drying in the sun, put there by someone for some purpose of which I knew nothing.
The man looked at the bricks and then turned and took the bridle of the sheikh's donkey and led it away.
When the last of the beduin was gone I rode back to the village and dismounted outside the sheikh's house, where the sheikh and the priest and the men of the village were standing.
"May God reward and bless you," the priest said, raising his hand and making the Christian sign over me.
"Amin," said all the men and one came forward to take the horse from me.
I turned to the sheikh. "I told them that the Sultan had given me this village," I said. "I also told them that you were building me a house and a mosque. The next time they come, they will look to see the minaret and if they do not see it, they will be emboldened to rob you again. Take my advice, build a mosque and a minaret. You can use it as a school or a place of assembly or whatever purpose seems good to you, but inshallah the minaret will protect you."
"It is good advice," the priest said to the sheikh.
I turned to go and remove my mail and the sheikh put out his hand and stopped me. "Please, come into my house for a moment."
Surprised, I allowed him to lead me into the building and some of the men of the village followed.
"Julia," he shouted, "come quickly and bring refreshment for our guest."
When I was seated with a glass of milk and a tray of dates and sweetmeats before me, the sheikh came and stood in front of me.
"Sid Fuad, I ask your pardon. When you came I received you in a discourteous way, thinking you to be like those from whom you have delivered us. I see now that I was wrong and I ask you to forgive me."
"It is nothing, nothing," I protested, embarrassed that a man in his position should speak so publicly of pardon and forgiveness.
"We also ask your pardon," one of the men said and the others murmured agreement.
I went from there with many blessings and before I reached the priest's house two women came to me and asked if they could buy cheese from me.
I spoke to the priest in private, expressing astonishment that the sheikh should ask my pardon in front of all and lose face, for he was the sheikh of the village. The priest shrugged.
"This is our custom," he said. "If we do wrong privately, it is enough if we seek forgiveness privately and many people confess their wrong to me that I might give them a proper penance. If we do wrong publicly, however, a private confession is not enough; we must confess publicly also and you may well find that the sheikh will make public confession again this evening in the church."
"What is this 'penance', Papa?" I asked, puzzled by the word.
"It is easy to say that you are sorry without meaning it," Papa Georgios explained. "As children we often did that when we quarrelled and our parents ordered us to say sorry. We said the words but in our hearts the anger remained."
I grinned sheepishly, for indeed that was a common experience.
"There must be some way in which we show that we are sorry, both to the person we have offended and also to God. For the person we have offended it is enough for us to make some reparation to him, as the sheikh did by taking you into his house and offering you hospitality. For God, however, it is my duty to suggest some suitable reparation that will show sorrow and also benefit the soul."
"How?" I asked.
The priest looked thoughtful. "Perhaps by meditating on a suitable prayer and repeating it many times, perhaps by suffering some deprivation of the body such as fasting or wearing rough clothing, or even by going on pilgrimage to some distant place."
"Has the sheikh confessed to you?" I asked.
The priest shook his head. "That, my son, is not your place to know. If you were to confess some wrong to me, you would not want me to tell the matter to others."
That evening, after the prayers and chanting in the church, the sheikh stood forth before us all and spoke to the people.
"When Fuad and his wife came among us I thought that he was an enemy to us and I did not treat them properly as a Christian, as sheikh of this village nor as a man. I have already asked forgiveness from Fuad; I do so now from his wife and from you all for the bad example I set."
He then came to me and again asked pardon and what could I do? I felt my face grow black but I assured him that it was nothing and that I had forgotten the matter. Then he turned to Trudy and asked her pardon and she put out her hand to him and said that she forgave him from her heart.
After the sheikh the men and women of the village came one by one and asked pardon for the way they had treated us and at first I simply repeated that it was nothing but then an old man thanked me for my kindness and embraced me and, by the Prophet, I suddenly saw the beauty of this Nasrani custom and from my heart embraced those who a moment ago had been as enemies to me.
