One or two of the old men nodded grudgingly, and Tafas’s eyes brightened. “That is quite true. Really, for an unbeliever, you show remarkable knowledge of the Faith. Are you sure you do not wish to profess Islam?”
Time to tread warily here, but the pride in Papa’s eyes boosted Matt’s confidence. “Rather, milord, I wish that all men who serve God by any name should ally with one another against the forces of Evil. Instead, we fight one another; instead, you have brought fire and sword into Ibile. Why did you not strike while Gordogrosso held this land in bondage, when your swords could have been striking the agents of Satan?”
“Why, the greatest reason is that I was too young.” Tafas smiled, secure on home ground again. “As soon as I was old enough to bear arms, though, I did strike.”
“But not against King Gordogrosso, who served Satan and who used evil magic to make himself young time and time again, so that he might rule Ibile for hundreds of years.” Matt frowned. “Why did the armies of Islam not surge up from Morocco when he first usurped the throne? Why didn’t the Moors attack him at any time during the centuries that followed?”
Tafas frowned. “I cannot answer for men who died before I was born.”
They both knew the answer, of course… that Gordogrosso was ruthless and unbelievably cruel, and would have delighted in destroying any invaders in the most painful ways possible. But Rinaldo, being devoted to God and Good and Right, would show mercy to an enemy, and wait to attack until he was sure he couldn’t make peace. He also wouldn’t force every available man to fight for him, throwing the untrained against the Moors to die by thousands, wearing down the invaders so that the professionals could finish them off… and he wouldn’t call up demons to slaughter God-fearing enemies, either, as Gordogrosso would have done.
But there was no way to say that diplomatically; no matter how you phrased it, it would still sound like, “You guys were too chicken to attack when that ruthless sadist was on the throne, but now that the good guys have kicked him out, you’ve got courage enough to attack the nice ones who fight by the rules.”
Instead, Matt said, “Now that devout and godly people rule Ibile, it is no time for servants of God to go fighting one another, Lord Tafas.”
The old men frowned, but the Mahdi replied, quite calmly, “Islam must triumph throughout all the world, Lord Wizard. Ibile must surrender to Allah, and I am born to bring that to happen. Indeed, if Allah would have seen fit to bring me to life a hundred years ago, I would have marched an army against Ibile then, too.”
Matt didn’t doubt it… but he was pretty sure that Nirobus, or whoever had put Tafas up to this, wouldn’t have tried to talk him into it as long as the draconian Gordogrosso was on the throne. In fact, if Matt hadn’t been foolish enough to volunteer for the job in an unguarded moment, and if Heaven hadn’t poured as much moral support in as it could, Gordogrosso would still be ruling Ibile, and he doubted if any sorcerers would have tried to light a fire under Tafas then.
On the other hand, since those sorcerers probably worked for the same master as Gordogrosso, they probably wouldn’t have been allowed to challenge him… though Matt had noticed that Satan didn’t seem to mind how many of his servants killed each other off, as long as they didn’t weaken his side in the process. Seemed to encourage them, in fact. But that did raise the question of who Nirobus was working for. Were the Moors just pawns in a Hell-sponsored countercoup? If they were, what would happen to them when they had done Nirobus’ dirty work for him? More immediately, what would happen to this clean-cut young Mahdi?
This wasn’t quite the time to say that, though… Tafas wasn’t exactly in a mood to listen. Instead, Matt forced a smile and tried to hide his own skepticism. “I’m sure you would have attacked against any odds, my lord… if you had been born in those days.”
For a moment, the Mahdi’s whole face seemed to glow. “If I had been born, and if there had been a messenger from Allah to set me the task.”
Papa recognized hero worship when he heard it. “You met such a messenger, then?”
“I did,” Tafas answered, beaming. “Tell us of him,” Papa invited, “of this man who taught you of Islam’s destiny, and your own. What manner of clergyman was he?”
“He is a sage… not a clergyman, but a holy hermit living in a cave high in the Rif hills.” Tafas’ eyes glowed with fervor. “I came upon him while I was herding goats. ‘Why do you sit here idle, Tafas?’ he asked. Do you not see? He had never laid eyes on me, but he knew my name!”
“Very impressive.” Matt could think of half a dozen ways to learn a name, only two of which involved magic. Of course, the little problem of finding a boy who was a military genius, but who didn’t know it, was another matter entirely. “So it was he who showed you your destiny.”
“Of course.” Tafas fairly glowed with serenity, with the sure knowledge of his mission. It bordered on the kind of smugness that always made Matt angry. He fought the emotion down and asked, “What did he look like, this sage?”
“Quite simply dressed, but his robes were of a quality of cloth that I had never seen before, like silk, only thicker. They were midnight blue, and his beard and hair were gray. His eyes, though, were the arresting, magical feature of him… shining eyes they were, of silver, and made all his face seem to glow! I knew on the instant that I addressed a holy man, an emissary of Allah.”
The old men murmured pious Arabic phrases. Matt, however, recognized the description of Nirobus without any difficulty, though he would have described his eyes as gray, not silver… and the cloth had to be polyester! “He showed you your destiny by quoting the Koran?”
“No. He set his fingers on my temples and brought up visions behind my eyes… visions of the siege of Aldocer, of an army of Moors marching toward Vellese, of victory after victory to claim Ibile!”
“But no mention of the Koran,” Matt said, frowning. “No. First he sent me to wizards, who imbued me with strength and taught me the use of weapons, of the strategies and tactics of all the generals who had conquered Northern Africa before me. Then, when they judged me ready, they sent me to the mosque in Casablanca, to present myself to the muzzein. He knew me for what I was at a glance and took me to the emir, who allowed me to swear allegiance to him, then made me a general over one of his armies and enjoined me to conquer Ibile.”
“Oh, I’ll just bet he did.” Matt had a vision of a shrewd middle aged man recognizing a talented, charismatic upstart who could gather enough of a following to strike a coup d’etat. No wonder the emir had sent him off to pick a fight with a whole country and get himself killed. How could the emir have known Tafas would win?
But he had won, and that, of course, made him a real threat to the throne. Somehow Matt had a notion that if he needed allies against Tafas, the Emir of Morocco would volunteer for the head of the list. “But it was the sage, the holy man in the hills in his wondrous robes of blue, who gave this victory into my hand!” Tafas enthused. “But you have said yourself that he wasn’t a clergyman,” Matt said, frowning.
“Can he really be holy if he sends you to cause pain and suffering? Can the work he wishes you to do by fire and the sword really be God’s work?”
The old men stiffened, glaring, and set up a furious babble. The soldiers stiffened, too, and took firmer grips on their spears. But Tafas only held up his hand and waited for silence. When it came, he told Matt serenely, “Suffering is only momentary, Lord Wizard.”
“Tell that to the widow who must scrape out a bare living because her husband was slain in war,” Matt countered “Hunger is illusion,” Tafas told him, still serene “All suffering is illusion.”