“Smite him,” Othman screamed. “Crush him, my Lady. This insane man will not leave me alone. Help your servant.”
And before them appeared the Lady in all her magnificent glory. She shimmered in blue, shone in silver. And her bewitching voice said, “I am happy with you, Prince Baybars. This groom is one of mine, and I will watch over him forever.” The Lady paused, laughed. “The groom has been serving God for years. Let him now serve and obey you.” She placed her hand upon Othman’s head. “I will make sure he follows the virtuous path and fulfills his destiny.”
And a weeping Othman said, “On my honor, I now repent.” He reached for his master’s hand. “I will be your servant.” And a weeping Baybars returned, “And I yours.”
The vizier Najem was livid when he saw Othman on his property. He drew his sword. “Stay your hand, Uncle,” Baybars said, “while I explain. This man has repented. He swore obedience to God. I have taught him proper ablutions and prayers.”
The vizier studied Othman and witnessed faith in his eyes. He congratulated Othman on achieving wisdom and Baybars on finding an honest groom. He then said, “The king hunts in Giza every spring, and all the honorable men follow him. The season is upon us. Our house will begin to make preparations. You are welcome to stay in our tent or bring one of your own.”
Baybars wanted to go, and he wanted his own tent. “I want a big one,” he told Othman. “I want a pavilion worthy of a king. Go and buy me one.” Othman said that a tent that size had to be ordered in advance and there was no time. A disappointed Baybars said, “Well, then, procure me the best you can find. I do not wish to be mocked.”
Othman decided that the best place to find a pavilion worthy of a king was in a king’s court, so that was where he went. He found the servant in charge of the king’s tents, introduced himself, and asked how many tents the king owned.
“Only the chamberlain would know something like that,” the servant said. “There must be hundreds. We have only used ten since I have been here.”
“Well,” Othman said, “if they have been stored for so long, how do you know they are still usable? How do you keep moths away? Are they fresh, or do they smell? Our glorious king should not have flawed tents. I will examine every one of your tents and make sure they are worthy. It will be my duty and honor to serve my king.”
“But there are so many of them,” the servant said.
“True,” Othman replied. “I might be doing this for the rest of my inoffensive life, but I feel it is what I was born to do. Let me start with the biggest pavilion you have.”
“The biggest one is immense. We cannot open it within the palace.”
“That is surely the one I must start with,” Othman said.
And Othman led twenty of the king’s servants out of the palace, carrying a large, bundled pavilion, which could not be unfurled except in pieces.
Baybars exclaimed, “You have outdone yourself, Othman. This is fit for a king.”
“For an old-fashioned king,” Othman said. “Tan is too bland a color. We must change it.” He did not add that, unless the color was turned, the king’s chamberlain might recognize the tent.
“Well,” Baybars said, “do with it what you will. Take it to Giza, and have it set up before I arrive. I am happy to have a tent of my own.” And he left his servants.
Othman told the African warriors, “You three should paint the canvas. Your lands are known for their opulent and bright colors. You would do a much better job than I.”
“A mule would do a much better job than you would,” the first warrior said.
The second added, “So would a dog.”
And the third, “But that does not mean we should do it. It is middling work.”
“Brothers, you insult me,” Othman said, “and I will not defend myself. Yet you swore to serve Baybars as I did, and if his social standing is improved by the painting of this tent, then it is not middling work. I will have the servants of the house do it. We will dye it.”
“Dye?” the first warrior said. “You might as well put up a sign that says the owner of this pavilion is a cheap fool.”
“We need pigment,” said the first. “We need limestone,” said the second. “We need gum arabic,” said the third.
“We have all that,” said Othman.
“Yes,” they said, “but we do not have elephant dung.”
“Will horse dung do?” Othman asked.
Othman and the warriors had to recruit servants and men on the street to help them carry the folded tent to the ship. He asked his mother to join them. “How long has it been since you had a holiday?” he asked her. “I will ask Baybars to hire you. You are the best cook in Cairo.”
At Giza, Othman enlisted every able man to raise the pavilion. He needed a hundred. Once it was erected, he realized that they had nowhere near the furnishings or lamps for a tent that size. “We did not think about that,” one of the warriors said.
“No matter,” said Othman. He walked to the river, where he saw the king’s servants unloading the rugs, pillows, and oil lamps for the royal tent. “My dear fellows,” he said, “the king has commanded that you deliver all the furniture to Baybars’s tent because he wishes to have dinner there.” And then he saw the servants of the king’s judge and told them the same thing. He spoke to all the viziers’ servants. By the time everything was delivered, Baybars’s tent looked as full and beautiful as a golden peacock’s tail.
Baybars arrived the next day and was furious that Othman had commandeered the entire council’s furnishings. “You have made a fool of me,” he yelled. “By God, I will skin you alive for this.” He picked up a stick, and Othman took off with Baybars behind him.
Othman reached the king’s procession. He prostrated himself before his king and said, “Your Majesty, I am under your protection. My master wishes my doom, and he said I could never serve him again unless I extended an invitation to King Saleh.”
“Your deliverance is in hand,” the king said. “Lead us to your master’s tent.”
The processioners had to rub their eyes to be sure that what they saw was not a desert mirage. Before them, Baybars’s pavilion stood as big as a city. Its colors and design were utterly new to them. White lines divided the tent like a quilt. Abstract shapes ran amok in some sections — triangles in olive green, squares in burnt umber, cones in pale lilac, circles in sky blue, ellipses in brown, swoops of yellow ocher. Other sections showed images of the great hunt — russet lions brought down by golden spears, black warriors on white stallions encircling a herd of wildebeest. And the guests looked on in stunned silence. The guests sat in the pavilion, and it still looked unpeopled. Baybars welcomed them all and ran outside and called for Othman. “Who told you to invite all these gentlemen, and how will we be able to feed and honor them?”
And Othman promised to take care of everything. He ran to the king’s cooks. “The king is having dinner at Baybars’s tent but is unsure of the quality of Baybars’s cooks. The king does not wish to insult Baybars, so he commands that you cater the dinner secretly.” He went to each of the viziers’ cooks and repeated the story. To his mother he said, “The entire court is coming to dinner. Please make my favorite dishes. These nobles will think the food their poor subjects eat is a delicacy.”
Within an hour, a feast of immense proportions was served to the king and his nobles. The king said, “In the name of God, the most merciful,” and took the first bite.
“One of my cooks makes a dish very similar to this,” one of the viziers said, “except this is much better. Its flavors are more subtle.”
“And I have the same carpet as this,” another vizier said, “but you can tell that this is of finer silk.”