They were driven far enough that they might be outside Damascus. When they emerged from the van, it was not in daylight, it was indoors…or underground. Even the porticoed garden into which they were ushered was artificially lighted, and the sound of running and trickling and falling water masked any faint noises that might have seeped in from outside and hinted where they were.
Alai did not so much greet them as notice their presence as he walked in the garden. He did not even face them, but sat a few meters away, facing a fountain, and began to speak.
“I have no desire to humiliate you, Peter Wiggin,” he said. “You should not have come.”
“I appreciate your letting me speak with you at all,” Peter answered.
“Wisdom said that I should announce to the world that the Hegemon had come to see the Caliph, and the Caliph refused to see him. But I told Wisdom to be patient, and let Folly be my guide today in this garden.”
“Petra and I are here to—”
“Petra is here,” said Alai, “because you thought her presence might get you in to see me, and you needed a witness that I would be reluctant to kill, and because you want her to be your ally after her husband is dead.”
Peter did not let himself glance at Petra to see how she took this sally from Alai. She knew the man; Peter did not. She would interpret his words as she saw fit, and nothing he could see in her face right now would help him understand anything. It would only weaken him to show he cared.
“I’m here to offer my help,” said Peter.
“I command armies that rule over more than half the population of the world,” said Alai. “I have united Muslim nations from Morocco to Indonesia, and liberated the oppressed peoples in between.”
“It’s the difference between ‘conquered’ and ‘liberated’ that I wanted to talk about.”
“So you came to rebuke me, not to help after all,” said Alai.
“I see I’m wasting my time,” said Peter. “If we can’t speak together without petty debate, then you are past receiving help.”
“Help?” said Alai. “One of my advisers said to me, when I told them I wanted to see you, ‘How many soldiers does this Hegemon have?’”
“How many divisions has the Pope?” quoted Peter.
“More than the Hegemon has,” said Alai, “if the Pope should ask for them. As the old dead United Nations found out long ago, religion always has more warriors than some vague international abstraction.”
Peter realized then that Alai was not speaking to him. He was speaking past him. This was not a private conversation after all.
“I do not intend to be disrespectful to the Caliph,” said Peter. “I have seen the majesty of your achievement and the generosity of spirit with which you have dealt with your enemies.”
Alai visibly relaxed. They were now playing the same game. Peter had finally understood the rules. “What is to be gained from humiliating those who believe they stand outside the power of God?” asked Alai. “God will show them his power in his own good time, and until then we are wise to be kind.”
Alai was speaking as the true believers around him required him to speak—always asserting the primacy of the Caliphate over all non-Muslim powers.
“The dangers I came to speak of,” said Peter, “will not ever come from me or because of the small influence I have in the world. Though I was not chosen by God, and there are few who listen to me, I also seek, as you seek, the peace and happiness of the children of God on Earth.”
Now was the time, if Alai was completely the captive of his supporters, for him to rant about how it was blasphemous for an infidel like Peter to invoke the name of God or pretend that there could be peace before all the world was under the rule of the Caliphate.
Instead Alai said, “I listen to all men, but obey only God.”
“There was a day when Islam was hated and feared throughout the world,” said Peter. “That era ended long ago, before either of us were born, but your enemies are reviving those old stories.”
“Those old lies, you mean,” said Alai.
“The fact that no man can make the Hajj in his own skin and live,” said Peter, “suggests that not all the stories are lies. In the name of Islam terrible weapons were acquired and in the name of Islam they were used to destroy the most sacred place on Earth.”
“It is not destroyed,” said Alai. “It is protected.”
“It’s so radioactive that nothing can live within a hundred kilometers,” said Peter. “And you know what the explosion did to Al-hajar Al-aswad.”
“The stone was not sacred in itself,” said Alai, “and Muslims never worshipped it. We only used it as a marker to remember the holy covenant between God and his true followers. Now its molecules are powdered and spread over the whole Earth, as a blessing to the righteous and a curse to the wicked, while we who follow Islam still remember where it was, and what it marked, and bow toward that place when we pray.”
It was a sermon he had surely said many times before.
“Muslims suffered more than anyone in those dark days,” said Peter. “But that is not what most people remember. They remember bombs that killed innocent women and children, and fanatical self-murderers who hated any freedom except the freedom to obey the very narrowest interpretation of Shari’ah.”
He could see Alai stiffen. “I make no judgment myself,” Peter immediately said. “I was not alive then. But in India and China and Thailand and Vietnam, there are people who fear that the soldiers of Islam did not come as liberators, but as conquerors. That they’ll be arrogant in victory. That the Caliphate will never allow freedom to the people who welcomed him and aided him in overcoming the Chinese conquerors.”
“We do not force Islam on any nation,” said Alai, “and those who claim otherwise are liars. We ask them only to open their doors to the teachers of Islam, so the people can choose.”
“Forgive my confusion, then,” said Peter. “The people of the world see that open door, and notice that no one passes through it except in one direction. Once a nation has chosen Islam, then the people are never allowed to choose anything else.”
“I hope I do not hear the echo of the Crusades in your voice.”
The Crusades, thought Peter, that old bugbear. So Alai really has joined himself to the rhetoric of fanaticism. “I only report to you what is being said among those who are seeking to ally against you in war,” said Peter. “That war is what I hope to avoid. What those old terrorists tried, and failed, to achieve—a worldwide war between Islam and everyone else—may now be almost upon us.”
“The people of God are not afraid of the outcome of such a war,” said Alai.
“It’s the process of the war that I hope to avoid,” said Peter. “Surely the Caliph also seeks to avoid needless bloodshed.”
“All who die are at the mercy of God,” said Alai. “Death is not the thing to fear most in life, since it comes to all.”
“If that’s how you feel about the carnage of war,” said Peter, “then I’ve wasted your time.” Peter leaned forward, preparing to rise to his feet.
Petra put her hand on his thigh, pressing down, urging him to remain seated. But Peter had had no intention of leaving.
“But,” said Alai.
Peter waited.
“But God desires the willing obedience of his children, not their terror.”
It was the statement Peter had been hoping for.
“Then the murders in India, the massacres—”
“There have been no massacres.”
“The
rumors
of massacre,” said Peter, “which seem to be supported by smuggled vids and eyewitness accounts and aerial photographs of the alleged killing fields—I am relieved that such things would not be the policy of the Caliphate.”
“If someone has slain innocents for no other crime than believing in the idols of Hinduism and Buddhism, then such a murderer would be no Muslim.”
“What the people of India wonder—”
“You do not speak for the people of any place except a small compound in Ribeirão Preto,” said Alai.
“What my informants in India tell me that the people of India wonder is whether the Caliph intends to repudiate and punish such murderers or merely pretend they didn’t happen? Because if they cannot trust the Caliph to control what is done in the name of Allah, then they will defend themselves.”
“By piling stones in the road?” asked Alai. “We are not the Chinese, to be frightened by stories of a ‘Great Wall of India.’”
“The Caliph now controls a population that has far more non-Muslims than Muslims,” said Peter.
“So far,” said Alai.
“The question is whether the proportion of Muslims will increase because of teaching, or because of the slaughter and oppression of unbelievers?”
For the first time, Alai turned his head, and then his body, to face them. But it was not Peter he looked at. He only had eyes for Petra.
“Don’t you know me?” he said to her.
Peter wisely did not answer. His words were doing their work, and now it was time for Petra to do what he had brought her to do.
“Yes,” she said.
“Then tell him,” said Alai.
“No,” she said.
Alai sat in wounded silence.
“Because I don’t know whether the voice I hear in this garden is the voice of Alai or the voice of the men who put him into office and control who may or may not speak to him.”
“It is the voice of the Caliph,” said Alai.
“I’ve read history,” said Petra, “and so have you. The Sultans and Caliphs were rarely anything but holy figureheads, when they allowed their servants to keep them within walls. Come out into the world, Alai, and see for yourself the bloody work that’s being done in your name.”
They heard footsteps, loud ones, many footsteps, and soldiers trotted out of concealment. Within moments, rough hands held Petra and were dragging her away. Peter did not raise a hand to interfere. He only faced Alai, staring at him, demanding silently that he show who ruled in his house.
“Stop,” said Alai. Not loudly, but clearly.
“No woman speaks to the Caliph like that!” shouted a man who was behind Peter. Peter did not turn. It was enough to know that the man had spoken in Common, not in Arabic, and that his accent bore the marks of a superb education.
“Let go of her,” Alai said to the soldiers, ignoring the man who had shouted.
There was no hesitation. The soldiers let go of Petra. At once she came back to Peter’s side and sat down. Peter also sat down. They were spectators now.
The man who had shouted, dressed in the flowing robes of an imitation sheik, strode up to Alai. “She uttered a
command
to the Caliph! A challenge! Her tongue must be cut out of her mouth.”
Alai remained seated. He said nothing.
The man turned to the soldiers. “Take her!” he said.
The soldiers began to move.
“Stop,” said Alai. Quietly but clearly.
The soldiers stopped. They looked miserable and confused.
“He doesn’t know what he’s saying,” the man said to the soldiers. “Take the girl and then we’ll discuss it later.”
“Do not move except at my command,” said Alai.
The soldiers did not move.
The man faced Alai again. “You’re making a mistake,” he said.
“The soldiers of the Caliph are witnesses,” said Alai. “The Caliph has been threatened. The Caliph’s orders have been countermanded. There is a man in this garden who thinks he has more power in Islam than the Caliph. So the words of this infidel girl are correct. The Caliph is a holy figurehead, who allows his servants to keep him within walls. The Caliph is a prisoner and others rule Islam in his name.”
Peter could see in the man’s face that he now realized that the Caliph was not just a boy who could be manipulated.
“Don’t go down this road,” he said.
“The soldiers of the Caliph are witnesses,” said Alai, “that this man has given a command to the Caliph. A challenge. But unlike the girl, this man has ordered armed soldiers, in the presence of the Caliph, to disobey the Caliph. The Caliph can
hear
any words without harm, but when soldiers are ordered to disobey him, it does not require an imam to explain that treason and blasphemy are present here.”
“If you move against me,” the man said, “then the others—”
“The soldiers of the Caliph are witnesses,” said Alai, “that this man is part of a conspiracy against the Caliph. There are ‘others.’”
One soldier came forward and laid a hand on the man’s arm.
He shook it off.
Alai smiled at the soldier.
The soldier took the man’s arm again, but not gently. Other soldiers stepped forward. One took the man’s other arm. The rest faced Alai, waiting for orders.
“We have seen today that one man of my council thinks he is the master of the Caliph. Therefore, any soldier of Islam who truly wishes to serve the Caliph will take every member of the council into custody and hold them in silence until the Caliph has decided which of them can be trusted and which must be discarded from the service of God. Move quickly, my friends, before the ones who are spying on this conversation have time to escape.”
The man wrenched one hand free and in a moment held a wicked-looking knife.
But Alai’s hand was already firmly gripping his wrist.
“My old friend,” said Alai, “I know that you were not raising that weapon against your Caliph. But suicide is a grave and terrible sin. I refuse to allow you to meet God with your own blood on your hands.” With a twist of his hand, Alai made the man groan with pain. The knife clattered on the flagstones.
“Soldiers,” said Alai. “Make me safe. Meanwhile, I will continue my conversation with these visitors, who are under the protection of my hospitality.”
Two soldiers dragged the prisoner away, while the others took off at a run.
“You have work to do,” said Peter.
“I’ve just done it,” said Alai. He turned to Petra. “Thank you for seeing what I needed.”
“Being a provocateur comes naturally to me,” she said.
“I hope we’ve been helpful.”
“Everything you said has been heard,” said Alai. “And I assure you that when it’s actually in my power to control the armies of Islam, they will behave as true Muslims, and not as barbarian conquerors. Meanwhile, however, I’m afraid that bloodshed is likely, and I believe you will be safest here with me in this garden for the next half hour or so.”