Kings and Pawns of Flesh and Bone

Chapter 3 - Zahra

Ghazi sulked  on the edge of his bed, gazing out the window with his knees tucked tightly against his chest. A good sob would have lifted the weight from Ghazi's thin shoulders, but he refused to give the world that satisfaction. However difficult, Ghazi chose to hold back his tears, allowing the weight of his misery to anchor him to his bed, while his eyes aimlessly soaked in the palace courtyard's palm trees and grapevines. Ghazi was well on his way to drowning in self-pity until his thoughts were interrupted by the creak of the enormous wooden door.

"My prince. May I enter?" said Nawfel.

Ghazi wiped his eyes with his blanket. "Do you have an appointment? As you are aware, I have so many visitors here in Damascus." Nawfel took his sarcasm as an invitation to proceed into the room. 

Nawfel was a large, usually pale man with deep set eyes and no clear ethnic origin. Some days, Ghazi was certain Nawfel was a roman, perhaps the descendant of a prisoner of war. After the summer sun would bake him olive, Ghazi would disavow his previously held certainty with a new certainty, Nawfel's Arab ancestry. And so it went. Rus, Berber, Indian, Kurd, anything. Ghazi was clueless, and Nawfel would never tell.

Nawfel's father had been a slave of Ghazi's grandfather. When Nawfel was freed by Marwan, he chose to stay with Marwan as a mawla, a freed slave working in the service of his former master. Being so close to the corridors of power allowed for many of these mawla to pursue political ambitions. Nawfel had the cunning, whit, and poise to be a shrewd diplomat. Perhaps even a wazir. He lacked only one thing, an iota of interest in power and publicity. He offered Marwan one of the few things money cannot buy, honest friendship. He helped Marwan manage his household affairs, grooming and guiding his son into adulthood, ensuring the success of the next generation of Marwanads. He had been with Ghazi since the prince's birth, and was as much a part of Marwan's household as Ghazi himself.

"I see our young prince has gotten himself into some trouble." Nawfel's tone was more inquisitive than it was accusatory. Ghazi continued to stare out the window, unresponsive. Nawfel moved towards the end of the bed and sat in a way that left him and Ghazi back to back.

Ghazi respected his father from a distance, the way a peasant shows respect to a visiting king. Nawfel, on the other hand, he loved. Some of Marwan's other servants let their fear of the heir-apparent control them, turning them into obsequious yes-men. Nawfel was different. He was secure and confident, and willing to let both Marwan and Ghazi know how he felt.

"My ears are at your service, my prince".

"Your ears can take the day off, I'm not in the mood."

Nawfel took a deep breath and stayed in his place. The two sat, embracing the silence as a welcome guest. The sun's gradual descent placed its light directly into the room, shining on Ghazi's face. He heaved a sigh and broke the silence.

"It isn't what it sounds like."

"What isn't what it sounds like, my prince?"

"The slaves. I didn't steal them."

Nawfel reached for Ghazi's hand which fit like a coin in his palm. "Continue, my prince."

Ghazi took another deep breath, quivering as he began to speak. "I don't know this city, and it doesn't know me. So I took the afternoon to wonder the streets." The words poured out of him now, like stormwater over levees. "Yes yes, I know, I shouldn't have been alone. Let me finish. It was exciting, being a normal person for once. No one knowing who I am. What I am. Anyways, I really was not looking to get in trouble. I can feel you staring at me Nawfel. Stop that, I'm serious! Let me finish... I stumbled into the slave market. I wasn't looking for it. They had them on a platform, trading them like trinkets. They –"