Kingdom of Qays

03| chapter three

QAYSI COURT OF AFFAIRS

the wise man is one
who knows what
he does not
know

          — proverb

    "WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS, YA RAJUL"

    The gruff timbre of his father's voice caused Hussam to sit bolt straight. His nerves frayed at the reprimand as he ran a hand through his beard, drawing attention to the small scars on the bottom of his left cheek. He wore a black thobe with an embroidered front panel; the sleeves rolled to his muscled forearms, and a ghutra wraps his head. His feet are bare of the traditional sandals.

    Hussam had been sitting silently for the past hour. Looking around the majlis, he notes not a single tribesman absent. Countless pair of eyes hone in on him, awaiting a response, and he suddenly feels suffocated—so much so he wished to fade amid the sea of dignitaries.

    Fortunately, it seemed his reputation preceded him. The men knew better than to stare too long, for nothing but death lurked in his inky orbs. His face remains a stoic mask that gives nothing away, yet a storm brews within his chest. 

    Hussam did not need to see his father's displeasure; He could sense dark eyes piercing over his skin like a sharp knife. His head lifts. The trials of youth had blessed Sheikh Ma'ruf Al Qays as he lived well into his old age. His eyes were soulful coals that reflected the graying beard kissing his collarbone. The map of wrinkles adorning his earthen face spoke a tale of triumph, defeat, and greater wisdom. A man to admire—the only man, after Abbas, in whose presence Hussam was unnerved.

    Nevertheless, he holds his gaze as he speaks, "You have killed a man of influence. A man whom we traded much with to ensure profit and peace between our tribes." Hussam was not oblivious to this fact, but he understood his father was merely making a point. Sheikh Ma'ruf peruses the room full of tribes hailing from various regions. The neighboring caliphate of Al-Khaldun, and the tribes of As-Sattar and Sulaym, who bordered the east, were all under the control of Al Qays. "As it stands, for many men, it seems we have now wagered both."

"We honor our treaties, Ya walad al-Halal," Abu Nawaf, the Khalduni consul, interjects. He is an aged man, not much older than his father, who managed foreign affairs. "We respect the boundaries set in place to bind us, and you have broken that trust."

"You forget, Ya sheikh, our concord weakened after Abbas's murder," Uthman, Hussam's uncle defends.

More men continued to voice their concerns, and for a while, Hussam silently forced himself to battle them alone. He'd possessed enough class to know when not to open his tongue to retort, and thus he remained silent. He endured their views even as few elders bold enough to deface his character did so before his presence. The war of words only escalates as Hussam shares a fleeting glance with his siblings. Bakr and Majid sat to the right and left of their uncles, Ghassan and Uthman. Both uncles who are also advisors sit opposite each other, flanking their brother.

Sheikh Ma'ruf's voice is stern yet even when it shatters through the roar of men. "You have caused a great offense, and no misdeed goes unpunished," He quieted for a second as if an iron rod of guilt pressed on his heart and forced him to utter, "even for a man of your status."

Only cowards fear consequence. The words of Abbas strike Hussam mute as he regains his bearings. He responds, "Very well. What would you have me do?"