The Hakawati (91 page)

“How can you fight if you do not wish him harm?”

“I will speak to him,” said Ma
rouf. “Delay but for a minute, and I will ride to meet Taboush. I chose to disobey the sultan, not you.” And father and son met on the battlefield.

“This was a waste of time,” I said to my sister as she watched me pack.

“You’re so insensitive,” she replied.

“He couldn’t talk to me. Why did he want me here?”

“He’s upset and distraught. It’s only been eleven months. What did you expect?”

“A ‘good morning.’ ”

“Well,” Lina said, “the next time you’re here, he’ll be able to say good morning, and the visit after that, he might be able to form a full grammatical sentence.”

“I’m not coming back anytime soon.”

“Of course you are. Why do you keep lying to yourself? You’re coming back in two months, for a longer stay. Fatima will be here. He needs to go through this, and you have to be here to allow him to.”

“Does the sultan mock me by sending out an old man?” Taboush asked Ma
rouf.

“Look. Open your eyes, see with your heart. Before you stands your father.”

“You are the father of lies. My father is Kinyar. Draw your sword and fight.”

Ma
rouf sighed. “Do you believe cowardice could beget courage? Kinyar hides in his pavilion and risks your life. Shed my blood and you shed the blood of your father, and your grandfather, and your great-grandfather before him.”

Taboush raged and struck with his sword, but the old warrior was ever quick and parried with his sheathed sword. “Wait,” Ma
rouf said, holding out his palm. “If you are to fight, you must learn the skills. I face you because the sultan wished to send the Azeri. You are strong but inexperienced, not yet a match for the slave general. The first blow should never be predictable. How you open a fight is of utmost importance. It must surprise your enemy, frighten and worry him. Begin.”

Taboush stared at his father. He struck.

“No,” said Ma
rouf. “Still unsurprising. Try again. You rely much on your muscle.” And father began to teach son the art of survival. Both armies watched in amazement at the sight before them, lessons being taught and learned. Taboush landed a fierce blow across his father’s sword. “Much better,” said Ma
rouf, pulling himself off the ground and remounting his horse.

“You are fatigued,” said Taboush.

“And you are not yet ready for Aydmur. I will not have my son unprepared.”

“Stop,” Taboush commanded. “You are my father.”

Ma
rouf wept in joy at hearing his son’s words.

“Wait for me,” Taboush said. He went back to Kinyar’s army and stood face to face with his false father. “I am returning to my family,” the hero announced. “I will fight alongside my people. Go home, or be prepared to die at my hands. Pack your meager possessions and leave. You are not welcome on our lands.”

Taboush returned to his father and accompanied him back to a grateful Baybars.

Ma
rouf told the warrior Taboush about his mother. “She is a Genovese princess. Her father had her kidnapped and brought her back to that cursed city, where he holds her prisoner. She refused to be set free until the day I found you. I will sail today and bring her back.”

“You will not sail alone,” said the son, and the two heroes sailed to Genoa.

Taboush and Ma
rouf faced the king of Genoa in the royal hall. The king inquired who they were. “I am your son-in-law,” said Ma
rouf. “I intend to reclaim my wife.”