This is a short story; a romance in part. It contains some adult themes and is not suitable for children. It tells of Su'en, ancestor of the Telmarine kings of Narnia.
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The Maiden Tribute of Tashbaan (1)
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The divine right of kings
Year 1220 (Narnian Reckoning)
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The first sign of the expected trouble came just after midday. The Royal Cupbearer and two officials entered the Ubrikzi district and began to make enquiries. The new Tisroc wasn't yet formally anointed but the anticipated edict had been issued: the 'Maiden Tribute' was due. A new monarch must have his harem; a seraglio of beautiful women. The divine right of kings (2) extended to rape, although one would never dare call it that. The Cupbearer was a eunuch (and so a victim of royalty) but had no compunction about his task. "Ah, you there, tell me about the women of this street," he commanded a café owner.
He was unfortunate in picking a brave man to address. "We know your errand, Authentez (3), and you're not welcome here." He spoke loudly and several other men began to gather about them.
"I am here on behalf of the new Tisroc – may he live forever – and any woman he selects is highly favoured indeed".
"That makes you nothing better than a pander (4); you should be ashamed!"
"If you will not help me then stand aside," the Cupbearer replied. "You are like the idle breeze: you trouble me not." The onlookers became angry and started to jostle the three officials. They were then beaten and had to flee for their lives. The actual riots began, as they always did, with youths throwing stones at the Watch after dark. The Yuzbhaz (5) in command lost an eye in the hail of missiles that rained down upon them. The youngsters, revelling in their success, burned down a tax-collection booth and danced around the flames.
The second night was still more violent. Hundreds of teenagers and young men held a troop of guards at bay and destroyed a row of shops in the mercantile district. The soldiers were unable to stop the looting and had to watch as rugs, spices and clothes were carried away. A young woman, (veiled and yet believed to be pretty) stood on an orange box and urged the men to defend their women. The crowd hailed her as El'n (meaning beautiful) and cheered her oratory. Encouraged, the mob surged forward and the guards had to abandon the district entirely.
The Urbrikzi was the name, back then, for the poor of the capital. It was a nomadic word meaning 'city-dweller'. They were a mixture of the unwanted, the unskilled, the unlucky, the sick and a criminal element. Many were descended from freed slaves and some secretly practiced the desert religions of their ancestors. The Observances Bureau, a fanatical government body responsible for religious administration, made examples of the latter periodically. Strangely, their sworn enemy wasn't normally the Government or the Guard (both regarded as legitimate annoyances) but it was the middle-classes. The Metropzi were what we might call the petit-bourgeoisie of shop keepers and clerks. A few weeks of bad luck might bring the one down to the level of the other: and the Metropzi feared it. They hated having to live beside those less well circumstanced than themselves. When the riots broke out over the 'Maiden Tribute' the Metropzi petitioned the government for decisive action.
By the fifth night, most of the menfolk of the Urbrikzi were on the streets. Some few women dared venture out and, for once, were not subject to the harassment common by dusk. "If you value your daughters, your sisters and your sweethearts," El'n urged "fight for them. They are not the playthings of a tyrant. The Tisroc is a man, just as you are. Are not all men and women born in the same way? Do they not all age and are they not made subject to death? Why does this man think that he is some God? He will not live forever, whatever his toadies may say."
Advancing towards the district was a platoon of guards lead by Albay Acim Asiz. The Albay (Colonel) had been given carte blanche to put down the riot any way he saw fit. "If the kennel (6) runs black with the filthy blood of the Urbrikzi it will be their fault," he told his Captain. Kapud Insaf Siz – who greatly admired his commander – agreed wholeheartedly.
"Guards! The guards are coming!" went up the shout. People hung out of their upper windows and relayed the message faster than the soldiers could march.
"This is it, brothers," cried El'n, "It's time to bloody the Tisroc's nose!"
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Never judge a book by its cover
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"Guards!" the people shouted, out in the street. This time though there was no opposition. Three days ago Acim Asiz had brutally smashed the resistance of the Urbrikzi. Much of the intervening time had been spent in mourning and burying the dead.
"Right, this one first" Kapud Siz said, indicating number 25 Drain Street. He pushed open the front door without a by-your-leave and ushered four troopers in. "You men: go next door," he ordered.
The house was mean because of poverty and didn't take long to search. The aggrieved and frightened family were given a cursory glance. "Nothing much to look at here, Kapud," said the sergeant with a shake of his head.
"Let's move on," said Siz. "We'll do number 23. I hope the drain is less pungent there!"
Meanwhile, at 7 Drain Street, some theatrical precautions were being double-checked. Su'en – the seventeen year old daughter of Yarim – gazed at her appearance in the shiny metal sheet that served her as a looking glass. Since the riot she'd cropped her hair haphazardly. Her neighbours might think she had lice so she'd stayed hidden in doors. She kept her face sooty and had drawn some vivid pustules on her cheeks. As the soldiers moved from house to house, Su'en began to clean out the hearth and soon looked thoroughly disreputable.
"Just you and your daughter is it?" the Kapud asked Yarim, having reached number 7.
"Yes, Authentez. She's a good girl and I'd be sorry to lose her but she might please the Tisroc (may he live forever)"
The Captain looked incredulously at Su'en. "She looks a perfect fright! She might scrub up a bit better but she's very spotty. What is it that ails her?"
"We don't know, Authentez. It makes her itch so. I think she's given it to me too," Yarim explained, beginning to lift his shirt and scratch.
"Ugh. Is it lice?"
Su'en, still affecting a look of dumb incomprehension, began to rub the back of her head. "I got lice General," she said happily. "Big 'uns".
"By Tash! The Tisroc would have me strung from the city walls if I turned up with that! You keep her old man. If I were you I'd have her dipped at the sheep gate, quick smart".
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A day at the races
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"What are we going to do?" Yarim asked, nervously.
"It may be alright now," said Su'en, more to cheer him up than out of any real hope.
"If they haven't found enough girls they'll be back prowling around. It will only take one of our neighbours to betray you," her father fretted. "They are still looking for…you know who, too."
"El'n?" said Su'en. She paced about the tiny room. "It's an open secret on this street that it was me. You're right; I can't stay here long."
"But where will you go? Should I go too?"
"When can I go?" the girl added. "The city gates are closely guarded lest any of the wanted get away. It would be easier for one to flee than two, anyway".
"We can try and smuggle you out, but where would you go?"
Su'en sucked in her bottom lip; her habit when thinking. "I don't know where, but I know how. The art isn't sneaking out; the trick is not to be let in! There is something you must buy me."
The Tashbaan races were always great spectacles and likely to end in skirmishes. The Court faction sponsored the 'Purples' who won many of the races (being able to afford the best bloodstock and finest jockeys). The Metropzi and the civil service mostly supported 'Silver' who managed to win a modest share of the contests. (7) For a state where gambling had been banned for centuries, a surprisingly large amount of money changed hands on race-days.
The Urbrikzi wholeheartedly supported the 'Yellow & Whites' – perennial losers. They trained where they could; generally in the sand and the scrub outside of the city walls. Periodically a champion would emerge, usually from the nomadic people of the desert, and sweep them to victory. Their racing colours were said to date back hundreds of years, from the time of the 'Sun and Moon' rebellion (8) that had threatened the capital itself. Certainly, some of the Urbrikzi were descended from those half remembered rebels. Whatever the outcome, the 'masses' (what a horrible word) enjoyed the race meetings. No work for the day, excitement and the prospect of disorder; how could they not?
The new Tisroc took his seat in the royal box and his sweating court was relieved to follow suit. The guards stood watch over the crowd. A warm day, even by Tashbaan standards, was likely to bring trouble. Few ever riot during winter. A third of the crowd was crammed into one fifth of the park. Vendors selling slices of melon or small, expensive bunches of grapes walked about shouting their wares. A guard was hit on the back of his head by an orange, to the amusement of the crowd. "Who threw that?" he challenged. "I did," shouted two hundred men. In the 'Women's Enclosure' were the more affluent of the Metropzi wives. Of course that sounds horribly sexist to our ears but I mustn't alter things to suit our own sensibilities. A roaring trade in iced sherbet and fruit cordials was done that warm day.
When the Tisroc rose to meet the crowd there was a mixture of enthusiastic applause and a few boos. "Cheer for the Tisroc – May he live forever – you scum," an angry Yuzbhaz screamed at his portion of the crowd.
"Hooray – scum - hooray – scum," went the chant from the back of the crowd.
"Stop that! Who's doing that? Sergeant, I want them here!"
"Come on Sergeant – try it – try it – try it – try it," mocked the unruly mob, clapping their hands.
The sergeant mopped the forehead that dripped beneath his turban. "There's going to be trouble tonight," he predicted.
The Sergeant was of course quite correct although he didn't know just how energised the Urbrikzi would be. A new jockey known as Khal Hal Hallim (9) (after his desert origins) came fifth for the 'Yellow and Whites' in the first race of the day. Independent jockeys took the first two places. A lot of money was wagered (quite unofficially) on the final race but few punted on the nomad.
"Yellow and White, Yellow and White," chanted the Urbrikzi as the flag dropped.
The horses tore down the track and Khal, on his horse Aztar, held a respectable third place. "Go on, you can do it," his supporters cheered him on. Then, in the final strait, Aztar began to nudge ahead of the second horse. "Come on," screamed his fans. With a last burst of speed, the nomad went into the lead and won the race by two lengths. The Urbrikzi went wild, for it was several years since they'd had a champion. A line of guards rushed forward to stop them surging out of their enclosure and onto the course. It didn't stop them trying and they had to be pushed back with spears held widthways as barriers.
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"The trick is not to be let in"
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Su'en didn't go home that night, or indeed ever again. Dressed modestly in a long grey robe above a pair of loose trousers, she had steadily simmered in her own perspiration all afternoon. She attended the races in a turban, with a grubby face and so passed as a youth. Over her shoulder was a small bag containing essential items. She could of course have stayed at home but trouble was likely to flare up at any time. Su'en couldn't risk being trapped within her own district. She'd taken the precaution of eating a considerable amount of garlic; so much that even the partial Urbrikzi would find her objectionable. She was mostly left well alone.
Her stomach churning with both nerves and garlic, Su'en made her way through the chattering throng. The mood amongst the 'lower orders' was elated and boisterous. One old chap bent down to pick up something and found himself leapfrogged by five ebullient youths. "Have some respect!" he yelled.
"Sorry grandfather," they replied, unrepentant.
"Yellow and White, Yellow and White" bellowed a group of labourers, hands in the air. "Down with the Metropzi!" shouted another man and the labourers took up the chant. Su'en walked on. It wasn't dusk yet so she couldn't attempt her plan for fear of being properly scrutinised. Besides, spirits were still high and things hadn't yet turned ugly. She would have to loiter about the city whilst trying not to attract the attention of the Guard.
"We hate the Metropzi, we hate the Metropzi," sang another group of men. They were more dangerous looking than the workmen. It was clear that they were looking for trouble. Further along the street were two guards who noticed them and disappeared for reinforcements. When the air has been brittle and tense it is sometimes a relief when the storm breaks. That is the feeling Su'en eagerly anticipated.
Back in her home district, the first race-goers were back and gathering in the streets. "Yellow and White," they sang, "Long live the Urbrikzi". Most of the women stayed in their homes and shuttered the windows. Children were put to bed early and complained about the noise outside. "I can't sleep," they cried bitterly. Unbeknownst to the residents, a detachment of guards was already heading their way. "Contain them – crush them if necessary" the Albay ordered.
"Hey, boy," said a man, reeling as he walked. Reluctantly Su'en waited for him, averting her face. He was clearly drunk and reeked of "Canban", the fiery spirit long since outlawed in the capital. "What about those accursed Silvers, hey?"
"We done 'em, didn't we," Su'en replied gruffly.
"We done 'em alright," agreed the drunk. "We done 'em! We hate Silver, we hate Silver," he sang and staggered away, his new acquaintance already forgotten. Su'en breathed a sigh of relief.
It was now dusk and there was commotion in several districts of the city. Distant shouts and screams indicated that riots were already underway. A series of bangs suggested that a building somewhere had toppled to the ground, probably in flames. The escapee saw several groups of soldiers jogging towards the trouble. Finally it was time to see if her plan would work. Before her was the Dung Gate.
The Dung Gate was the smallest and least pleasant of all the portals of the city wall. A steady stream of carts poured through it during the night hours carrying the contents of the kennels and privies of Tashbaan. A dark, stained path, usually slippery, led to the gate. Su'en stood in the shadows watching it, picking her moment to act. She'd already pulled a hood from her bag and a bell wrapped in cloth stifling it. She rearranged the contents of her bag and then bided her time.
Several full carts exited the city and several empty ones returned but they all came separately. There was no moment for possible confusion at the gate. The guard had at least been reduced as troops were needed elsewhere. Just two men stood on duty. After nearly half an hour, Su'en realised that her moment had come. Three empty carts returned together, their drivers chatting as their horses dawdled. The soldiers gossiped with the men about the races and the troubles. Su'en didn't have to get out through the gate: she just had to reach the inner wall on the blind side next to the horses. She crossed the street to the wall and jogged along its length, carefully clutching her bell.
"It'll be an easy night's work anyway…" said one driver in reply to a guard.
"…with half the city out of bounds," the soldier finished the sentence. He'd already had the same conversation a handful of times.
Su'en stepped forward slowly and unselfconsciously, ringing the bell. "What's that?" asked the second guard.
"Hey you! Where did you come from?"
Su'en turned towards the men but didn't look at them, staring down at the ground through the slit in her hood. She continued to ring her bell. "What do you think you're doing sneaking in here?" the men asked.
"By Tash! Don't go near her!" exclaimed a driver.
"What do you m…She's a leper! You can't come in here!" screamed a guard as he suddenly realised the meaning of the bell. (10)
"Ugh; don't come near me! Get out! Do you understand me? You can't come into the city with leprosy!"
"Sneaking in here, bringing with you all sorts of disease," complained the older guard. He gestured with his spear. "Go on and get out! You know that you have to stay in the countryside". Head hung, without saying a word, Su'en turned towards the gate and ambled through it, chiming her bell.
"That's it, my friend," said the younger solider, encouraging her. "It's much healthier for you out there with all that fresh air. May Tash be with you! Hurry up though!"
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The Sea People
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Su'en walked for much of the night and slept in the shade during the hours of day. Her few rations and her water bottle were already running low. She had many miles to go yet. Not long after dusk, she came across a well and was thankful to find it full and maintained. She drank long from the bucket and filled her flask. She was busily washing her head and hands when she was startled to find a small company of men regarding her. She'd been so absorbed with the refreshing feel of the water that she'd not heard them on the sandy path. A string of donkeys, loaded with goods, were led by two Calormene drivers and a foreign overseer. In charge were two men, well dressed but also in foreign garb. The older man was black and handsome. The younger man was less dark and also – she noted - handsome. He smiled and said, "I see that you are a maiden in a very poor disguise! Tell me: are you an assassin of the T'lill Sisterhood?" (11)
"Hardly!"
"Truly, you would adorn the Peacock Throne of the Sunset King." (12)
"You are quite absurd, Authentez," Su'en said with an involuntary laugh.
"Here, you must hold this for the moment," said the foreigner, handing her a dagger from his belt. "There; I know that Calormene ladies must never be alone with strange men. You have my permission to stab me if you feel at all uncomfortable."
"Are you, then, strange?"
"That is for you to judge," he replied. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Miraz y Spanol and this gloomy fellow is Samir y Barbar. He is irredeemably married whereas I am – as yet – a free man."
"That can be of no interest to me, Authentez," Su'en told him, primly.
"Ah! You might as well have plunged that dagger into my heart. You must at least dine with us now in recompense." Although it was very much against her upbringing, hunger won out and she joined the company for supper. They were waited on by a tall, fair man – another Telmarine yet as unlike his masters as could be. "Oh, Thomas y Bristolle is Telmarine through and through; even if he does look like one of the northern barbarians," Samir explained. In Calormen, the people of Telmar were still sometimes called by their ancient name 'the Sea People'.
Su'en learned that the two men were of the 'Merchant Venturers Guild' that thrived in Telmar. "They frown upon people being pirates these days," Samir said with a grin. "This is the nearest we can get".
"Mm, you should have met my grandfather," Miraz told Su'en. "Now he was an out and out pirate; the last of the Telmarine buccaneers in fact. He single-handedly tried to revive an old tradition. Nothing was ever proved against the old rascal in law though."
"Legend has it that his ship was so full of arrow holes it looked more like a sponge."
"So they claim," Miraz said, applying the heel of his bread to his bowl. "That was very nice; Thomas; maybe a little more paprika next time," he suggested. "Where was I? Oh yes, the old man was a terrible fellow: a pity that I never knew him."
Eventually Su'en was persuaded to tell them where she was headed. "Some uncle you barely remember," Miraz objected, "and an old clutch-purse to boot."
"I said he is known for being careful!"
"You will be a drudge," Samir warned, "higher than a servant – but not paid – and much less than a daughter".
"To suffer the spite of your unmarried cousins," Miraz said, shaking his head. "No man will look at them when you are in the house. No, it won't do at all."
They were actually voicing the very same doubts that had been troubling Su'en too. "You are quite wrong; well partly. What do you suggest?"
"We have a ship; the Intruso. It is better made than any of your Calormene tubs and doesn't require the sweat and blood of broken men to power it. The wind carries us, free, across the main to the sound of the gulls and the dancing of the shoals. Men and women in Telmar live according to their conscience and aren't oppressed by a religious dogma designed to punish rather than to love. Come and see for yourself."
"You are very fluent, Authentez," Su'en interjected. "You paint a pretty picture but how can I go to a foreign land without knowing anybody?"
"Yet you would go to your Uncle and cousins, whom you hardly know? You might spend the rest of your life doing unpaid service in a village in the middle of nowhere. Is that what you want?"
"At least I wouldn't have to beg on the streets!"
"Let me make you an offer," said Miraz. "I have an Aunt, an ageing lady of some quality. She needs a companion. She has a fine house in Colonia; it is on a hill just outside town (13). There are orchards, an ornamental pond and a fine rose garden. It sounds pretty, yes? I can take you there. If you do not like her, I can arrange passage elsewhere or pay you a fee in lieu."
Samir nodded approvingly. "It is a good plan. She is a decent woman; I think you would like her."
"Are you sure she needs a companion?" Su'en asked, tempted. She couldn't help but find Samir trustworthy. She liked Miraz too (perhaps differently) but he was more flippant and she was unaccustomed to such levity.
"My cousin will be married soon; she will leave my Aunt. You would deal well together, I believe".
Miraz smiled at her.
"You will not lack at least one friend, I think," said Samir, with an ingenuous look about him.
Su'en blushed.
"So, do we have a deal?" Miraz asked. He held out his hand.
Su'en hesitated then placed her hand in his. "We have a deal," she agreed.
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THE END
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Notes:-
1 Maiden Tribute: The Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon was a controversial series of articles appearing in the Pall Mall Gazette in July 1885 about child prostitution in London.
2 Divine Right of Kings: In European history, a doctrine defending monarchical absolutism
3 Authentez: similar to Turkish 'effendi' meaning Sir/Master
4 A Pander: a procurer of women for immoral purposes
5 Yuzbhaz: lieutenant
6 Kennel: (archaic) open drain, sewer, gutter
7 Races: chariot races in the Byzantine Empire saw scenes of riot similar to modern football hooliganism
8 Sun & Moon Rebellion: please see my short story 'A Tisroc for Calormen'
9 Hal Hallim: a desert region of Calormen; please see my short story 'The First Temple of Tash'
10 Leprosy: much feared in the ancient and medieval world, a chronic, infectious disease now curable with multidrug therapy
11 T'lill Sisterhood: an ancient group of female assassins (long since eliminated)
12 Peacock Throne of the Sunset King: Miraz here mentions a Calormene fairy tale that he had heard somewhere
13 Colonia: On the site of the original Calormene settlement, long since destroyed, of similar name. For more info please see my short story 'New Calormen – the ancient history of Telmar'