Mullah Khaled strode through the camp, wondering why Salahhuddin had called him at this time of the night. It was twilight, and the hustle and bustle of soldiers rushing about their business had died down as they prepared to retire for the night. The mullah himself had been getting ready to rest when the Sutlan's summons had arrived.

Khaled stopped at the entrance of Salahhuddin's tent, where two soldiers stood guard. "Tell the Sultan that I have arrived," he commanded, and one of the men ducked into the tent, announcing the mullah's arrival.
"Enter." Salahhuddin's voice was strong enough that Khaled did not need the returning soldier to nod in affirmation.

Entering the tent, the young man paused. Despite it being the resting place of the Sultan, it was simply furnished - a plain carpet spread over the ground, a prayer mat neatly spread out in one corner, a low sofa, and in the back, partly hidden in shadow, was what seemed to be a bed. The only item of value and beauty was the large silver lamp which illuminated the tent, throwing dancing rays of light through the delicate latticework behind which the flame flickered and swayed liked a seductive bellydancer.

Sultan Salahhuddin himself was seated upon the sofa, reclining slightly. The older man was dressed in a simple robe, his kingly garments and glittering armour set aside for the evening. His face, framed by wavy locks of hair streaked with grey but not yet entirely white, seemed careworn, but there was a strength behind the weariness, most evident in the king's flashing dark eyes, that reassured the mullah, who moved forward and knelt to grasp the Sultan's hand.

"As-salaamu 'alaikum wa rahmatullaahi wa barakaatu," Salahhuddin greeted Mullah Khaled. "How are you this evening?"
"By the grace of God, I feel well," the mullah responded. "What matter of yours required my presence?"
Salahhuddin smiled. "You never fail to get to the bottom of the matter," he said dryly. "But come, sit. Will you have refreshments?" He indicated a tray of sweets and a slender pitcher, from which issued the aromatic steam of Shai, the sweet Arabic tea that the Sultan favoured.

Khaled declined. "Very well," said the Sultan, "Then hear and attend me." He paused for a moment, his dark eyes thoughtful as he surveyed the young man before him. "Mullah Khaled, you know that you are one of my most trusted advisors. Hot-headed, admittedly, and you have a tendency to contradict me, but that is to be expected from one such as you, and as a general rule you do a commendable job. Yet I have not yet rewarded you for your loyalty."

Khaled frowned. What was the Sultan getting at?

"Therefore I have thought long and hard," Salahhuddin continued, "and I believe I have reached a decision. You shall have in marriage my youngest daughter. Zainab." He fell silent, keenly observing the mullah's reaction.
Khaled stared at the Sultan, stunned. "Marriage?" he finally managed to choke out. "To... Zainab?"
The corners of Salahhuddin's mouth twitched, but he managed to keep a relatively straight face. "Indeed. It is, I believe, an excellent arrangement. Zainab is the only one of my daughters unmarried; you, too, are unmarried. Furthermore, you share a keen interest in politics and religion. Both of you are hot-headed and a little too strong-willed. And unlike as in many marriage arrangements, the two of you are already acquainted, so there will be less need for the various formalities. This marriage will, I think, be beneficial to you both."

Khaled felt as though his jaw was going to drop, but he clenched his teeth. Was the Sultan getting senile in his old age? The Mullah and the princess clashed on almost every subject ever brought up in Council meetings, much to the exhasperation of the other members of the Shura.
Salahhuddin's next words broke through the Mullah's stream of thought. "I am weary now," said the king, shifting on the low sofa he was seated on, "So we will discuss the details at another time, insha'Allah." Salahhuddin closed his eyes, then opened them again and nodded a dismissal at Mullah Khaled. "Was-salaamu 'alaikum wa rahmatullaahi wa barakaatu."

In a daze, the mullah rose and walked out of the tent into the cool evening air. Unseeing, as though in a trance, he slowly made his way back to his own tent, with the thought, "I'mgoingtomarrytheSultan'sdaughter, I'mgoingtobeMARRYINGHER!" repeating over and over in his head. Entering the tent, he collapsed onto a pile of cushions, startling the man who was oiling his scabbard. Tall, lean and with an air of quiet amusement about him, Nasser was one of the great commanders of Salahhuddin's legendary army - and Mullah Khaled's closest friend.

Now, he set aside his scabbard and peered at his friend. "What is wrong?" he asked, concerned. "Is something wrong with our master?" "I'mgoingtobemarryingtheSultan'sdaughter, I'mgoingtobeMARRYINGHER!" The words came spilling out of the Mullah's mouth unbidden.

"What?"

Khaled nodded silently. "You're telling me that our master Salahhuddin has decided to marry you to his daughter?"

Khaled nodded again.

"Which one?"

The mullah glared at his friend. "Who do you think?" he snapped.

Understanding dawned on Nasser's face. "Ah..." he said slowly. "So it is Zainab."

"Who else?" Khaled raked a hand through his curls, agitated. "He said that he wanted to reward me for my services," he explained. "And so... I am to marry her." He grimaced. "Some reward"

"Come now," said Nasser diplomatically. "She isn't that bad. She is intelligent, eloquent, knowledgeable of the Qur'an. Much like you, actually," he said, raising his eyebrows at the Mullah.

"She is a disgrace!" Khaled exclaimed. "What kind of woman sits amongst men, as though she is one of them? It is breaking with tradition! Women have their place, and it is not in the stateroom! It is utterly disrespectful and... and... it's just wrong!" he concluded angrily, raking his hand through his hair.

"I see nothing wrong with it," Nasser said mildly. "Yes, it is against tradition... but sometimes it is good to break tradition, no? If the Sultan sees it fit to permit his daughter to attend, then it is up to him, is it not? Besides, it is not as though she acts immorally in any way. She is fully veiled, and abides by the law."

The Mullah glared at him. "Even so!" he insisted. "It is not right"

"Nothing except tradition says so," Nasser said calmly. "You are the mullah; tell me where Islam says that a woman may not participate in activities of state."

Khaled looked as though he was going to have a fit. "Gah!" he burst out angrily. "This will never work! I have to tell Salahhuddin to call it off!"

Nasser shook his head. "That's not a very good idea," he said. "Think about it - our master Salahhuddin never gives gifts freely. You have to truly earn his esteem. And for him to be giving you his daughter in marriage? Khaled, that is truly saying something."

The mullah stared at his friend. He hadn't thought about it like that. And his brain finally started absorbing the reality of the situation, he realized with dismay that what Nasser said was true. There was no way that he could tell Salahhuddin to retract the offer. He was going to be marrying her... Zainab... and there was no way out of it.

Mullah Khaled groaned and buried his heads into his hands.