A Persian Tale. Kevin J Todeschi

ran forward and shouted greetings to the promised leader.

      Ravi sat proudly upon the back of a majestic white horse as he rode among the people. He looked from side to side at the faces of those who ran towards him, and recognized no one. His tender, blue-gray eyes were moist and filled with compassion; he smiled even though his heart ached with sadness for the father he might never see again. His forehead was high, his chin firm, and his nose strong and noble. There could be no doubt that Ravi descended from the house of Remai.

      Finally, Jenda could stand it no longer. He pushed through the crowd and ran forward to meet his brother. Ravi became aware of the young man immediately, for he had been taught to sense the thoughts of others by Esdena. He lowered his strong hand for the youth to grasp, “Come brother,” he said softly, lifting Jenda upon the steed to mount behind him, “we will ride to see our mother and old Remai together.”

      Jenda wrapped his arms around Ravi’s waist in affection and awe. The splendid warrior in front of him was his brother! He grew fascinated as the people pressed in to touch the man’s legs or waved a greeting of encouragement. Some of the older women patted Jenda proudly on his own leg while the white horse moved slowly toward the largest tent, for many people were in their path.

      Dozens cheered as Ravi and the boy dismounted and waited. Three men reached forward anxiously to grasp the bridle of the Egyptian stallion; none had ever seen a horse of such color and majesty. Sumi was the first to run from the tent, tears streaming down her face. She embraced the son who had been away longer than she had been allowed to care for him. After a moment, Oman stepped hesitantly forward, causing Sumi to weep at the sight of her three sons together, finally he raised his sword toward the brother he did not remember.

      “I pledge myself and my sword to be in your service.”

      Ravi nodded with appreciation just as Remai came out of his tent, being assisted by two counselors. In his arms he carried the blue robe of leadership. When the cheers subsided, Remai turned to the grandson he had long awaited.

      “My son, we welcome you home,” his words were soft and spoken with much difficulty. “Before you were even born, I heard your life pledged to these people. It is your duty to find them peace and prosperity, for I regret . . . ,” he coughed harshly before being able to continue, “ . . . it has eluded us.” He extended his arms and passed the robe to Ravi. “We place our destiny in your hands.”

      “I am ready,” Ravi said humbly.

      Remai’s knees grew weak and he motioned for the counselors to take him back into the tent. As Remai departed, an older man with gray hair and stark features moved closer. The older man stepped forward and Sumi presented him. Two young and attractive women followed him.

      “My son,” Sumi said assuredly, “this is your father.”

      Ravi simply nodded before embracing Joell on either side of his face. To be sure, Ravi neither remembered the man nor the scent of alcohol upon him. Joell said simply, “Welcome back to your people.”

      “These beautiful women,” Ravi said hurriedly, turning from his father much too swiftly, “must be my sisters.”

      It was Jenda who responded, grinning from ear to ear, “One is your sister, Ibsen,” he agreed, “ . . . and the other is Aithea, your wife.” Ravi simply nodded his surprise.

      That night, as the tribes celebrated throughout the encampment and the new leader dealt with the awkwardness of a betrothal he had not desired and a bride he did not want, old Remai passed silently into death. Sumi found him the next morning, lying peacefully on his cot, smiling—smiling as though he had seen something truly wonderful.

      “How might we defeat the tribes of Araby?” Croesus repeated.

      Bestreld with his ever-present smile glanced suspiciously around the enormous chamber, making certain no one was listening before he continued.

      “What are you looking for?” Croesus finally demanded with impatience, “We are alone!”

      “Never be too certain, my lord,” Bestreld replied cautiously, “for even within the palace you have enemies.”

      Croesus chuckled at the man’s continued foolishness, “Even my guards watch one another. We have nothing to fear.”

      “What of Myra?” his hushed voice caused the question to sound eerie.

      “My aunt? She is simply an old woman.”

      “She is a Parik . . . a witch!”

      “We have discussed this before,” Croesus grew agitated, “It is not Myra we need to concern ourselves with.”

      “Perhaps,” came the simple reply, for the exchequer knew not to provoke the emperor’s anger, “but there are many in Lydia who rumor of the woman’s power.”

      “They are fools!”

      “Indeed,” his response was sincere, “so let us put the question at rest, for a time.”

      “Shall we discuss what you have learned?” Croesus’s face began to grow red, “Or shall we see if the guard Endeseu might loosen your tongue?”

      “Very well,” Bestreld said calmly, “It will please you to learn that much has come to light, yet there is much more to consider.”

      “Proceed,” the emperor motioned with a wave of his hand.

      “Of greatest import is the emperor’s stance with his kingdom. Surely, it is no secret that many question your activities. A battle, as you have planned, with neither the people’s support nor their understanding, will only worsen the situation.”

      “Who are these adversaries?” Croesus’s neck bulged, becoming red as he clenched his fists.

      “Regrettably, they are too numerous to list or to deal with effectively without creating further complications. We must be shrewd in our activities. However, the emperor himself is well-acquainted with the most vocal of his opponents.”

      Only a moment passed before Croesus voiced the name: “Lila?”

      “Truly. Your daughter is least fearful when it comes to discussing her irritation with you. The others are, shall we say, perhaps more cautious with whom they speak of such things.”

      “I have grown weary of her,” the emperor spoke with indifference.

      “As have I,” Bestreld said callously, for on more than one occasion the woman had rebuked his advances, “and yet it would be ignorant of us not to take into account Lila’s popularity with the other women. We can do nothing to her without causing even greater problems for ourselves. The school trains women from some of the most powerful desert kingdoms. Anger the maidens and you will anger their families and even Lydia could not withstand a revolt of such magnitude.”

      “What do you suggest?”

      “There is but one further problem we need to consider, and that is the merchants who fill the square.”

      “Now what is their grumble?”

      “It is ever the same. They complain your duty-payment is unreasonable.”

      “What do we care of such complaints as long as they continue to pay?”

      “Has the emperor not considered what would happen should they move their activities elsewhere, say Baghdad or Ur?”

      “It is too far for them to travel!”

      “Never be so certain,” Bestreld said assuredly, “some might consider the savings worthwhile, and I needn’t remind you that much of the kingdom is held together by moneys—great sums of moneys.” He lowered his brow and looked directly at Croesus for emphasis, “If we continue to anger the tradesmen our revenues may suffer grievously.”

      Croesus’s breathing became harsh and in great frustration