Outer Barbarians
化外人
Admiral Feng Aosiman ben Ali massaged the sore skin of his left thigh and squinted past the heaving shoulders of the rowers, past the piles of supplies and trade items, past the prow of the boat to the dry and rugged hills of Al Andalus.
“And if this is not Iberia or North Africa?” Ulama Yuen Zaide ben Jiafa said from his seat beside the admiral. “If our charts are right and we haven’t travelled far enough west and this land is another God forsaken lump of sand like all the other islands we’ve discovered?”
“It must be a very large island,” said Feng, rather than shoving the whining holy man overboard. “We could see no end to it either to north or south of our position.”
Ulama Yuen’s long face grew longer. “That only means it will be more trouble to circumnavigate. And you do not need me to tell you we might not have that capacity.”
“You’re right,” said Feng, “you don’t.” The Hajj Fleet had shrunk to a mere three ships, surrounded by a swarm of little outrigger canoes manned by the bravest and craziest seamen God has seen fit to create. With their current supplies and if the wind held, the might possibly make it back to Kiribati alive.
“We can at least resupply,” he said. “How can you doubt, now land is in sight?” Albeit brown, dry unwelcoming land.
“A new island only postpones the question, Admiral,” the Ulama said. “The time has come to consider whether we are to be failures or martyrs.”
“The Holy Koran says we must make the Hajj.”
“If possible. It says if possible. Surely we do not all need to die on this venture.” Yuen tried an unconvincing smile. His teeth had not braved the sea voyage well. “God knows your devotion, admiral.”
“Perhaps,” said Feng, “but the Imam-Empeor does not.”
Silence, then, but for the crying of the gulls and the glop of water over oars until sand scraped along the belly of the boat. The oarsmen gave one more heave and brought them aground.
Admiral Feng allowed the men to unload their belongings and form a palanquin of their arms to lift him onto the ground. He barely even grimaced as one of the Malay sailors strapped the peg onto his left knee. It was a big enough affront to propriety that the admiral demanded to come ashore with the fist scouts. Best not to antagonize the men any further.
Sand crunched under his boot and peg as Feng turned to observe the alien coast.
“This will do,” he said at last. “All right Syed, Awang, you go up those hills to the north. Khan, Lek you to the South. Find us some water. The rest of you gather wood for a fire.” Admiral Feng scanned the horizon again, “let’s see if we can attract some natives.”
“Praise God for this landfall,” Ulama Yuen followed close on Feng’s heels as if worried the admiral might escape into the scrub.
There was little chance of that. Feng hadn’t seen so inhospitable a land since the Great Southern Island. Gulls wheeled and screeched overhead and dust colored lizards scuttled over the rocks. The sun was no kinder here than at sea and the dry hot wind clawed at Feng’s eyes and nose as if hungry for his wet blood.
“Why do we even bother exploring,” said Ulama Yuen sourly, “if our homeland is so clearly superior to anywhere we might sail?”
“For the sake of the Hajj, which is a pillar of Islam and the will of God,” said Feng, “perhaps?”
“Perhaps,” answered Yuen, “and the next time I have something to instruct you about tying knots or using a compass, I will precede to tell you how to do your job, too.”
Feng bowed. “Forgive my idle tongue, your honor.”
“Company,” shouted Nuk, the Thai scout, and Feng turned to see five men stride out of the bush.
Tall and thin, dressed in voluminous robes that left their legs bare, the natives moved with the confidence of lords but the speed of soldiers.
“Ah, more barbaric chieftains,” said Ulama Yuen, “look at the feathers that one has in his headband.”
“You should concern yourself more with the weapons,” said Feng.
Each man carried a spear or bow and the one with the feathered headdress carried a club or sword, studded with wicked-looking shards of obsidian. “Men, ready your muskets, but touch no other weapons.” On most of the islands they’d visited, the natives had no notion of firearms. ” Teinamati, address them.”
The Kiribatan man waved and shouted greetings in several island dialects, but the natives did not respond.
“Not Mauri men, admiral,” Teinamati said. “The face, the clothes also. Too too different.”
“Different, indeed,” said Yuen as the rest of their party tried to address the natives in Arabic, Yirrkala, Makassarese, Malay, Thai, Hindi, and even, in desperation, Kiswahili. “They not as dark as the Great Southern Islanders or Africans, but not quite Polynesian either. Do you think they might be Turks?”
“Turks would know at least some Arabic,” said Feng. “These people must be Christians. Franks, I believe they’re called.”
“Do we have anyone who speaks Frankish?”
“No,” said Feng, “but it isn’t as if we haven’t made first contact before. Wang, get the trade items.”
The Franks, or whatever they were, nodded and smiled at the silk and mirrors, although the incense, glass beads, and Holy Koran did not seem to impress them much.
“More,” said captain Wang, “pointing at the ships at anchor. We have more treasure. But you must give us.” He made the appropriate motions. “Your treasure. Water, yes. Food, yes.”
The Frankish leader seemed to consider the offer. He spoke briefly, indicating something to the west.
“Perhaps that is the direction of their village,” said captain Wang, “we can resupply there.”
“Resupply we must,” Ulama Yuen stroked his mustaches, “but let us not forget our holy mission. Infidel Franks these might be, but they must know of the holy city of Mecca. Ask them of it.”
“Um.” The captain paused. “Where’s Mecca? He pointed west and held up his hands in a questioning gesture.”
The Franks only stared at them. The one with the feathers said something interrogative.
“Mecca,” said Wang, “You know… lā ʾilāha ʾil ʾāllāh, muḥammadun rasūlu-llāh wa alimamyyun walīyyu-llāh.” He salaamed in the general direction everyone assumed the holy city must be.
The Franks reacted with surprise and delight. Admiral Feng noticed that the leader’s front teeth were inset with jade beads.
“Quemah, quemah! Mekka, Mekka,” the native cheiftain said and salaamed to the west. “Tlatoani,” he pointed inland. “Tenochtitlan!”
