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in question, dismissing the slave with a wave of his hand.
    “The reply you made to the English earl some weeks ago, highness, the Earl of Clare.”
    “The missing ships. I told him that I knew nothing of it, Hassan, as you know. You have since discovered something?”
    “Yes, highness. One of our captains, Bajor, was responsible.”
    “We have broken tribute,” Kamal said after a moment, his voice blank with disbelief.
    “Bajor claimed, highness, that your seal was on the order he received to destroy the ships.”
    “The man lies,” Kamal said flatly. “Only you and I use the seal.”
    “There is another, highness, if you will recall.”
    Kamal could only gaze, appalled, at his minister. When he had gathered his thoughts, he said in a calm voice, “Please have Raj inform my mother that I will dine with her this evening in her chambers.”
    “As you wish, highness,” Hassan Aga said.
     
    Kamal left the hall and walked thoughtfully through the ornate passages and chambers that led to his suite of rooms in the west wing of his palace. The two spacious chambers had belonged to Hamil, and Kamal had not disturbed the memories of his half-brother. Precious tapestries from Egypt, spun in brilliant colors, fell from ceiling to floor on the whitewashed walls. The floors were covered with Persian carpets, each woven with swirls of blue, gold, and crimson. Low sandalwood tables, inlaid with ivory, elegant and simple, were surrounded by thick embroidered cushions. A long, narrow sofa stood along one wall, one of Kamal’s few concessions to his own comfort.
    He shrugged out of his clothes as he walked into his bedchamber and tossed them into the waiting hands of his personal slave, Ali. He was a slender, black-eyed boy of seventeen whose origins were Moorish. Kamal had seen him in the slave market some five months before, and knew that the boy would likely be castrated by his new owner. There was such hopeless terror on the boy’s face that Kamal could not help himself. Aliwas fanatically loyal, and his whimsical personality usually brought a smile to Kamal’s face.
    “It is warm,” Kamal said to Ali. “I hope the water is cool.” He walked naked from his bedchamber to his bath. Its walls and floors were set with hand-painted mosaic tiles, each tile depicting individual scenes, some of battles, some of splendid banquets, and a few of men with their female slaves. The bath was a sunken pool, some three feet deep and eight feet wide, set between marble tables covered with white linen cloths. Kamal stood quietly as Ali soaped his body and rinsed him with warm water from a painted urn. He slid into the cool pool and let the clear water close over his head, until he felt the tension in his body begin to ease. He thought lazily that the Europeans could benefit from this Muslim custom of the daily bath.
    After a relaxing fifteen minutes, Kamal stepped out of the pool. He allowed Ali to shave his jaws smooth, then stretched on his stomach on one of the marble tables.
    “When do you go out with the rais, master?” Ali asked him as he massaged warm, scented oil into his back.
    “You think I grow too soft as Bey, Ali? You want me to brandish my scimitar and capture infidel ships?”
    “No, highness, you are not soft,” Ali said honestly, glancing at his master’s lean, fine-honed body. “I only fear that you will grow bored, and relieve your boredom by beating me.”
    “I will give you warning, Ali,” Kamal retorted.
    As he massaged Kamal’s broad back, Ali kept up his usual stream of chatter. “There is a representative from the Sudan come to see you before your evening meal,highness. I hear that he brings a girl for you, a virgin of great beauty captured near Alexandria, a gift from his master. Perhaps you will find her more to your liking than Elena.”
    There was a hint of contempt in Ali’s voice when he spoke Elena’s name, but Kamal chose to ignore it. He stretched and turned over on his back. “Just how do