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from it, too, and seemed suitably appreciative, though Roland had not known him to be fond of fruit or sweetness. Wine he enjoyed in moderation, but even that little was forbidden to a Muslim.
    Roland effaced himself as was fitting, withdrew to a patch of shadow and stood still. The king would not say what he had come to say, not for a while. There were compliments to exchange, trivialities to consider at considerable length. The exigencies of the journey, the dampness of the weather, the pleasant situation of this new royal city, came under minute scrutiny.
    At last and roundabout, they came to it. Charles left off pretending to sip at his third cup of sherbet. Al-Arabi nibbled a bit of confection, set down the rest. Charles said, “Tell me what brings a Muslim of such eminence to the court of the infidel.”
    Al-Arabi answered with brevity startling in a man whose public phrases tended to be both lengthy and convoluted. “Rebellion. Insurrection.”
    â€œThe upstart Caliph in Cordoba?”
    Al-Arabi inclined his head. “Indeed. Just so.”
    â€œAnd you want my help.”
    â€œBaghdad is far away,” said Al-Arabi. “The Caliph, may Allah bless his name, has wars nearer home, and a great realm that needs ruling. Francia is strong and its armies are numerous. And its king, as the Protector of the Faithful has taken care to remind me, has been for some time a friend and royal brother to my lord in Baghdad.”
    â€œWe do find one another congenial,” Charles said, “though there are some among my people who would object to that.”
    Al-Arabi flicked his hand, dismissing the thought. “Certainly they may protest, but the decision is yours to make. Are you not the king?”
    â€œKing of the Franks,” Charles said a little too gently. “I rule by the will of the people. If they forbid this thing, I can’t legally do it.”
    â€œWill they forbid it,” asked Al-Arabi, “if you offer them the opportunity to advance on our lands as our armies once did on yours?”
    Charles’ brows rose.
    â€œNot,” said Al-Arabi, “that we will ever permit you toconquer us, but your aid of our Caliph against the rebel could be seen as a blow for Christianity against the infidel.”
    â€œThat is subtle,” Charles said, “but dangerous. For you if we succeed too well. For me if my people discover the lie.”
    â€œWhat lie is there? A Christian king marches into a Muslim country to put down an insurrection. The Caliph’s loyal servants invite him; he comes on a mission sanctioned by both his God and Allah. If your more simple people need to be told only of God’s will, not of Allah’s—is there harm in that?”
    â€œSome would call that devil’s logic,” Charles said, but lightly. He tugged at his fair mustaches, frowning as he pondered. After a while he said, “Tell me what I have to gain from this, aside from my brother the Caliph’s thanks.”
    â€œBarcelona,” Al-Arabi answered, “and Gerona, and Saragossa, and all their peoples and territories, to hold under Frankish authority. A jewel in the crown of Spain, while my Caliph holds the rest.”
    â€œYou would bow to me as your king?” Charles asked him.
    He looked Charles in the face—striking in a man of so gracefully indirect a people—and said clearly, “Yes. I would. But always in the understanding that I remain a follower of the Prophet, and of his heir the Caliph. You would rule me in the body, but in spirit I remain a Muslim.”
    â€œAnd if I demanded that you convert?”
    The dark eyes glittered. “As you converted the Saxons, my lord king? Well then, I would choose to lose my head. But you would lose Spain.”
    Charles laughed. His voice was light for a man so large, but his laughter was rich and full. Al-Arabi waited courteously for him to finish, and to explain. Which he duly did, through