In the morning, Zwahe returned to my room. With him he had two ropes. “Have you been practicing your reading?” he asked.
“Yes,” I replied and showed him what I had learned.
Although the prince occasionally made a correction, he finally said, “That’s wonderful, Ammirus! You’re actually teaching yourself to read. One of these days soon you shall be my scribe.” I looked down, embarrassed and blushing furiously but privately pleased with myself.
As we left my room with the ropes and the lyre, we encountered Hiwah, who seemed to be constantly lurking outside my door.
“Your Highness,” he exclaimed, “where are you going with the slave and those ropes?”
“To the garden to play a game,” Zwahe responded.
“But…but Excellency, it is forbidden to share a weapon with a slave!”
“What weapon?”
“The rope. The brat could overpower you and strangle you with the rope.”
Frowning, the prince stood as tall and majestically as he could and barked in his most imperious voice, “First, I order you never, ever to call Gemji a brat again. Use his name. Second, I trust him more than anybody else in the palace, and that includes you. He will not harm me. Now leave us alone!” And with that he strode down the hall with me trailing behind, peering over my shoulder at the smoldering Hiwah.
When we arrived in the garden and the door slid closed behind us, the prince burst out laughing, and I was soon joining in. “Did you see the expression on his face?” Zwahe chortled. “I’m sure I’ve made an enemy, but I don’t really care. I don’t like him at all, and I never have!” Then, looking at me, he exclaimed, “Why, Ammirus, do I see a smile? Have you been laughing, too?”
Embarrassed and blushing once again, I lowered my eyes and nodded.
“I’m so glad you’re finally beginning to cheer up. Now, show me what to do with the ropes, and be sure you don’t strangle me.” He laughed.
Taking a rope, I held an end in each hand and began to twirl the rope up behind my back, over my head and down my front, jumping over the rope when it reached the ground. I continued for a few spins and then encouraged Zwahe to try with the other rope. Soon the prince was jumping fairly smoothly, although he usually missed after five or six jumps. When he stopped he was breathing hard.
Panting, he said, “That seems pretty easy. It’s just a matter of timing, isn’t it?”
Not breathing hard at all, I stopped and nodded. “Yes, but when you get good at that, there are tricks you can do,” and I began a series of tricks which included doubling the speed, twisting the rope from side to side, jumping on one foot, and more.
My hat fell off at one point, and when I had finished my turn, the prince retrieved it and placed it on my head, saying, “Goodness. I can see this is another game I’ll need to practice.”
We jumped rope for a while longer before drinking from the fountain and sitting on a bench. “Ammirus,” Zwahe asked, “I was right, wasn’t I? I can trust you?”
I thought a little before answering, “Yes, Zwahe. I would never hurt you. Even though I hate being a slave, anybody’s slave, even yours, you have been kind to me, and I wouldn’t hurt you. I will, however,” and I looked up into his eyes, “try to escape the first chance I get.”
The prince nodded. “I understand. I suppose I would do the same in your place, but I must warn you that slaves who escape are captured, beaten and put to death. I couldn’t prevent that, Ammirus.”
As had become our custom, we sat in quiet companionship until Zwahe asked, “Now, can you play a somewhat more cheerful song for me?”
Plucking the strings for a moment, I began a folk song, my voice rising in high treble tones. When I finished, the prince said, “That was lovely. What does it mean?”
“It is a love song. In it a young man is singing of his love for a girl while she hides in her hut and listens. Finally she sings back to him, and they join in love.”
“Beautiful. But Ammirus, you talk often of love. You love your parents, your friends, your home. These two people love each other. But what does love mean? I don’t know love. I don’t think I’ve ever loved or been loved,” he concluded sadly.
Moved, I started to put my hand on his arm but then remembered I was never to touch him, so I pulled it back.
“I think it’s hard to describe just what love is,” I began. “First, there seem to be many kinds of love. My parents love me, I’m sure, but they love each other in a different way. I love my friends but not in the same way my parents love either me or each other. I guess mostly it’s a feeling you have in your heart. If you love somebody, you would die to protect them. They would be more important to you than your own life.”
“But how can you love so many people? Would you really die for any of them?”
“Yes, I would,” I replied thoughtfully. “Love is not something that you can run out of. It’s infinite. The more people you love, the happier you are.”
“I will have to think hard about that. I really can’t think of anybody I would sacrifice my life for. Oh, I know I could die in battle, but that’s different, I think.”
Again we sat quietly for a long time, each with his own thoughts.
Finally, Zwahe said, “Ammirus, you almost touched me a few minutes ago, didn’t you?”
I nodded.
“Well, as long as nobody else is here, you may touch me.”
I had learned that a slave never touched a master unless it was necessary to his job. I looked at Zwahe questioningly. The prince nodded. Tentatively, I reached over and put my hand on Zwahe’s. “I’m sorry you don’t know what love is. Every person deserves love ‒ friend or enemy, master or slave.”
Zwahe raised his arm and put it around my shoulders. “I am your friend, Ammirus, even if I am also your master. I truly hope someday you will be my friend as well.” He slowly removed his arm; we looked at each other solemnly and then burst into giggles. “Well, that was different,” he said, laughing before he departed through his garden.
Puzzled, I paced slowly around the walls of the garden. What is happening to me? I wondered. How can I be a friend of my master? I told him yesterday that I hate him, but I suppose I really don’t. He has been kind to me, and he treats me more as an equal than as a slave. Would it ever be possible for us to be friends?
Following the midday meal, Zwahe returned to my room. “Did you know it’s raining outside?” he asked. I shook my head. “I was looking about in some old storage cabinets, and I found this. Do you know what it is?” He produced a stone game board divided into alternating black and white squares. Then he emptied a bag onto the table. Out poured carved stone pieces, white and black. They were highly polished, and I realized they might be quite valuable. I was astonished.
“This is a game,” I said. “It’s called shatranji. It can be very difficult, but it is very popular.”
“Do you know how to play?”
“Yes, although not well.” I set about placing the pieces on the board in order. “This is the shah,” I said, adding, “You would call it the king. I went on to name the other pieces. Then I showed how each of the pieces could be moved.
“But how do you win the game?” the prince asked.
“When you have your opponent’s shah in such a position that you can capture him on your next move and he can’t move without being caught.”
“Let’s try it.” We played for nearly two hours.
During the game Zwahe asked, “Gemji, this is a very complicated game. Did your people invent it?”
“No, Zwahe. Many years ago, before I was born, before even my father was born, three white men came from a far-off land to our village. They told our people that they were Christians and they wanted to teach our people about their god. For years they tried to tell the people about this strange god. They said he was the only god, but my people knew better, for we have many, many gods. Some are kind to us, and some are terrible, so we are constantly trying to make peace with the unkind gods. Sometimes we succeed; other times we fail.
“But, in addition to their god, one of the men brought a shatranji board and taught my people how to play. Perhaps he was hoping to use it somehow as a way of teaching about his god. I don’t know. I do know that in time the three men grew very old and left my people, who never did believe in their god but who had learned to love the game of shatranji.”
The prince made a move and then said, “Someday I will teach you about our gods and take you to our temple. It’s a magnificent building.”
I really had no interest in his gods. Mine cared for me well, except, of course, for allowing me to be captured. But perhaps they had some reason for that which I did not yet understand. On the other hand, I did want to see his temple. How could it be more magnificent than the palace, I wondered?
When we finished playing a game, Zwahe said, “Ammirus, I want to ask a favor of you. I could order you to do it, but I won’t. I will only ask you to do it, and if you say no, that will be alright.” I looked at him questioningly. “Tomorrow night my father is hosting a big banquet. Many important people will be there. Each will have his own slave to serve him. Will you serve me?”
“Why do you want me instead of Hiwah?”
“Because I don’t like Hiwah; I like you. Most slaves consider it an honor to serve at a banquet, and I want to honor you. Of course, if you do it, Hiwah will be very angry, but I want others to see you and know who you are. Will you do it?”
“But I don’t know anything about serving. What if I make mistakes?”
“We could practice tomorrow, and then during the banquet I could quietly talk you through any difficult spots.”
“If you want me to do it, I shall, because you are kind to me, but I don’t really want to do it.”
“But you will not say no?”
“No, I will not.”
“Fine. Then tomorrow I will teach you. Let’s play another game before I go.” But my mind was not on the game, and the prince won easily.
When Zwahe had departed, I wondered what I had gotten myself into. I fretted about it all through my meal. I tried to practice reading but was unable to concentrate. Finally I prepared for bed, but I spent a restless night, turning frequently and dreaming terrible dreams of punishment and torture.
In the morning I awoke unhappy and afraid. But I knew I had given my word and I would have to go through with my promise.
After I had eaten breakfast and bathed, Zwahe entered my room and said, “Come with me.” I followed him into his private chamber. It was the room where I had first talked with Zwahe and had been beaten by Hiwah. Since I had not really looked at the room then, I looked about me now in awe. All I remembered was the thick colorful rug on the floor. It was a large chamber, many times the size of my room. The walls were of a pale-green stone which reflected the light from the openings under the ceiling and which complemented the colors of the rug. A throne of the same polished green stone ornamented in gold stood at one end of the room. At the other end, there was a very ornate bed of carved, polished teak. A bathing tub of gold sat in one corner; a table and chairs of carved teak stood in the center of the room. It was so beautiful that I could only marvel.
After I had had time to look about, the prince said, “Now I will teach you how to be a server. First, we do not sit at a table to eat. We lie on couches, thus,” and he lay on the side of his bed on his left side and propped up on his left elbow with his back to me. “You will always serve from behind me. You never stand in front of me unless it is necessary to clean up a spill. When you fill a goblet, you pick it up and fill it behind me. You don’t lean over and pour into it while it is on the table.”
The prince took a golden goblet and placed it before himself, saying, “Try it.”
I leaned forward, took the goblet, went to the table, filled the goblet from a pitcher of water and returned to the bed. Leaning over to put the goblet down I fell forward, spilling water all over Zwahe and his bed. I was terrified, but the prince burst out laughing.
“Ammirus,” when you place or remove things from the table put your feet apart with one a little ahead of the other. Now try it again.”
“But you’re all wet!”
“I’ll dry. Try again.”
This time, even though my hand was noticeably shaking, I succeeded.
“Fine,” said the prince. “It is better not to fill the goblet too full, as you can imagine.”
The lesson continued for most of the morning. There were many things to learn about manners and proper ways to do things. As we were finishing Hiwah entered the room, stared, and stammered, “Wh…wh…what is he doing here?”
“I am teaching him to serve me. He will serve at the banquet tonight. You can have the night off.”
Hiwah was livid. “B…b…but, Excellency, that has always been my job from the time you were a little child!”
“I am no longer a little child, and I will make decisions for myself. You are dismissed, and do not enter this room again unless you are sent for.”
Sputtering with rage, Hiwah bowed and backed out of the room.
We could barely contain ourselves until the door closed behind him before we launched into gales of laughter. Finally the prince, still chuckling, said, “Go have your midday meal, and we will practice again this afternoon. Then perhaps there will be time for a game or two of shatranji.”
I bowed and backed towards my own door, making an extra little salaam as I left and hearing the prince laugh again.
In the afternoon, we practiced more and played a game of shatranji before it was time for us both to bathe for the banquet. Then Zwahe sent for Hiwah, while I once again bowed, backed towards my door, made my extra little salaam and was rewarded with another laugh from the prince.