onversation in the room at once stilled, and Daoud's
heartbeat filled his ears.

Then a roar arose as Qutuz entered briskly, arrayed in a bejeweled
green turban and a black and silver robe of honor. His chamberlain, a
stout man carrying a basket, followed him.

The petitioners rushed forward, clamoring and waving their scrolls. The
men of the halkha made no attempt to hold them back. A merchant in a
blue robe was the first to reach Qutuz, and he hugged the sultan,
weeping. He first thrust a small silk bag into Qutuz's hand, which
disappeared quickly under the sultan's black robe, then pressed a scroll
upon him.

Qutuz handed the scroll to his chamberlain, who put it into the basket.

The petitioners were the people of Islam, and it was their right, as it
had been since the days of the Prophet, to clamor for their ruler's
attention. And though they might shout and beg and even manhandle the
sultan, he must endure it, because these were the richest men of the
district, the men of highest rank, those on whom the sultan's power in
this place depended.

Qutuz enjoyed, Daoud knew, playing father to his people. And though one
might think the Sultan of El Kahira had wealth enough, he was not averse
to increasing it with the gifts of gold and jewels offered him on
occasions like this.

Qutuz moved slowly through the petitioners, head high, his oiled beard
pointed like the prow of a majestic ship. A small, indulgent smile
played about his lips. He allowed them to impede his progress to the
throne. The petitioners crowded around him, some plucking at his sleeve,
some falling at his feet, some pulling at the hem of his robe, even
kissing it in their urgency.

Another man, this one a sheikh in desert robes, seized the sultan in an
embrace, bellowing his entreaty. This time when Qutuz stopped he
disappeared behind a forest of upraised arms.

The babble of voices, each one trying to outshout the other, made
Daoud's head ache. Men elbowed those beside them and pushed their hands
into one another's faces. Daoud even saw one man claw his way up the
backs of two who stood in front of him and climb over their shoulders to
get closer to Qutuz.

From his position near the front of the hall Daoud could catch only
glimpses of the sultan's green turban from time to time and follow his
progress by watching where the turmoil was fiercest. The melee was like
one of those towering dust storms that whirl across the desert, and
Qutuz was