The last sultan by Julian Hussey

THE LAST SULTAN

or The Elephant Revolution

THE LAST SULTAN or The Elephant Revolution

1 The Sultan is dead A very long time ago, in the middle of a distant ocean, on an island of ruby red chillies and emerald green parakeets, high on a leafy hill, stood a tower so tall that in the mists of the earliest break of an autumn day, the top of it could not be seen from the ground, nor could the ground be seen from its top. On one such morning the old Sultan wished to be carried from his sick bed in the palace to the balcony at the very pinnacle of the tower. He was a wise old man and his people loved him: he had reigned for many, many years and built marvellous gardens and fountains for them all to enjoy. But the people hated the Sultan’s advisers who raised his taxes and feared the soldiers who guarded the city’s gates. The Sultan was dying. He had taken to his bed one month before and nothing his doctors, his family or his advisers could do or say would move him. He had lain in a darkened room, sipping water now and then from a golden cup, saying nothing. So when he whispered that he wished to be carried to the tower that morning there was consternation. The cupbearer summoned the nurse, the nurse summoned the doctor, the doctor summoned the advisers, the advisers summoned the Sultana, and the Sultana summoned her son, the young Prince Benhazi, who at just sixteen years old was heir to his father’s throne. As they rushed around the palace, adjusting their robes and smoothing their hair, only Benhazi stopped to think how they might follow the Sultan’s orders and carry him all the way to the top of the very tall tower, for he was a good son !

and would much rather his father lived than he became Sultan in his place. Benhazi summoned ten of the strongest and broadest men in the palace guard, led by Captain Stench who wasn’t the biggest but was the cleverest and most loyal, and cut a path for them through the crowd of doctors, advisers and relatives that had filled the Sultan’s bedchamber. ‘Father,’ he began, ‘is it still your wish to be carried to the balcony at the top of the tower?’ The old man looked up and held out his hand to his handsome young son. He nodded slowly, saving what was left of his strength for the tower. At the prince’s instruction the strapping guards lifted the Sultan and his entire enormous bed and carried him on their shoulders. They marched through the palace, across the tiled courtyard and up the steps to the entrance to the tower. The tower was served by a great stone staircase, broad at its base, but becoming narrower and narrower as it spiralled upwards. As the guards carried him up the first flight of stairs, the Sultan smiled and closed his eyes. When they reached the second flight the great guards had to wriggle from their stations at the side of the bed to carry it from the ends. Prince Benhazi followed closely all this time, and still the Sultan smiled. To enter the third flight of stairs the guards had remove the great golden carapace that roofed the royal bed and continue without it. To climb the fourth flight of stairs the guards were forced to abandon the bed altogether, so four of them carried the Sultan on his mattress. Still the Sultan smiled. The fifth flight of stairs was so narrow that only the two slightest guards – Captain Stench and his deputy, Sergeant Stink – could squeeze !

through, carrying the Sultan in his quilted bed sheets. It was hard to see if he was smiling now. At the sixth and final flight the Prince stepped forward. ‘I will carry my father now, there is only space enough for the two of us. Wait below.’ So Stink and Stench had to hang around on the landing above the fourth flight of stairs. Benhazi gathered the old man up in his arms and, being so alarmed at how little he weighed, had to check he was holding more than just the sheets from the bed. As they went higher the walls closed in around their heads, so the Prince had to take special care not to knock the old man against the masonry. When they reached the top of the staircase his father asked, ‘Are we alone now?’ Indeed they were alone: the crowd could not follow as the stairs below were blocked by the bed, by the mattress, by the bedclothes and by the palace guards. ‘We are alone, father,’ said Benhazi, lowering him gently onto a cushioned peacock throne. Nice throne, he thought. The old man opened his eyes and smiled at him. ‘I have not been a good father, nor have I been a good ruler.’ He held up his bony hand to silence the prince who seemed eager to object. ‘Listen! I tried my best, but it is hard to balance the duties of parenthood with the duties one has to one’s people. I tried, but I fear I have failed in both.’ ‘Father, I do not understand. I love you very much; the people love you. How have you failed?’ Just then, a flock of a hundred bright green parakeets sailed out of the treetops and floated down to the balcony, perching around the points of the Sultan’s throne as if by some marvellous

and exotic design. ‘You see, Father, even the birds love you!’ ‘They do, but they will love anyone who gives them a perch and spreads food in the winter. Come closer.’ Benhazi sat in the space his ghostly father made for him. ‘Tell me what you see.’ The old man gestured to the view beyond the parapet. ‘I see the tallest tree tops emerging through the mist.’ ‘The mist will soon clear.’ Even as the old man spoke the milky clouds receded and more and more of his kingdom came into view. The city walls appeared and then the five hills of the sultanate were revealed in turn around them. Finally, the mist exposed the waves crashing on the shore and rolled back to show the great ocean beyond. ‘When I was your age this was my favourite time of day to visit the tower. My father had it built to spy on the people and look out for trouble. But I enjoyed seeing this great spectacle of Nature, lifting the hem of her robes to reveal all the bounty beyond, always breathtaking. So, tell me what you see.’ ‘I see your kingdom, all spread out before us.’ ‘But it is not mine, any more than it will be yours when I am gone.’ ‘But Father, you are the Sultan.’ ‘As the Sultan I am charged with protecting my kingdom, but I should be charged with protecting my people, making their lives as good as they can be. I know that from every penny they pay in taxes my court takes the tiger’s share. My army eats better than the honest farmer, the careful shopkeeper or the hard-working weaver. Do you know there are children out there who cannot read and !

write because there is no school their parents can afford to send them to? The farmers struggle in the winter because the market place is not covered, and the roads to the granaries are in poor repair. The sick rely on quacks and their useless potions.’ ‘But why would you let this happen, Father?’ Benhazi looked dismayed. ‘My “advisers” have control of everything. As long as they are unanimous I cannot have my way. That has been the rule since your grandfather abused his power so much that the people nearly starved. So the advisers are unanimous always, but now they only care about building their own fortunes and keeping the people in their place. Oh, they let me build the gardens – I tricked them by pretending the fountains were for my pleasure, but of course they bring water to the people. I always hoped I would find a way to break their control, but I never managed it, until now.’ ‘But now ... you are dying.’ The young man looked so sad, but his father chuckled. ‘Exactly! So you will become Sultan, young and vigorous, and clever too, don’t think I haven’t noticed. You will be able to wrest power from those six old foxes, bring about the change we need. Just follow my plan to the letter.’ The Prince was clever, some would say he was a bit of a show-off: he could flip pancakes without dropping them, taught himself to play the accordion, and had counted all the people who worked in the palace (there were three hundred and twenty-two) to prove to his father that he could afford to pay them a generous end-of-year bonus. Benhazi guessed he would have to be brave – he would do !

whatever his beloved father asked of him, however complicated, whatever the danger, however long it would take, and he told him so. ‘Beloved father, I will do– ’ oh, you get the idea. ‘Next week would have been my one hundred and tenth birthday (or one hundred and eleventh, who’s counting?) and my favourite celebrations have been planned, as always. The travelling entertainers and their menagerie, led by my old friend Hidalgo the Great, will arrive by ship in a few days. But this year the celebrations will come too late for me – they will be yours, for your coronation.’ ‘Oh Father,’ the boy began. ‘Hush, this is the good bit. I have arranged for Hidalgo to help you – this is the plan. I know I can rely on you.’ The Sultan whispered in his son’s ear for a full five minutes, then leant back in his throne, uttered the words, ‘Be strong, be good,’ and closed his eyes. Benhazi looked up into the old man’s smiling face as the hundred parakeets took flight with a great caw-cawing and clapping of wings. The Sultan slid back into the corner of the throne. ‘I promise father – I won’t let you down,’ he sobbed, and blew his nose loudly on one of the quilted sheets. ‘Excuse me! Haven’t you got a handkerchief for that, you dirty monkey?’ asked the Sultan. So these became the Sultan’s last words. When Benhazi emerged from the base of the tower, carrying his father’s body, he was a prince no more, but Sultan of all he had surveyed. ‘My people,’ he cried, ‘I ascended this tower a prince and I return as your ruler. Henceforth,’ (for now that !

he was Sultan, Benhazi knew he had to use words like ‘henceforth’) ‘this will be known as the Tower of Truth to honour my beloved father. His last words to me were, ahem, “Be strong, be good,” and I promise you, my people, that I will strive to be both, for you. Next week we will celebrate my new reign, but today it is time to mourn a great and noble man.’ ‘The Tower of Truth!’ someone called from the crowd. ‘Be strong, be good!’ cried another and then the whole crowd took it up as a chant while Benhazi was carried shoulder high back to the palace, feeling a tiny bit guilty about his little white lie and little bit nervous about his father’s plan.

2 The day of the Sultan When the news spread of the Sultan’s death, the people set up a wailing that lasted four days and four nights. On the last night, the old Sultan’s funeral pyre burned with blue and green flames that astonished the throngs of people who came from all over the island to gather outside the city walls. On the second day of mourning, Hidalgo the Great arrived with his shipload of performers and animals and camped outside the city. He erected tents of every colour: from the blue tent, which had silver stars embroidered on its roof, the people could hear Hidalgo putting his troupe through their paces, rehearsing every moment of the show until it was perfect. His craftsmen and women – still dressed as sailors, for that is what they were for most of the year – set up their lathes and looms and benches and easels in the shade of one of the tall trees, where they chiselled and wove and planed and glued and hammered and nailed and painted and polished until all their props and costumes looked like new. Four days later everything was ready for Benhazi’s coronation: he was crowned at dawn and for the rest of the day he watched as a dazzling procession of acrobats, dancers, singers, actors, sword swallowers and magicians entertained his grateful subjects. This culminated in a parade of marvellous beasts and birds, each more beautiful than the last and seemingly enchanted, as they neither threatened nor noticed the people who stood and watched them, amazed. !

Later that evening the young Sultan summoned his six advisers to court. They were no longer young, so their progress was slow, but eventually they arrived in the throne room, each carrying a sheaf of plans and papers bound by ribbons of satin and velvet. They approached Benhazi’s peacock throne (I wonder where that came from) and with great sweeping bows they all kissed his hand. ‘Loyal advisers,’ Benhazi addressed them, ‘my father relied on you in so many things and you served him well. I know I too will be able to use your great skill and knowledge to help me guide the kingdom. But first I would like you to help me further comfort my grieving mother and sisters by ending our bitter-sweet celebrations with a demonstration of your wisdom and solidarity.’ Such a request was hard for the advisers to deny; Benhazi, the Sultana, her five daughters and the crowds of attendant courtiers all waited expectantly for their response. Ling-Il, the most senior of the six men, exchanged glances with his colleagues before he stepped forward. Ling-Il didn’t like children and to him the new Sultan was still a child. ‘Oh gracious young lord, whatever can be humbly done to honour the memory of your dear and noble father, we will humbly do. And, as ever, we humbly put our combined wisdom, intelligence and experience at your service. What is it you wish of us?’ Benhazi smirked; his father had told him Ling-Il did not have a humble bone in his body, in fact he was the proudest man in all the kingdom and could never admit to making a mistake. This explained the tiny golden plates his family had to eat from – Ling-il had ordered them in centimetres not inches, and the fact that no one had to work !

on Fridays because Ling-Il thought that was the start of the weekend (to be fair, no one had even tried to correct him on this). ‘The celebrations have been a delight, but I fear they have not been very serious,’ Benhazi continued. ‘Perhaps, because of my youth, I am keen to see some educational content for the benefit of my people, even in something so entertaining.’ Of course, Benhazi lied about this – the best bit about becoming Sultan, as far as he was concerned, was that nobody could make him go to school anymore. But it was only another white lie, for it was all part of his father’s plan. Ling-Il smiled at the other advisers and inclined his head. ‘What would your most gracious majesty have us – humbly – do to add some gravitas to your special day? I could recite the thirteen times table. Or perhaps Gran Pan,’ he nodded to the rotund adviser next to him, resplendent in his purple suit, and wrinkled his face into a sort of ratty smile, ‘could list the forty-two punishments he devised for those lazy palace grass cutters who left the daisies in the royal lawn?’ ‘Thank you, but I have something else in mind, something that will demonstrate to everyone how clever and unified my advisers are and be of great use to mankind.’ Everyone in the court paid special attention to this: the idea that the advisers could benefit mankind was quite novel. They leaned forward to hear what Benhazi would say next. ‘My father’s old friend Hidalgo the Great,’ at this name a murmur of approval ran around the court, for Hidalgo and his entertainments were very popular on an !

island where hardly anyone could read and there were no television sets, not even a puppet theatre. ‘Hidalgo,’ the Sultan repeated, ‘has a new beast in his menagerie, one that he has yet to name. Your task is simple, you must help us to identify it.’ The smile slipped slightly down Ling-Il’s long face. ‘Identify it?’ He wrinkled his nose again until his teeth reappeared. ‘How can we identify it if we haven’t seen it before?’ ‘Consider this a scientific exercise – you simply need to agree a proper description of the beast. Once that is done we can choose an appropriate name. I will name it, based upon your unanimous description.’ When Ling-Il still looked concerned, he added, ‘You describe it, I name it – get it?’ ‘Ah, that sounds, erm, feasible, most gracious majesty.’ Ling-Il exchanged glances with each of the other advisers in turn; they all nodded their agreement. They were, always, unanimous, for their role as advisers depended on it. ‘Of course we will, humbly, accept the task.’ ‘Excellent!’ Benhazi clapped his hands in excitement. ‘And, just remind me, if you would, if it’s not too much trouble, just out of interest (I am new to this after all) – what would be the consequences were my six most excellent advisers to fail to agree.’ The handsome young Sultan smiled his sweetest smile, so sweet in fact that four young ladies fainted and had to be revived with platefuls of rose-scented Turkish Delight wafted under their noses. Although this worked, it had the unfortunate effect of leaving them with big splodges of icing sugar on their noses. How the Sultan’s five sisters laughed at them! But !

the young ladies remained blissfully unaware of this and continued to sit on the floor, gazing up at their Sultan and chomping on Turkish Delight. Ling-Il, who had been watching the young ladies with distaste, swung around in surprise. ‘Why, in the unlikely event that the six greatest minds in the kingdom should fail to agree – which, let’s face it, hasn’t happened in my lifetime – then, well, there would be ... consequences.’ ‘Which are?’ ‘Er ... well, there is protocol that would be followed.’ ‘Where?’ ‘The, um, wheels would be put in motion and the difficulty would be resolved,’ Ling-Il stuttered to a halt, looking very uncomfortable indeed. ‘I’m so sorry, I did want to check,’ the young Sultan said apologetically. ‘You see, I heard – and I might have got completely the wrong end of the stick – I heard that if you fail to agree ... well, you are stripped of all the trappings of your office, your wealth is impounded, and you are banished from the island for life. Something like that, anyway. Is that it?’ Ling-Il’s sharp little Adam’s apple bounced in his throat as he took a hasty gulp. ‘Something like that, gracious majesty,’ he muttered. It was quite hard to hear him because he had started chewing his sleeve. The five other advisers stared very hard at the back of Ling-Il’s head. Benhazi stood and clapped his hands: it had been a long time since the court had seen a sultan with enough energy to do that. There were gasps of delight and the !

ladies on the floor greedily finished off their Turkish Delight. ‘We shall process to the camp of Hidalgo the Great, where my advisers will astound us in this feat of science.’ He clapped his hands again and there was a great rush for the door as courtiers vied to get the best view of whatever it was that was about to happen. It was mayhem! ‘Silence!’ bellowed Ling-Il as he slammed his jewel-encrusted staff into the floor with a crash. ‘His most gracious majesty said we would process. Guards!’ And with that, the loyal household guards approached the throne and began to unroll two of the finest silk carpets in front of Benhazi so he could walk all the way from his throne to the camp without dirtying his brand new sultan-slippers. As he stepped from the pink carpet onto the green one, two of the guards rolled up the pink one and ran ahead to lay it beyond the green one, and so on. His loyal subjects followed, until they all reached the clearing next to the very tall tree. Ling-Il barked some more orders to the guards and waved his stick around at Captain Stench and his men: in a few moments the crowd had been formed into a perfect semi-circle with Benhazi seated on a log at its centre, his feet on the silk carpets (I hope you’re not thinking these might be magic carpets, for there is no magic in this story – but the carpets are important, so don’t forget about them!) The crowd faced the large, blue tent and were amazed to see how the stars on its roof lit up and appeared to dance against the evening sky. In front of this great marquee was a new, smaller tent that no one could remember seeing before; what it lacked in size it made up for in decoration, for it was covered in rich tapestries !

showing jungle scenes of creepers and luscious leaves through which could be glimpsed animals and birds of every conceivable colour. The tapestries bulged and swayed before they opened a crack and Hidalgo himself appeared, to spontaneous applause and cheering. He beamed through his bushy beard and held his hands aloft until the crowd fell silent. He bowed a very low bow to the young Sultan, pulled himself up to his full height and proclaimed, â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Let the challenge begin!â&#x20AC;&#x2122;

3 Naming the beast Hidalgo stepped forward to where the Sultan waited, his six advisers flanking him and fidgeting a little nervously. ‘Oh noble Benhazi, the scientific process is straightforward and designed to make best use of the prodigious talents of all six of your advisers. Behold, the tent of discovery,’ said Hidalgo and swept his cloak behind him to point to the tent from which he had just emerged. ‘In this tent is the beast we wish to name. Your advisers will approach, one at a time, and with my guidance they will safely encounter the beast within. They will examine it in turn so that, when all have finished, they can compare notes and agree on a scientific description to help you choose a name.’ He turned to Ling-Il with a smile and asked, ‘Understood?’ ‘Yes, yes, of course “understood”! It sounds quite straightforward,’ Ling-Il said impatiently. He no longer looked nervous and smiled to his fellow advisers. ‘We will enter the tent in this order: you, Peter Pong the Second, as the youngest, will go first; then Professor Pear; next Mademoiselle Binary; Sage Green, you can follow; then Gran Pan; and finally, I will make my assessment. Agreed?’ Of course the five other advisers all nodded hastily, for they always had to agree. The advisers lined up in order; they did look a motley crew. Pong junior, who had recently inherited his position as adviser when his father, Peter Pong senior, had mysteriously disappeared in the forest, was a skinny little !

fellow, not very much older than the new Sultan (he wore his father’s official adviser hat – the only trace of him they found in the forest – but it was far too big for him); Professor Pear – who was not a real professor but had adopted the title so that people might believe the things he wrote in the official court encyclopaedia – was very short sighted and found it hard to stand up straight after spending so much time hunched over his books; Mademoiselle Binary wore pince-nez on her big, fat nose in the hope they made her look intelligent – they didn’t; Sage Green really was a sage, a very short, wise man from one of the northernmost villages on the island, but he had grown rich as an adviser, toeing the line and agreeing with everything Ling-Il said; Gran Pan you’ve met, author of several cookery books, with a penchant for purple which really didn’t suit him; last and by no means least, stood Ling-Il, his ratty face peering over a lacy collar, leaning on his precious staff, which some said bore a jewel for every year he had been the chief adviser, and there were dozens of them. Peter Pong II was the most nervous of them all – the poor boy had to go first and ever since his father had disappeared in the woods, he had stayed safe within the city walls. A bird in the very tall tree let out a screech – Peter Pong II jumped. He jumped again when Hidalgo placed a hand firmly on his shoulder and steered him towards the tent; with all its green embroidery it looked as if he was about to be pushed into a deep, dark jungle. He turned, his chin quivering and his enormous hat slipping further down over his head, but after one stern look from Ling-Il he allowed Hidalgo to lead him into the tent.

The others listened, straining to hear something, anything of what was happening inside the tent. Nothing. After a few moments Hidalgo reappeared and presented himself to Professor Pear. ‘Professor, are you ready?’ he asked. But Ling-Il stepped forward. ‘Where is Pong? What have you done with our Pong?’ he demanded. Hidalgo bowed. ‘Learned Adviser Pong is in the blue marquee making his report. He will join us presently.’ Ling-Il looked cross but when the young Sultan raised his eyebrows and smiled, he smiled back, his nose wrinkled to reveal his ratty little teeth. ‘Very good,’ he said, and bowed. Professor Pear went into the tent with Hidalgo. Again, they all listened in silence, but heard nothing. Mademoiselle Binary followed, then Green, then Pan disappeared into the tapestry-covered tent. By the time it was Ling-Il’s turn to go in, he stood alone – the other advisers had yet to emerge from the marquee. Before he went in, Ling-Il beckoned Captain Stench and whispered something in his ear. Stench bowed and returned to his post behind the Sultan. Stench whispered something to Stink. Stink nodded and fiddled with his sword. If Benhazi had been older or simply more observant, he might have realised that Ling-Il had a plan of his own. Ling-Il turned to the crowd, and with far more fuss than any of the other advisers had made, he raised his hand, proclaiming, ‘In the name of science!’ before Hidalgo, who had not taken his eyes off him, pushed him into the tent. The crowd didn’t expect to hear anything this time and with no more advisers to stare at them they became restless, murmuring various theories about what might be !

going on, what fate may have befallen the advisers, and whether this had been a good idea after all. Stink and Stench kept their hands on their swords and nodded to the other guards, but, just as the crowd sounded as if they might turn nasty, Hidalgo reappeared, leading Peter Pong II by the hand. There was a collective gasp before a hush descended as Pong, flushed with relief that his ordeal was over, brandished a scroll. Hidalgo, the great impresario, addressed them: ‘The kingdom’s six most respected minds have now examined the animal. We will hear their reports in turn, as they have been recorded on these parchments. Peter Pong, would you please tell us what you found?’ Pong smiled to the front row of the crowd, he smiled to left of the crowd, he smiled to the right of the crowd, he even smiled to the back of the crowd. Finally he gave a little bow to the Sultan and coughed as he flattened out the scroll. ‘My royal master, please indulge my report of the creature I encountered in the tent, yonder,’ he said, turning to give a boastful little nod to the tent he had been so frightened of a few minutes before. ‘In my humble opinion what I found there felt very like a python – I say “felt” for it was dark and I could not see. It was strong and curled around my arm with a terrifying force. As a powerful snake that no doubt has a voracious appetite I recommend it be kept away from children and small animals lest they be swallowed up in its enormous jaws. It should be given a name that strikes fear into the hearts of small children. And that is the end of my report.’ The crowd had listened attentively, and at these words the parents held on tightly to their children and the !

dog owners wound their leads more firmly around their wrists. ‘Thank you,’ said Benhazi. ‘Is that all? There is nothing else you can tell me about the animal?’ Pong shook his head. ‘Very good. Please come and stand with me.’ Professor Pear was led out next. He unrolled a much longer scroll, for he had written a lengthy description of what he had encountered. ‘The creature is wide and flat like a carpet and can hover in the air – a bizarre and intriguing beast. When it moves, it fans air over you, but it is strong – it knocked my hat off!’ Hidalgo cut him short, leading him to stand next to Pong. Madam Binary adjusted her pince-nez and pronounced with complete certainty that she had encountered an animal like a massive wall, impenetrable. Little Sage Green happily told the crowd he had met with a living tree, as solid as any in the forest. Gran Pan claimed he had been confronted in the dark with a hard, pointed spear. The advisers looked more and more confused, and each time another joined them they argued in fierce whispers that they must have made a mistake. But each knew in their hearts what they had found and none was prepared to change their story. Were the advisers finally to disagree? At last, Ling-Il emerged into the clearing. Silence fell. ‘Ling-Il, please tell us about the creature you encountered,’ said the Sultan from his seat on the log. Ling-Il bowed slightly, staring not at the Sultan, but at Captain Stench. He held his scroll, but he did not read from it. Instead he spoke from memory,

‘That was easy enough. The creature is not so marvellous. Though I have not seen it, I cannot believe it is either beautiful or terrifying. A wispy little thing, like a whip or a brush, is all it is: a frayed rope of an animal. I can’t imagine your majesty will need to waste too much time in naming a thing of so little significance.’ The crowd stood astonished: six advisers, six opinions, and every one of them different. The Sultan got to his feet. ‘My dear learned friends. How fascinating this has been! It seems this creature is the strongest snake, the flattest carpet or fan, a very wall of flesh, the embodiment of a living, breathing tree, a spear that could take your eye out, or a wispy whip of a brush. At any rate, according to my chief adviser, it is “an insignificant little animal”, hardly worthy of a name. And yet, you all seemed so certain of what you found. Which is it to be?’ The advisers visibly shrank inside their robes and hats, under the glare of Ling-Il as he heard, for the first time, that they had failed to agree in any detail whatsoever. The chief adviser stepped forward. ‘Noble majesty, I believe if you ask them to consider one last time, the advisers will agree with me.’ They all nodded vigorously, their hats slipping to absurd angles. ‘And if you are wrong? If the animal is not – what did you call it? “A frayed rope of an animal ... of little significance”? What then?’ Ling-Il drew himself up to his full height and declaimed, ‘I may humbly beg you to consider that I, LingIl, am never wrong. Judge me by my words and by my deeds,’ Ling-Il said, turning his gaze on each of the !

advisers and nodding to Captain Stench before he bowed one last time to the young Sultan. Benhazi hesitated – he was on the brink of carrying off his father’s plan successfully – before he clapped his hands. ‘Hidalgo! We can wait no longer. Bring forth the creature!’ The tapestries all fell to the ground at once, revealing the creature within. The crowd gasped and Peter Pong II and one of the loyal guards fainted, flat on their faces. ‘It’s an elephant!’ someone cried. Indeed it was: standing seven feet high at its shoulder, it was an imposing, beautiful, statuesque elephant. For the first time the advisers could see the trunk, ears, legs, flank, tusks and tail that they had encountered separately. Elephants were not found on the island, ordinarily, but they had visited with Hidalgo’s troupe before and were always very popular with the people. As the crowd surged forward for a closer look, the animal became nervous and shifted beyond the confines of the tent. As it reared up to produce a great trumpet call, hardly anyone noticed Ling-Il drawing his finger ominously across his skinny throat, a signal to Captain Stench. In the blink of an eye Stench and Stink had taken the carpets and rolled up the Sultan, disappearing into the forest with him before you could say, ‘Treachery!’ Hidalgo the Great produced a bell from under his cloak and started to ring it, the signal to his band of sailorperformers and the rest of the crew to strike their camp immediately and head for the ship, which they were able to do while the people, the household guards, the royal family

and the advisers all ran around the clearing in terror at the elephant and its terrific cries. â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Treachery!â&#x20AC;&#x2122; someone cried (possibly the Sultanâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s mother or one of his sisters), but far too late, and all was chaos until everyone managed to scrabble back to the safety of the city wall and lock the gates.

4 Pride comes before a fall Ling-Il ran into the forest after Stench and Stink, but by the time he got there he couldn’t see them, it was too dark. He felt his way between the trees, certain that if he just kept going he would find the road that led in one direction to the beach, and in the other, back to the city gates. The forest was full of strange noises and nocturnal animals that blinked at him from their perches in the trees or their burrows underfoot. An unearthly growl in the distance made him freeze for a moment, before he hastened on, trying to get as far away from it as he could. Just as he thought he was completely lost, he tripped over something long and hard and fell headlong into the bushes. ‘What the– ’ he exclaimed. He felt his way back on his hands and knees to find what he had tripped on. There, concealed beneath the lowgrowing plants, was a sign. ‘Ha!’ he cried as he struck a match and read the sign. ‘“No swimming at weekends, by order of Ling-Il” – one of mine! I wonder why it’s broken and lying in this ditch? Still, I can’t be far from the road.’ Ling-Il threw down the sign and tiptoed through the undergrowth. ‘Yes! Right again!’ he shouted proudly. ‘Here’s the road!’ As his eyes focused on the dirt road he realised there was a figure moving up the hill ahead of him; yes, it looked like one of the men, carrying a roll of carpet. He was moving quickly and silently like the trained soldier that he was. In his haste to catch up, Ling-Il did not notice the other man, also carrying a roll of carpet, down the hill. !

Ling-Il struggled to keep up, but when the guard had to stop at the locked city gates Ling-Il was finally able to catch him. ‘Good work, Stench,’ he hissed, making the guard jump. ‘Now, let’s get these gates open and put an end to this nonsense once and for all.’ He stepped forward and gave the secret knock – the gate opened a crack. ‘Let us in you fool, it’s me, Ling-Il and Captain Stench.’ Ling-Il led the Captain bearing the silk carpet, which was clearly quite heavy, in triumph to the palace. The crowds of people who had escaped the elephant now stood back to watch the chief adviser and the captain of the palace guard march across the square. ‘Traitor!’ someone called, but there was only one, lonely voice. Ling-Il stopped in his tracks and raised his hand so Stench would do the same. ‘What an interesting word,’ he said. ‘But not the right word for me, not at all. Here is the traitor,’ he said, poking the green silk carpet on Stench’s shoulder with his staff. ‘You all saw how he tricked us, how he was determined to make fools of your most loyal and humble servants. He wanted to prove that we cannot agree – but we were all correct, weren’t we? We all described the beast accurately, didn’t we? And, all put together, we were right, weren’t we?’ ‘Not you,’ someone called out, ‘you said it was small and insignificant. I ask you: an elephant – small and insignificant? Don’t make me laugh!’ Some laughter did spread through the crowd from the direction of the lone voice. Ling-Il signalled to Stench

and the pair of them backed towards the nearest door, to the Tower of Truth. ‘Guard the door, Stench,’ Ling-Il cried, snatching up the roll of carpet and dragging it into the tower. Captain Stench stood outside the door as instructed, faced with an angry mob chanting ‘Treachery!’ He locked the door and held up the key for all to see. ‘Nobody else is going in or out of this tower,’ he called. ‘Now stand back and do as I say.’ Meanwhile, Ling-Il was growing tired of carrying the carpet up the stairs, but the thought of being rid of the young Sultan once and for all gave him new strength. ‘There he is!’ someone shouted in the crowd. They all looked up just as Ling-Il appeared at the parapet, the roll of carpet still on his shoulder. ‘Here is your traitor,’ shouted Ling-Il, ‘another power-hungry Sultan just like his grandfather. Let the Tower of Truth decide his fate!’ And he hoisted the carpet onto the battlements where it teetered precariously. ‘I give you the traitor, the Sultan Benhazi!’ * Sergeant Stink wiggled his toes in the sand as he watched the last of Hidalgo’s little boats being rowed frantically to his ship. It was loaded with acrobats and props, the tapestries from the tent of discovery, rugs and flags and other material they had worked hard to prepare for the festivities. Already aboard his ship, Hidalgo was barking orders left, right and centre, ensuring everything was secure before they cast off and fled the island. The animals were in their !

compounds, fenced in with the greenery that they would eat during the voyage; tents and balls and hoops were being stowed below decks. The last little boat was hauled up out of the water until it hung precariously over the starboard side. The crew rushed to get it unloaded. Hidalgo took up his position on the poop deck, in front of the wheel. Sweeping his cloak across one shoulder, he drew a cutlass as long and broad as any pirate would be proud of and held it aloft. ‘Cast off!’ he bellowed. ‘Raise anchor!’ he yelled. ‘Splice the main brace?’ he said, not so loudly, because he wasn’t quite sure what it meant (luckily the crew knew what to do and got on with it, regardless of what Hidalgo said). ‘Captain?’ called one of his crew. ‘This had better be important,’ Hidalgo snarled, in his most convincing seadog voice. ‘We found this in the last boat. It isn’t one of ours.’ Two crew members carried forward a pink carpet, of finest silk, rolled up but full of lumps and bumps. ‘Well, what are you waiting for? Roll it out, boys, roll it out!’ They rolled out the carpet and to everyone’s astonishment there was Benhazi, sitting dizzy and confused on the deck of the ship (I said the carpets were important). ‘Why, if it isn’t my favourite godson,’ Hidalgo cried. ‘I thought you’d never get here!’ * The crowd gasped as the carpet teetered on the parapet. ‘This is the justice meted out to traitors by the Tower of Truth,’ called Ling-Il as he pitched the carpet !

over the edge and leant over to watch it fall, bouncing against the tower wall on its way down. First the carpet unfurled like a great green flag, then the log that had been rolled up inside it bounced free and splintered against the wall. The crowd screamed and people rushed to get clear of the falling debris. Thankfully, by the time the log smashed against the ground, breaking into a thousand pieces, everyone had got clear. ‘And that’s what we do with traitors!’ shrieked Ling-Il, peering over to try to see the results of his murderous handiwork. The crowd had seen everything. They quickly understood Ling-Il had made another mistake, but this time it was a good one. ‘Traitor!’ someone shouted. ‘Yes, traitor!’ someone else agreed. Before long the crowd were pointing up at Ling-Il and the cries had become a chant, over and over, ‘Traitor! Traitor! Traitor!’ Someone squeezed through the people to stand beside the broken log and the crumpled carpet. When the crowd saw who it was, their cries began to fall away until finally there was silence in the city square. For it was Princess Eulalia, the eldest of Benhazi’s five sisters. ‘Dear friends,’ she began, ‘my brother is safe.’ A cheer went up. ‘He escaped thanks to our loyal friend Captain Stench. Captain?’ She held out her hand and Stench gave her the key. ‘Tomorrow will bring a new dawn for our land. Please all go home and get some rest: we must be ready for our future!’ After another cheer, a woman near the front of the crowd asked, ‘What about the traitor? What about Ling-Il?’

‘Justice will prevail,’ said the Princess. ‘For now, he isn’t going anywhere!’ She held up the key with a triumphant smile. And that was how the island started its first and only revolution, which became known as the ‘Elephant Revolution’, with not a drop of blood being shed. Poor old Pong was never found. There was no evidence that Ling-Il had anything to do with his disappearance, although Pong had started to question some of Ling-Il’s poorer decisions – like banning swimming at weekends, reducing the amount of jam used in doughnuts, taxing bananas, charging admission to the city square on Sundays, banning whistling after five o’clock, making all the men on the island wear hats, even in bed – I could go on, but I think it would bore you to sleep!

5 The adventure begins Princess Eulalia was Benhazi’s favourite sister. He wasn’t supposed to have favourites, but as she was his twin he inevitably felt very close to her. Eulalia was fond of her brother, too, though the fact that he was heir to the throne in spite of being born a full six minutes after her was quite vexing (it was the law that only a sultan’s boy children could inherit the throne, a law no one had ever thought to challenge). Eulalia was as beautiful as her brother was handsome and she was every bit as clever as he was. While Benhazi did the things he enjoyed – like making pancakes and playing the accordion and counting servants – Eulalia did what she enjoyed. Which was to go to school, do extra study with her governess, visit all the villages and record them in her geography projects, and when she wasn’t doing all that she would sneak into court and watch the proceedings. Court was where her father the Sultan presided and discussed with his advisers what should be done about any problems in the kingdom, and how they should spend the money raised from taxing the people or from selling the plentiful supply of bananas to visiting merchants (for the Sultan owned all the banana trees on the island – that was the law too). When Eulalia awoke the morning after the Elephant Revolution had begun, she already had a plan. She had gone to bed thinking about it. She had dreamed about it. And now she sprang out of bed ready to do something about it. !

* Benhazi, assured he was in the safest possible place, had slept in a hammock next to the animals, rocked gently to sleep as the great ship ploughed through the waves. When he awoke, the sun was on his face and little splashes of water were dribbling down his neck (the parrot had been drinking from her tub as carefully as she could, but sometimes even careful parrots can’t help dribbling). All around him there were piles of bananas, so he reached down and helped himself to one for breakfast. ‘Benhazi – good morning!’ bellowed Hidalgo. ‘Good morning – godfather,’ Benhazi answered when he had swallowed his mouthful of banana, remembering what Hidalgo had told him before he went to bed. How he had been the old Sultan’s best friend for years – a cousin who grew up with him in the palace. How he had been enchanted by a visiting ship of entertainers and traders and sneaked aboard as they left – the day before his sixteenth birthday. How he had sailed the high seas, worked as a cabin boy, become a musician, learned to train animals, and eventually become the great showman he was today – Hidalgo the Great – who devised entertainments that used the talents of over forty performers and twenty beasts, taking them to grateful ports all around the edge of the ocean, following the currents. When the master of the galleon, a reformed pirate named Captain Barnacle, had died, he left Hidalgo the ship in his will. Barnacle’s pirate crew already loved Hidalgo (he used to write parts for them into his shows – some of them were very agile and they could all sing, after a fashion) and so the ship sailed on with a new captain, following the currents around and around, !

maintaining a schedule of sorts, pitching up at places to do shows at almost the same time every year. ‘So,’ Benhazi asked, ‘we can’t go back for a whole year?’ ‘That’s right. But look on the bright side, you can have a whole year being part of my troupe. I’m sure you can learn enough to be in the show before we reach the next port of call. And don’t worry about the island, they’ll be fine.’ But Benhazi wasn’t worrying about the island: no, his head was full of ideas, the tricks he wanted to learn, the animals he wanted to train. He couldn’t believe his luck! ‘Er, no – I mean yes, they’ll be fine.’ Hidalgo smiled through his big bushy beard and nodded to the parrot on his shoulder. ‘We can write, let them know how you’re getting on. Polly here is an excellent carrier-parrot.’ When Benhazi wasn’t learning from the acrobats and other performers on the broad deck of the ship, he was helping in the galley, flipping pancakes for breakfast or baking banana surprise for tea. He even found a dusty old accordion stuffed down the back of Hidalgo’s wardrobe that nobody else knew how to play. Benhazi loved his new life, and after the crowd applauded him at his first show, he smiled for the rest of the week. He did write home: he wrote to his mother to say he was brushing his teeth and cutting his toenails; he wrote to Captain Stench and Sergeant Stink to thank them for their loyalty and quick-thinking; and he wrote to Eulalia to say he missed her (which wasn’t always true, but it wasn’t always a lie either) and was sorry he wasn’t there to do the things a sultan should do (which was completely untrue). !

One day, as the ship bobbed on the wide, empty sea and the crew were tidying away their props after a long rehearsal, there was a cry from the bird’s nest: ‘Polly! It’s Polly!’ Poor old Polly looked exhausted as she flapped down to the deck and dropped onto the planks at Hidalgo’s feet. While Benhazi rushed to get her drink, his godfather untied the tiny scrolls that had been fastened to her leathery ankles. ‘We’ve got mail!’ he bellowed, and the crew all rushed up to see if Polly had anything for them. There was a new recipe for banana surprise from Cook’s aunty; some fan letters for the acrobats; and a note to Hidalgo requesting a special show for a wedding at one of their regular stops; but there wasn’t anything for Benhazi. ‘Not this time, Ben,’ Hidalgo said, ‘but Polly will be fighting fit again in a few days. You wait and see.’ Benhazi hadn’t felt homesick, hadn’t realised he wanted a letter, until he saw how excited everyone else had been. He decided to write another letter, so it could be sent as soon as Polly was strong enough for another flight. The letter was difficult to write, partly because it had to be very small but also because Benhazi wanted it to be the truest, most honest letter he could write: he wanted it to express how much he loved being away from the island and all the responsibility he was supposed to have there now, but also how much he missed his family and that he couldn’t wait to show them all the things he had learned. It took him three days to write the letter, but in the end he was satisfied and rolled it into a tiny tube and gave it to Hidalgo.

Weeks passed, weeks became months, and Benhazi lost count of the stops they made, the performances they gave. He had learned new songs, he could juggle (balls, swords, pomegranates and bananas, but mainly bananas), he could balance on the acrobats’ shoulders, and he could play the accordion while he did it. Best of all he had discovered a great chest filled with puppets and Hidalgo had encouraged him to write plays that could be performed with them, which he rehearsed with Amanda, one the youngest dancers who had a marvellous knack for putting expression into the movements of the most wooden of puppets. Hidalgo told him with a wink that her name meant ‘she who is worthy of love’. But all this time there was no sign of Polly. ‘I should have warned you,’ confided Hidalgo. ‘Sometimes Polly can be gone for ages – you see, when we are this far away she has to go the long way round, stopping off where she can for food and water. She’ll be fine, you’ll see.’ Benhazi didn’t mind; he had written his letter as honestly as he could. He just hoped they wouldn’t all be too cross when they got to the end, to the bit where he said he didn’t want to be the Sultan any more. Benhazi had been with the ship for nearly eleven months when Hidalgo called him to the captain’s cabin. ‘Ben, sit down,’ said his godfather, handing him a banana milkshake. ‘Looking at you it is obvious that life at sea has really suited you. You may not realise it, but you have grown, not only taller but broader, and you are tanned from spending so much time on deck. You came onto this ship as a boy, but now you are a young man. A little bird tells me it is your birthday today ... ’ !

‘A little bird? Is Polly– ’ The parrot answered by jumping up onto the table in front of him and cocking her head on one side. Tied to her leg were two tiny tubes. ‘Go on,’ said Hidalgo, ‘they’re for you. And so is this,’ and Benhazi’s godfather produced a great big card that had been signed by everyone on the ship. Because godfathers should never forget birthdays, should they? Benhazi couldn’t believe it – he had forgotten his own birthday (to be fair, he had forgotten everyone else’s birthdays that year). The first letter was from his mother: she wished him many happy returns and told him how much she was looking forward to seeing him when the currents brought them back to the island; the second was from Eulalia. In her letter his sister scolded him for forgetting her birthday – for of course it was the same day as his – but she went on to tell him all the extraordinary news of the island. First, they had received his letter and were relieved he did not wish to be the Sultan, because the islanders had decided they probably didn’t want one any more. Eulalia had started an island council that made all the big decisions: they now had a school and a hospital and plans to share the money from selling bananas with all the people who worked to cultivate them. The advisers had all been given jobs teaching at the school, with the exception of Ling-Il who was forced to work as school caretaker, which made him very miserable as the children all ignored the silly rules he made up for them. All his old rules had been abolished and his personal fortune had been confiscated to pay for a museum or a gallery or maybe a theatre, they still hadn’t decided. And the royal family had given up their titles and moved out of their grand rooms at the palace to make way !

for the nicest school classrooms and hospital wards you ever saw. The old court had become a splendid gymnasium. The island council met in a room at the bottom of the Tower of Truth – everyone on the island took a turn to be on the council, for just three months, and when they ran out of people aged over sixteen they just went round again, but that wouldn’t happen for at least another five and half years by Eulalia’s calculations. Eulalia had become the school’s geography teacher and their mother, the old Sultana (who wasn’t nearly as old as her husband had been), had married Sergeant Stink and opened a cafe on the beach. Eulalia ended her letter by saying how excited she was that they would be seeing him again soon and asking him to request a special wedding show for their next entertainment. Presumably a late celebration for his mother and Stink, Benhazi and Hidalgo agreed. ‘Why don’t you come up with a special puppet show too – as your gift to them?’ Hidalgo suggested. And so Benhazi and Amanda worked every evening for the next three weeks perfecting a very special show. * As the ship approached the island and dropped anchor, Benhazi strained to see if any of his family were waiting on the beach (annoyingly, Hidalgo wouldn’t lend him his telescope). The two of them climbed into the first boat with Amanda and several other members of the crew; they all rowed hard to get to the beach as soon as they possibly could.

What a surprise was waiting for them! It seemed the whole population was there, cheering Benhazi’s name. There, at the start of the dunes, was his mother on the veranda of her pretty little beach cafe. But biggest and most surprising of all were the elephants, two of them standing in the middle of the beach, holding each other gently by the trunk, and bearing Eulalia and Captain Stench on their backs. When everyone had been reunited, the crew made their camp and Benhazi took Amanda to visit his family in their new home behind the beach. ‘We love it here, don’t we Steven?’ his mother told him, cuddling Sergeant Stink around his big, broad chest. ‘Your sisters can walk to school, and in the evenings and at weekends all the children come to play at the beach with their families. And look,’ she pointed out of the window, ‘Steven has even built a little tower so we can watch for ships.’ Hidalgo explained that he had planned to leave the elephants behind: when the Sultan had written to him about his plan he realised there was a good chance it could go wrong, so Stench and Stink had been briefed in advance to help thwart whatever evil Ling-Il might come up with. It had been Eulalia’s idea to use the elephants to help with the banana harvest. Hidalgo agreed they could stay, just so long as they didn’t have to work too hard. After all, getting them on and off the ship had always been a bit of a challenge. ‘What are you thinking?’ Benhazi asked Amanda as they walked up the beach towards their camp. The sun was setting behind the ship, turning the clouds to streaks of candyfloss and the sky as bright as molten bronze. !

‘That it’s more beautiful than I remember. And your family are all lovely. You must be glad to be home.’ ‘I suppose I am,’ Benhazi said. ‘I suppose I am.’ The next day was the show. The very special wedding entertainment started with the puppet show that Benhazi and Amanda had devised: a story of a prince and an elephant, of a wicked adviser who sent a log crashing down from a tower, of a people who loved their bananas and loved the elephants who helped to harvest them. The crowd loved it, especially the puppet characters that Amanda breathed life into – the guards, Eulalia, and even the log. The surprise for Benhazi was that the wedding celebration was not for his mother: Eulalia had married Captain Stench – Stephan – that morning and she looked happier than he had ever seen her. When it was all over and the crowds had all gone home, Benhazi sat on the beach looking thoughtful, throwing broken shells into the sea. ‘Cooey!’ called Amanda. ‘There you are. We thought you’d gone up to the palace.’ ‘It’s not really a palace any more,’ Benhazi said, hurling another shell towards the little waves breaking on the shore. Amanda sat next to him and held his hand. It was some time before he spoke again. ‘They’ve asked me to stay, you know? Eulalia suggested I could build a theatre here with the money they confiscated from Ling-Il.’ ‘I know, she told me. That’s very exciting. You know, they all love you very much.’ ‘I know,’ Benhazi said, a bit defensively. ‘I love them too.’ !

The two young people talked until the sun had disappeared completely beyond the horizon. They lit a lamp and talked some more, scribbling lines in the sand, made notes and plans on pieces of parchment, not resting until dozens of pages were covered. When the sun came up it found them asleep, side-by-side on the beach. ‘So you see, I really don’t need to stay,’ Benhazi told his sister later that day. ‘The theatre can be built – here are the designs – and Amanda will stay and run the company. There will be a school attached where she will teach dance and puppetry and writing. Next year I will come back with the troupe and we’ll perform in it. And if any of the island’s own performers want to accompany us when ... ’ he glanced nervously at Eulalia, ‘ ... when we leave again, they can join us for a year. Do you think my people will forgive me for renouncing the sultanship?’ ‘We will miss you, as we have this last year. But I think your decision is wise. So I forgive you! As for the small matter of officially renouncing your sultanship, why not leave that until your next visit?’ said Eulalia, tactfully not reminding Benhazi he had already been stripped of his title in his absence – one of the first official things the new council had done. ‘I’ll write to you. Promise you’ll write back.’ ‘I promise!’ And so it was decided. Four days later Benhazi helped his old godfather into the boat before he took hold of the rudder and guided them back to the ship and their next great adventure, whatever it might be. §

Written for James, for your ninth birthday. Many happy returns! 2015