The Medieval Marine - Cauldron Simmering
Copyright© 2025 by somethin fishy
Chapter 3: Infatuation
“Nothing defines humans better than their willingness to do irrational things in the pursuit of phenomenally unlikely payoffs. This is the principle behind lotteries, dating, and religion.” – Scott Adams.
Isfahan, Seljuk Empire. January 1078
Morvarid Khatun sighed as her brother was trying to marry her off again. Since her brother was Sultan Malik-Shah I of the Seljuk Empire, it was foolish to disagree with him. Still, if he was going to pick a husband for her, she wished he would choose an interesting one. The latest suiter was the governor of Balkh.
From what Morvarid heard, the man already had three wives, was fat, dull, and smelled funny. To make it worse for Morvarid, the man hadn’t sired a child in 20 years. The servants accompanying the emissary were quite forthright regarding their liege even if the emissary wasn’t. Morvarid had discovered relatively early in life that if she wanted dirt on someone, her first stop should be that person’s servants since they heard and saw everything. A few coins were a cheap investment for the information the servants held.
So far, Morvarid had driven off most suiters who met with her. Several others had died in the empire’s constant low-level warfare. It seemed that one noble was going to war with another noble every week over some insignificant village or barren hillside. During these battles, many members of the lower levels of nobility were killed while others won great acclaim. Still, in the grand scheme, these battles were a constant drain on the empire’s manpower and resources.
Malik had great hopes for this match. He needed the governor solidly on his side, and having a spy in the governor’s palace would help Malik. The Seljuk Empire was barely being held together, and only under the iron grip of the Seljuk house did the empire survive. Malik’s problem with Morvarid was three-fold: she was beautiful beyond measure, and her name didn’t do her justice. She had an overbearing personality and intelligence that frightened away many suitors, and it was strongly rumored that she preferred female company to male.
All three were correct to varying degrees, as Morvarid was tall at 184cm with a perfect hourglass figure. It wasn’t uncommon for men to be walking, get distracted by her hips or bust, and walk into a wall or trip over their feet. If her body wasn’t distracting enough, her long, silky black hair hung to the small of her back, smelled of jasmine, and was offset by her ivory skin. Finally, Morvarid was gifted with beautiful golden eyes that seemed to hypnotize anyone looking into them.
If her beauty wasn’t intimidating enough, Morvarid was a precocious reader and loved knowledge more than her brother. Many days, she could be found with her nose in a book, and she could speak, read, and write in ten different languages; her favorite was ancient Greek. Being able to read Greek made understanding the ancient’s wisdom much easier, and Morvarid discovered it was best to find the original text because each time it was translated, some of the words changed. After being translated several times, the meaning of the work often changed to something quite different from what the original author said.
Malik’s third problem with marrying off Morvarid was she was rumored to strongly prefer female company. This was the weakest of the rumors since Morvarid didn’t actually prefer female company; she kept the rumor alive to keep men away from her. She saw all the men around her as being unworthy of her and was determined to keep herself for the one worthy man. To help with her urges and keep her maidenhead intact, Morvarid retained the help of two servant girls.
The two servants were twin blue-eyed sisters, Guzal and Tuija, from what Luke would know as the Volga region of Russia. Their blue eyes and Guzal’s platinum blonde hair came from some Vikings that slipped into the family tree before the girls were born. In contrast, Tuija’s brilliant red hair was frequently present in the Volga region. The pair entered slavery when their father was forced to sell them to the Seljuk court so he could keep power in his tiny kingdom. Once in the Seljuk court, the twins were tutored in Islam and Persian courtly behavior. Morvarid took them as her confidential servants partly because they had no local connections, and she was intrigued by the rumor of Tuija’s fire-red pubic hair.
“My Sultan,” Morvarid said without emotion as she entered the room where Malik was negotiating her marriage to the Balkh governor. “I pray Allah has provided me with a worthy man to call a husband.” Malik cringed but carried on.
“I believe he has, dear sister. Asadullah Hashemi is a brave man who has won many battles and has proven to be a loyal servant.” Morvarid gave her brother a glare that said everything; she didn’t believe a word he said.
“You impress me, brother. You lied to me without showing any signs of lying.” Malik became red in the face. “Please, Malik, do not tell me you believe anything you just told me, especially since I know better. Asadullah Hashemi is a fat, lazy man who fell into his role as governor. If he didn’t have good people working under him, the city would collapse and revolt against you. What infuriates me is you know all this, and yet you insist I marry the fat fool.”
“Morvarid, you are 20 years old. It is far past the time you get married. You will marry Asadullah Hashemi, end of discussion. Now go.”
Morvarid glared at her brother as she left. There was no way she would marry Asadullah Hashemi; she would marry a Christian pig farmer before marrying him. Unfortunately, her brother knew her too well and carefully guarded her.
By the time Morvarid returned to her quarters, she had tears streaming down her face. Asadullah was the type of husband she was scared of getting and couldn’t imagine being under his rolls of fat. Just the thought made her want to vomit, so she could only imagine what the actual event would hold. Thankfully, it would be some time before the wedding could take place.
As Morvarid lay crying on her bed, Guzal and Tuija bracketed her. They each rubbed Morvarid’s back to help calm her down.
“What am I to do?!?!” wailed Morvarid. “I do not wish to marry Asadullah Hashemi.”
Guzal and Tuija looked at each other and cringed. If their mistress married that man, then they would be in danger of being raped by him.
“We are sure you will figure something out,” said Tuija soothingly. “You always do.”
“It will not be enough this time. My brother has already told me this wedding will happen and has increased his guards around me to keep me from doing anything to stop it.” Morvarid turned over and looked at her servants/part-time lovers. “I know you two are only my servants, but I love both of you. If I am forced to go through with my wedding, I will ensure you two are freed so you do not suffer that horrid man.”
Guzal and Tuija looked at each other again and nodded.
“Princess, we serve you and will follow you no matter where it may take us or the risk involved,” said Guzal.
Morvarid looked at her two servants through her tears; she couldn’t believe the sacrifice they were willing to make for her. As Morvarid cried, the twins snuggled tighter to her, and Tuija pulled a blanket over them. Before they knew it, all three were asleep and wouldn’t wake until the next morning.
When Morvarid woke the next day, she was resigned to her fate but was lightened by the fact that it was almost a year away. It would take time for the emissary to return to Balkh, gather Asadullah’s party, and travel to Isfahan. During that time, anything might happen to postpone or cancel the wedding. With the hope of divine intervention, Morvarid began her day.
Her morning went surprisingly well as a book merchant arrived with new books to sell. One of the books was said to come from Britain, and Morvarid bought it. Everything about the book was strange, from the text to the font, from the paper to the binding. The only thing Morvarid didn’t like about the book was that it was written in English, and she couldn’t read it. From what she could understand, Morvarid knew it was about mathematics, but she would have to show it to her brother’s mathematicians to see how accurate her guess was.
After paying for the book, Morvarid took it to her brother’s favorite mathematician, Ghiyāth al-Dīn Abū al-Fatḥ ʿUmar ibn Ibrāhīm Nīsābūrī. Nīsābūrī was what Luke would call a polymath and was 30 years old. He had significant interests in mathematics and poetry. Currently, Nīsābūrī was working on a problem that had perplexed him for a year. In front of him on his workbench were various prints and drawings that had been made of Luke’s captured wristwatch. Nīsābūrī had been tasked with recreating the device by the sultan. So far, Nīsābūrī was pulling his hair out trying to duplicate the advanced levels of engineering required for the watch.
When Morvarid knocked, Nīsābūrī looked up and smiled; the smile grew when he saw the book she clutched to her chest. He had a soft spot for the girl and liked debating with her.
“Hello, Morvarid. What has brought the flower of the Seljuks to my door?” Morvarid smiled hearing Nīsābūrī’s flattery.
“I recently bought this book that I believe is on mathematics and would like to know how accurate it is.”
“Let me see it.” Morvarid handed the book over, and Nīsābūrī’s jaw fell open.
“When did you buy this?”
“This morning,” Morvarid answered, confused.
“This is a British book, and I have been trying to buy one for several years. I will pay you whatever you want for it.”
“No. I am not selling it, but I will let you borrow it as long as you promise to teach me everything you learn from it.”
“Princess, you have a deal.” Nīsābūrī stood with a warm smile and waved Morvarid to his worktable. There, he carefully opened the book and looked over the pages. “Well, at first glance, this appears to be an engineering book. I recognize parts of these formulas, but I cannot be sure without understanding the rest of them. However, I believe these formulas are for a steam engine.”
“A steam engine?!?!” Morvarid asked excitedly. “Do you think you can build one?”
“Maybe if I can find someone to help translate the rest of the book.”
“What about the prisoner?”
“I doubt that. That man is so ignorant that I doubt he can read.” Morvarid knew the man in question wasn’t ignorant but didn’t bother to correct Nīsābūrī.
“I think I can help translate it.”
“Seriously? You?” Nīsābūrī laughed. He didn’t know Morvarid spoke English; however, she still had difficulty reading it.
Morvarid only shook her head in disgust; she knew better. Like many other super-smart people, Nīsābūrī thought almost anyone not as bright as them wasn’t worth notice, which was virtually everyone. Nīsābūrī didn’t believe the British officer was nearly as bright as him; brilliant people didn’t go into the military. They taught other super-smart people at a university or worked for a wealthy patron. When working for a patron, they ensured they never completed their work, and if they wrote anything down, it was in their personal code so nobody else could understand it.
Sitting at her noon meal, another thought came to Morvarid that made her shiver. She wondered if the man could understand the people questioning him. He was a very successful commander, and stupid people do not become successful commanders. Marvarid sat close enough to her brother to hear most of what he said. It seemed there were more rebellions in the empire’s north, which didn’t surprise her.
It seemed like the northern parts of the empire were always rebelling. The region was mountainous, making it difficult for the mostly cavalry Seljuk Army to keep the area under control. This rebellion appeared to be sparked by a local official who attempted to enforce the Sultan’s will. That was the official reason Morvarid heard, but she didn’t doubt there was more to the rebellion. Regardless of the cause, Malik was forced to send an army north to deal with the rebels.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.