Assassination in Al Qahira

by James Boschert

  Most of them were Emirs and Chiefs who only came to the war because they had to. Not to have come would have been brought to the attention of the Sultan, Salah Ed Din, who would have punished them for cowardice. Abbas stiffened, as he could see that the general had noticed him, and was riding through the crowd towards him, looking purposeful.

  Abbas waited with his men until the general was almost up to him before he placed his right hand on his heart and bowed low. Everyone else was already kneeling on the sandy shore with their foreheads touching the sand. As an Emir in his own right, Abbas did not need to be so servile to the general, even though he was the brother of the Sultan.

  “Peace be with you. May Allah in his kindness protect Your Highness,” Abbas said in a clear voice lifting his head to speak.

  “Allah Protect you, Abbas, my good friend. You were successful in chasing the enemy forces back into their wilderness, I hear.”

  “My General, we chased them until our own horses were blown, but we took many lives from among their stragglers.”

  “Well…now that the enemy is safely out of the way, we can all go home. Would you care to sail with me, Abbas, or have you made some other arrangements?”

  “If it pleases my lord I would be honored to sail to Cairo with you,” Abbas said gratefully with another bow.

  “Good, then have a word with Hassan. I saw him talking to you, and guessed that he would place you in some leaky old tub.” The general grinned and gestured at the dhow in question. “You shall travel with me. I shall be sailing in that boat over there.” He pointed towards a very large and well-outfitted galley that was anchored in the middle of the river a little further downstream. He smiled, and then turned his horse away; Abbas bowed and watched him and his entourage as they rode off. One among the group looked back at Abbas, and his stare was not friendly. He saw Abbas staring back at him; the man gave a short laugh and then turned away, spurring his fine animal to catch up with the General. Abbas watched him with slitted eyes.

  The man’s name was Bahir Ibn Hakeem, and although he was distantly related to Abbas there was no love lost between them. He noticed another looking at him, who lifted his fly whisk nonchalantly when their eyes met. It was Kemosiri ibn Jibade, a lean, handsome man with strong features under his short beard. He was a well-known officer in the Army with a very high pedigree and enviable record of warfare. It was known that he was a dangerous person to cross but a good ally to have. Abbas considered him an ally if not a friend; few got close to him.

  Abbas decided that he wanted to travel with the General, as much to keep an eye on events as to ensure that Bahir did not stir up more trouble for him during the trip. There was always the risk that there might be trouble, but he was prepared to take that chance. He knew Panhsj would not sleep a wink for the entire three day voyage if he was asked to keep watch.

  He became very busy making arrangements to ensure that some of the nearer retainers sailed while most of his men could travel with their booty and his own share overland. Satisfied with the arrangements, he joined his men while he waited for word to embark. He pondered the reason for Bahir’s laughter, while half listening to his men murmuring quietly among themselves as they sat cross-legged in the shade of a clump of palms and ate their cold lunch of dried figs and dates washed down with water from the river.

  The relationship between himself and Bahir had deteriorated while they were teenage boys. Abbas had come across Bahir bullying a young girl in the palace grounds. Bahir and another boy were teasing her brutally. She was crying and screaming at them to leave her alone, but they persisted with pinches and slaps to make her cry even more. Abbas, who was also in his early teens, did not greatly care for girls at that time, but was still disturbed to see the unpleasant behavior. He instinctively reacted angrily to bullying or abuse of the weak at any time. The girl’s aged nurse was trying ineffectually to stop the boys, but was afraid of them, so all she could do was to flutter about like a plump goose squawking at the top of her voice and generally contributing to the noise, but little else.

  Abbas strode up to the two boys and shouted at them to stop what they were doing. He was just a little younger than Bahir and the other boy, which gave him no authority at all. Bahir had pushed him roughly out of the way with the words, “Get out of here, Abbas, you runt, it’s none of your business.”

  This had immediately incensed Abbas, who was even then not well known for controlling his temper. He smacked Bahir hard on the face with the flat of his hand. The loud slap stopped everyone in their tracks. Bahir had gasped and placed a hand over the rapidly reddening welt on his cheek. Then with a howl he had attacked Abbas, rushing at him with flailing fists and bared teeth.

  The other boy, after a moment of hesitation, also rushed in to assist so that Abbas soon found himself on the defensive. However, he struck back as hard as he could, drawing blood from Bahir’s nose, and a howl of pain from the other boy whom he poked in the eye. The two boys had run off whimpering and promising all sorts of dire consequences, but Abbas had not paid them any attention. He licked a swollen lip, but he was otherwise uninjured. The young girl, with huge eyes, had come up to him and stammered her thanks.

  He looked at her and saw a skinny creature of about nine, with a tear stained face and dribbling nose and wondered why he had taken the trouble. Her nurse gathered the little girl up in her robes and dragged her away, still looking over her shoulder at him with huge gratitude in her eyes. She was calling upon Allah to protect him, as he would surely need it now.

  “I am Khalidah, what is your name?” the little girl called over her shoulder.

  “My name is Abbas,” he had said abruptly, without interest.

  “I shall remember you always. Allah protect you forever,” she called, and then she was gone.

  Abbas had made an implacable enemy out of Bahir from that day forth. They had fought again and again, with Abbas not always winning, as Bahir was sure to bring a henchman as backup. The hatred had endured, although they were separated upon reaching the age of fifteen, in order to go back to their respective families. The animosity had persisted during the turmoil of the new Sultan’s arrival in Egypt, when most of the old families, once loyal to the former Fatimid rulers, were now jostling for positions within the new regime.

  Abbas had been appointed to the position of Captain of the palace guard as a reward for soldiering well in one of the campaigns that the Sultan had waged across the North African regions. He had further earned his sultan’s approval during the brief war with the Christians, when the sultan had called upon men from all over Egypt to come to the colors and defend the country. Many had not, because they considered him to be an upstart. They had stayed within the safety of the walls of Alexandria or Cairo, while the new sultan sallied forth with a small but determined army to arrest the progress of the invaders.

  Abbas’ first wife had died in childbirth after delivering a baby daughter. The grieving Abbas had spent his time away from his ancestral home, leaving his daughter to be raised by her grandmother on his wife’s side, in Alexandria. The girl had been almost six years old by the time Abbas came back from the wars and his duties to the Sultan.

  He had come across Khalidah again while visiting the huge estates of a longtime friend of his father. Abbas’s father had died early in battle, making him the head of the family, so it was a duty for him to pay respects to the Emir, although he performed it tardily.

  On one of these occasions, the Emir Al Hakim ibn Hudhafah Ghassan had invited him to come with him on a walk in the cool gardens of his small palace. They walked slowly in the shade of the tall pomegranate bushes and the palm trees. As they walked, the old man remained silent, allowing Abbas to become aware of the calm in the garden. He gazed up at the date palms and at the even taller sycamores; his eyes rested on the flowered gardens and the cool green bushes, newly wet by the busy gardeners. The perfume of the tiny white jasmine flowers and fruit tree blossoms wafted through the air around them as they walked almost sho
ulder to shoulder. It was a far cry from the harsh deserts Abbas was more familiar with these days.

  Some way off, he could hear the sound of water from a fountain splashing into a pond and heard cicadas buzzing in the palm fronds. The whole atmosphere was one of peace and tranquility. It had been a very long time since he had known either. He sighed, soaking in the unaccustomed atmosphere with pleasure.

  “How long is it, Abbas, my young friend, since you knew a woman?” the older man asked without looking at him.

  Abbas had been taken aback by the directness of the old man. He took his time responding, as he was uncomfortable with the question.

  “It has been a long time, my Father,” he revealed reluctantly.

  “I thought so. You have taken yourself away from your family and you have neglected your friends, going off to war as often as the Sultan permits you to.”

  “Father, forgive me if I have been negligent of my duties. Since the death of my wife, may Allah be kind to her soul, I have no desire left in me,” Abbas muttered uncomfortably, wishing the conversation would go elsewhere.

  The old man gave a skeptical chuckle. “Is it not Allah’s will that we procreate and produce sons to fight our wars and protect our nation and daughters, who can in turn, give their husbands children?”

  “It is written, Oh Father.” Abbas agreed.

  “Then you should marry again, and have a family with many children, my son,” the old man suggested quietly with a smile, putting his age-spotted hand on Abbas’s strong forearm.

  Just at that moment they came round a corner and saw the fountain, and the sound of the splashing water came sharper to Abbas’s ears. It was a very calm and lovely setting; the fountain was tucked in among flowering shrubs and pomegranate bushes with the palms behind lending a wide expanse of shade. It was also very private. But Abbas did not see the beauty of the fountain nor smell the scent of the fruit trees; instead he saw an apparition.

  He saw a lovely young woman, who had unthinkingly dropped her veil. She was seated on the side of the pond, leaning out, with her hand in the water running it back and forth, teasing large carp that were moving languidly in the water. She was humming a tune, and seemed quite unaware of their intrusion.

  Abbas stopped abruptly and stared. While he had known other women since his wife’s death, he was awed by this beautiful creature. In one long glance, he saw her fine, light olive skin, her slim limbs and delicate wrists. He even glimpsed a finely turned ankle that was showing below the hem of an intricately patterned cotton dress. He sensed rather than saw she was a beautifully formed woman.

  She noticed them just after they had stopped, and gave a small gasp. She hurriedly replaced her veil and stood up.

  “Father, forgive me. I did not know you were coming with a guest!” she exclaimed.

  “Do not be alarmed, my daughter,” her father reassured her, and he turned to Abbas.

  “Sir, please forgive my daughter’s impropriety, she is young and rebellious and should be punished for her impropriety, but I love her dearly. She is the light of my life.”

  The old man had a twinkle in his eyes.

  “This is Khalidah, my only daughter and my treasure. My daughter, this is Lord Abbas. Please be respectful to him,” he said sternly. But the old man was smiling with pleasure at the sight of his daughter, who it was clear wanted to embrace him, but held back because of the stranger.

  Abbas suddenly remembered. “Forgive my bad manners, my Lady, but have we …are you the girl I met while in the garden of the palace of Prince Said?”

  Khalidah laughed, and he felt his chest tighten. Her laugh tinkled and blended with the sound of the water from the fountain to make music in his ears.

  “It is I, my lord. You saved me from a very unpleasant time; Bahir is such a bully, but… at much expense to yourself, I fear.”

  Abbas, who had already decided that he had paid no price at all, nodded, mesmerized by the young woman in front of him. He did not know what else to say.

  “It appears that you two know each other,” the old man said, but he seemed unsurprised.

  Abbas nodded again and declared, “We met a long time ago, Sire. It was not the best of meetings.”

  “Well, my daughter does not seem to agree with you there, my son.” The old man smiled and asked, “Khalidah, please would you see that the servants bring us refreshments, as we wish to sit here and talk together.” He laid his hand alongside his daughter’s cheek affectionately.

  “I shall see to it myself, father,” she responded.

  She walked off gracefully, leaving some indefinable scent behind that teased Abbas’s senses. His eyes never left the swaying form as it receded down the path.

  The old man watched with a half-smile as the scene unfolded before him, then sat down heavily on the side of the fountain. He waved Abbas down beside him. He was pleased that he had contrived the meeting thus, and by the look of bewildered awe on the face of his young visitor, it had been a success so far.

  He studied Abbas for a moment. He saw a determined visage, the lean body of a warrior well used to hardship, but the features were not coarse. The well-groomed beard and slightly hooked nose, the strong chin and deep set dark eyes commanded respect for one who was just thirty years old.

  “Abbas, my young Prince. I have known you almost all your life and have heard good reports of you from all quarters, but it is time to discuss something that concerns me deeply.”

  Abbas made to speak, but the old man raised his hand for silence, and out of respect Abbas held his peace.

  “There is something very important that I want to discuss with you, so please let me finish. In normal circumstances, your parents and I would talk about it and then decide and so on. But as your father is dead, I must talk to you directly, for time is of the essence.”

  “Allah protect you, Father, but if there is anything I can do to help then I am your servant,” Abbas murmured, not at all sure where this was going.

  “It is a delicate matter but it must be said. You need to marry again, my son. I have a beautiful daughter who is unmarried, and who is already somewhat older than she should be for marriage, but who is still young enough to bear children,” the old man smiled with his eyes.

  He left the rest of it in the air, waiting patiently for Abbas to collect his wits.

  After looking all around the garden trying to regain his composure, he finally spoke.

  “Father, you do me great honor. Your daughter has enchanted me and I would willingly marry her today but…would she want me?” He knew very well that it would not be up to Khalidah to choose, if her father decided to marry her off; nonetheless, he felt it should be asked.

  The old man looked at him with approval.

  “She has mentioned your name on several occasions, since another came to propose to me for her hand.”

  Abbas gave a start. “Who?” he blurted out, in spite of himself.

  “Why, Emir Bahir of course, who else? He has known her since they were playmates at the palace of the Sultan many years ago.”

  “They were no playmates,” Abbas burst out. “Oh, respected Father, as Allah is my witness he bullied her whenever he could.”

  “I was not unaware of this,” said the old man calmly.

  “You refused him?” Abbas regretted his abrupt tone immediately. “I…I am sorry. Forgive me, Father, I spoke rudely, but I do not like that man,” he added impulsively.

  “Indeed, nor do I! No, my son. There is nothing to forgive; but yes, I did refuse him the first and the second time, but…the third time might be hard to resist, as he has influence and could go to the Sultan and request the right to marry her. Besides,” he added, “she would have turned him down in any case, as she has so many others. I was beginning to despair.” He gave a dry chuckle. “I would not marry her off to anyone, Abbas. Her happiness is important to me.”

  “But if I propose and she…you accept, then he cannot affect this union, Father?” Abbas demanded, a little breat
hless now.

  “Indeed, I believe that to be the case, my son.”

  Abbas stared at him. He hesitated and looked away, uncertain, but then made his decision.

  “Then…then I wish to propose marriage to your daughter, Sire…if you will accept me as your son?” He said it in a rush, as he impulsively knelt in front of the old man and grasped his hand.

  “She is beautiful indeed. So beautiful,” Abbas said, as though to himself. He had barely seen her, but the vision of her leaning over the pond, the delicate limbs, the hint of full breasts, with an oval face and huge dark eyes, was still fixed in his mind.

  As though by some invisible command, two servants appeared carrying large silver trays with sherbet and small honey cakes and falafel. Khalidah followed; she was now veiled as decorum dictated, and was wearing finely wrought slippers that slapped her heels at each light step.

  Abbas stood up as she approached, as did her father, who spoke gently, but with much emotion in his voice.

  “Come to me, my daughter, I have something important to tell you.”

  She glided over to stand in front of them, her head demurely down. He took her hands and held them while the servants departed, having made low tables of the large trays that had been laid on folding legs.

  “My dear Khalidah, my lovely daughter. Prince Abbas has asked me for your hand in marriage! Though why he would want to marry a self-willed and stubborn girl like you, I cannot think,” he was smiling and there were tears in his eyes.

  She lifted her head then, and the veil dropped again, this time because she had rushed into her father’s arms, all decorum forgotten, a huge smile lighting up her face.

  “Oh, Father! Have you accepted?”

  “My dear, please. Behave yourself. What will our guest think of you?” her father remonstrated, even as he embraced her tenderly.

  Instantly contrite, Khalidah resumed her demure posture, and replaced her veil.