Red Nile: The Biography of the World’s Greatest River

by Twigger, Robert

  The Red Nile: it is a river that has turned red with the blood of invading armies, red with the colour of silt, red with the colour of ancient plagues; on this river it is wildly appropriate that the innermost secrets of blood should be discovered.

  Mansoura is a town on the Nile. It is north of Cairo in the delta, where the Nile forks to run its last miles into the Mediterranean. Formed by several million years of silt, the delta is the most prosperous part of Egypt. It is also, as we have heard, the place where Baiburs stopped the crusader advance into Egypt and imprisoned Louis IX. And it is where Baiburs’ most trusted friend, the physician Ibn al-Nafis, started the Al-Nassri hospital and wrote many of his medical works.

  Not that he did much anatomy – Al-Nafis said he loved animals too much to dissect them for the sake of science, an unusually enlightened approach. What he learnt about the body must have come from studying humans rather than animals. But what he did discover was extraordinary – he wrote over eighty volumes on medical topics alone. He wrote just as much on theological, legal and general subjects. His philosophical novel Theologicus Autodidacticus is credited with being the first sci-fi novel. And 400 years before William Harvey, he discovered how the blood circulated in the body.

  Until Al-Nafis, it was the second-century BC Greek, Galen, who was the accepted authority on the mechanisms of the human body. Galen’s theory, which had been accepted by the great polymath Avicenna (on whom Al-Nafis would write a commentary dealing with the function of the heart and lungs), was that a plethora of invisible pores perforated the cardiac septum allowing air somehow to enter the bloodstream. He postulated that the venous and the arterial blood systems were entirely separate. Until recently it has been a medical orthodoxy, playing to the Western sense of self-importance when it comes to scientific discovery, that the world was ignorant of the way the blood circulated until Harvey, anatomy lecturer and physician extraordinary to James I. It seems an odd sort of historical symmetry that both of these discoverers of the secrets of blood circulation should have been favoured physicians of their particular monarch. Harvey, though, was a cutter. In his anatomy lectures he made it a rule ‘to cut up as much as may be in the sight of the audience’. But we now know that he was not the first. In 1924, while rootling through the vast archives of the Prussian State Library in Berlin, an Egyptian doctor named Muhyi al-Din al-Tatawi came across Al-Nafis’ Commentary on Anatomy in Avicenna’s Canon (1242). Al-Nafis had been twenty-nine when he wrote it. Towards the end of the fifteenth century the Venetian scholar and diplomat Andrea Alpago had translated another of Al-Nafis’ works – a compendium of drugs used in the Arab world – and in a side-note mentioned Al-Nafis’ disagreement with Galen about the circulation of the blood. Alpago’s nephew published this book in 1547 – and it was reprinted in 1556, 1562, 1582 and 1595. Harvey studied medicine in Padua from 1599 to 1602 when he graduated as a doctor. Almost certainly he read or heard mention of Al-Nafis’ ideas at that time.

  Al-Nafis wrote:

  the blood from the right chamber of the heart must arrive at the left chamber but there is no direct pathway between them. The thick septum of the heart is not perforated and does not have visible pores as some people thought or invisible pores as Galen thought. The blood from the right chamber must flow through the vena arteriosa to the lungs, spread through its substances, be mingled there with air, pass through the arteria venosa to reach the left chamber of the heart.

  Perhaps Al-Nafis, who was born in Damascus and came to Cairo in 1236, was inspired by the ebb and flood of the Nile in his description of how the heart worked. Galen could not see how the vastly dissimilar-seeming venous and arterial systems could be the same. But the Nile in flood is vastly different from the Nile in ebb, as different as the extravagant bounty of arterial blood compared to the thin offerings of a vein.

  The need of the lungs for the vena arteriosa is to transport to it the blood that has been thinned and warmed in the heart, so that what seeps through the pores of the branches of this vessel into the alveoli of the lungs may mix with what there is of air therein and combine with it, the resultant composite becoming fit to be spirit, when this mixing takes place in the left cavity of the heart.

  Al-Nafis states his position unequivocally:

  The heart has only two ventricles . . . and between these two there is absolutely no opening. Also dissection gives this lie to what they said, as the septum between these two cavities is much thicker than elsewhere. The benefit of this blood (that is in the right cavity) is to go up to the lungs, mix with what is in the lungs of air, then pass through the arteria venosa to the left cavity of the two cavities of the heart . . .

  The flood of the Nile brings nourishment to the land in the form of waterborne silt. Al-Nafis might have had this in mind when writing:

  again his [Avicenna’s] statement that the blood that is in the right side is to nourish the heart is not true at all, for the nourishment to the heart is from the blood that goes through the vessels that permeate the body of the heart.

  That one of the most bloodcurdling of rulers should have the discoverer of the circulation of the blood as his personal physician seems appropriate. Yet I like to think it was the Nile that provided him with the answers, not the vast numbers of corpses his ruler made available to the world.

  It is reported that Al-Nafis, when not working, loved the spectacle of fireworks (which must have arrived from China along with Baiburs’ hand cannon), great bonfires, jugglers, tumblers and conjurors of every stripe.

  11 • The poison taster’s wife

  When a woman is pregnant she is equal to all other pregnant women.

  Ethiopian proverb

  Many of the roles of modern government originated in apparently menial servant chores, chores which, however, required great loyalty. And all regimes are built on loyalty ahead of intelligence, competence and flair, for without loyalty the enemy assassin could strike at any time – as Saladin knew. The chamberlain was originally the master of the bedchamber. The chancellor was the doorkeeper to the ruler’s quarters, but doorkeeper can be a very powerful job when government becomes established and bureaucratic. Men who occupied these posts could expect promotion, perhaps to the key position of sultan. However, in the case of Ayyub it was none of the more prominent Mamluks who became sultan. Shajarat al-Durr, fully intending to keep her position as ruler, required someone connected to the former ruler, acceptable to Bahri Mamluks but not one of them – because that would grant them too much power. Such a person was Aybak, Ayyub’s former poison taster.

  In a culture as paranoid and unhealthy as that of the Mamluk court, poison taster was a key job. Not only absolute loyalty was required, but also courage, and competence – since the key requirement was managing the kitchens in such a way that poison could not be introduced at any stage in the proceedings from kitchen to dining room. And even employing only chefs from the village of Manial Shiha, which Aybak did, as this was a place not only where good cooking could be found but where all were related and bound by a similar bond of loyalty – and all knew that if the ruler was poisoned they too would be killed (bisection with a razor-sharp sabre being the usual death a poisoner could expect). Still, even with a spotless and systemised kitchen secure from interlopers and with a loyal staff, there was the possibility of a rogue element entering the equation. For this the poison taster needed to be able to spot a poisoned dish – even when he was half asleep, last thing at night or first thing in the morning. Such know ledge also, naturally, made him expert in the art of poisoning and therefore not wholly trusted by the paranoid Mamluk court. It was not an easy job.

  Belladonna, ratsbane, the potato bug, vitriol; laurel water, wood-ash lye, monkshood and antimonial wine; thorn apple, Jamestown weed, ink cap and lead vinegar – all had their own signature, their own tell-tale signs. Hellebore, Indian poke, hemlock and henbane – you had to be careful: mistake one for another and the antidote would exacerbate the damage. The antidote was the last line of self-defence. One did
not, after all, want to die doing this job. Naturally the poison taster always had a tame doctor at hand in case of emergencies.

  At the first sign that poison was present, one induced vomiting – the best method being an emetic of ground mustard or powdered alum in a syrup of molasses. If hemlock is suspected – known by a dryness to the throat, tremors and dizziness – then the stomach must be fully emptied, using ammonia, if necessary, to complete the job.

  Indian-poke poisoning produces symptoms of violent vomiting and bloody stools. The vomiting need only be speeded up through the intake of draughts of warm water and molasses. Oily purgatives and clysters of strong coffee, camomile and opium will all help counter this pernicious plant poison.

  For a mineral poison such as oil of vitriol, bloody vomiting may precede excessive thirst, convulsions and death, with the mouth and lips excoriated, shrivelled white and yellow. Calcined magnesia mixed with milk to the consistency of cream, if taken immediately, may be remedy enough. When the poison is got rid of, slippery elm tea and flaxseed gruel will aid recovery.

  Aconite or wolfsbane poisoning leads to numbness and tingling in the mouth, and bit by bit all regions of the body likewise submit. It was used in ancient times to poison wells, as well as for tipping arrows and spears used on a lion hunt. A form of aconite is present in the common buttercup; it is very unwise to put its leaves and petals in the mouth. Should aconite poisoning be suspected, a strong emetic is needed straight away followed by a tiny measure of ammonia every half-hour. If cold well water is available, douche the head and chest with it, though apply warmth to the extremities.

  Deadly nightshade or belladonna is an old favourite of court poisoners as there is no known antidote. The plant has little odour and only a small bitterness easily concealed with molasses or honey. Belladonna poisoning causes dryness of the mouth followed by loss of vision. Since there is no cure save hopeful reliance on a prompt emetic it is best to keep stimulating the body through alcohol and opium until either the symptoms pass or death prevails.

  Laurel water (the active ingredient is cyanide) in a large dose is almost instantaneously fatal. In smaller doses there is loss of control of the voluntary muscles. The odour of almonds is usually enough to alert a poison taster to this concoction. If afflicted, spirits of hartshorn largely diluted may be given, the vapour of it cautiously inhaled.

  It is quite possible to murder a prince or a king with opium. The symptoms are giddiness and drowsiness at first, a feeling of wellbeing that rapidly descends with the fatal dose into stupor; the pulse slows and weakens, the pupils contract, and as death approaches the extremities become icy cold, the sphincters relax. Naturally an emetic of strong proportions must be administered. Strong coffee is also advised. In extreme cases belladonna may be used – tiny amounts every twenty minutes, the exact quantity gauged by watching for the pupils to expand. Use whatever method is available to prevent the onset of what may be the last, fatal sleep.

  Nux vomica, or in modern parlance strychnine, exerts a peculiar effect on the body that is immediately noticeable: all the muscles contract and the spinal cord becomes a rigid column of bone. A profound calm soon descends followed by a second, titanic seizure, longer than the first, and during which respiration is halted. These symptoms then cease and the breathing becomes easy, leading to a stupor, followed by another attack; the titanic seizures return with increasing ferocity until the onset of death. If any part of the body is touched during a quiescent period of the poisoning it immediately sets off another seizure. Interestingly, even threatening to touch the victim can trigger a fresh titanic seizure. A purgative clyster should be taken along with a strong emetic. Oil of turpentine can be administered as an antidote after the stomach is cleared. Opium, too, has some success in extreme cases. Oils and butter taken into the emptied stomach are also useful.

  Thorn apple perverts the vision and leads to vertigo. It is to be treated in the same way as belladonna poisoning.

  Hemlock is known through the exquisite dizziness it causes, followed by a dry throat and a creeping paralysis of the limbs. The stomach should be emptied with mustard and then dosed with small amounts of ammonia. It may be that air needs to be blown into the victim’s lungs by an attendant physician, if the breathing weakens to a dangerous extent.

  But Aybak’s status as the husband of Shajarat al-Durr was not enough to convince the Bahri Mamluks, so a co-reign involving six-year-old Musa, the grandson of a previous Ayyubid sultan, became the front for a curious three-handed regime.

  Under the Turks, a rule, the harsh rule of the wolf pack, endured. The man who kills the ruler is the only one fit to rule. Those who served with obedience and competence but did not wish to despatch the ruler when the time was mysteriously right, perhaps when he had begun to lose his power, luck or abilities, such people did not deserve to rule. This ideology, brutal but effective, reached its apogee in the behaviour of Turkish princes murdering their siblings to ensure that they had no obvious rivals for the throne.

  Aybak became cocky. He managed to oust the Mamluks behind little Musa and proclaimed himself the sole ruler, omitting Shajarat al-Durr’s name from newly minted coinage. He went one step too far, though, and sought to marry the daughter of the Emir of Mosul. It was purely political – you can imagine him explaining that to his enraged wife back in Cairo. In any case the decision would cost him dear. As he reclined in the harem in his ornate tiled bath, with rose water being poured over his head, he was seized by the bath attendants, slaves loyal first to Shajarat al-Durr, and his throat was cut, so deeply that his head almost fell off, filling the bath with arterial blood.

  But Shajarat al-Durr had miscalculated her power. The Mamluks realised that their time had come. In some versions of the story the Mamluks encouraged Aybak’s former wife to avenge herself on the woman who had supplanted her in his affections, before arresting her for murder.

  Shajarat al-Durr locked herself in the Red Tower of the Citadel to escape capture. Growing weaker and weaker from lack of food, she spent her days grinding her jewels on a flat granite stone used by Bedouin in the desert for crushing grain. Determined that no woman would ever wear her finery, she managed to destroy an enormous amount of her wealth. In one version of the story she even, in her final delirium, ate the powdered jewels because she was so hungry. Eventually, utterly starving, she opened the door. Dragged out by the other female members of her dead husband’s harem she was beaten to death with clogs and her body discarded in the ditch surrounding the Citadel. In this ditch, 500 years later, the last of the Mamluks would meet his doom at the hands of the Albanian brigand Muhammad Ali.

  And what of Baiburs, who would soon take over the throne from the ill-used Shajarat al-Durr and her poison-tasting husband? He would lead the Arabs to great victories over the Mongols and the Christians, securing the Middle East for several centuries. He would die aged sixty-four in 1277 from drinking kumiss, fermented mares’ milk, a favourite drink of the Kipchaks and Mongols. Baiburs, who had become increasingly paranoid and was afraid that he would be killed, insisted that the mares’ milk used be coloured with his colour – saffron yellow – so that he knew it came from his safe stock. Baiburs’ paranoia was fed by other ailments – poor digestion and a failing memory. Food and drink sometimes turned up under the pillows where he rested. If left too long, kumiss turns into a deadly poison; it seems that Baiburs may have poisoned himself.

  12 • Baiburs’ city

  Do not buy the swift strong horse, buy the one already tamed.

  Egyptian proverb

  The best time to see Old Cairo, the Cairo of Baiburs and Al-Nafis, is around 6 or 6.30 on a Saturday morning. No one is around. The sun has just risen and is catching all the great mosques and walls and palaces in its rosy-fingered glow. If you’re on a motorbike you can get down any number of narrow alleys and overhung streets; walking works too, but somehow having wheels multiplies the grandeur of the place, as you can take more in more intensely. And you can zoom past dogs. Hire a taxi an
d just drive around.

  Of course I only rarely follow my own advice. Often I used to be driving through the old city last thing at night, its ancientness illuminated by green mosque lights and the stuttering glow of a street arc welder.

  Once, out later than usual, I stopped at a café with shishas (water-pipes or hookahs) just below the Citadel, not far from the City of the Dead cemetery. Two boys, maybe fifteen or sixteen years old, were performing for the small audience, who were, I must say, only mildly interested. Not me. These boys were the real thing, thin as wire in their grubby tracksuits and dusty sandals, armed with just a Baraka water bottle full of gasoline, a small bucket brazier filled with glowing charcoal and a few rags. While the older one ate fire, the other, who had dyed his hair on top an odd light-brown colour, juggled with it, thin sticks each wrapped with a cotton wad soaked in petrol. When they saw I was interested the tricks got better. The fire eater took a length of metal – iron or steel, I guessed – and heated it until it glowed red from the brazier. Very slowly, but with little other ceremony, he bit off the end and spat it into a water glass where it hissed and sizzled most convincingly.

  The other handed him some grubby sponges quickly doused in petrol. He held them in the meshi, the tongs used to tend a waterpipe. Then he lit each one with a concealed lighter and tossed it high into the night sky. He caught each burning sponge in his mouth as it came down – yet at the end his mouth was empty. I alone applauded this, though two other old gaffers were watching with amusement. I knew I would be the one paying, but it was worth it.

  The last trick was almost the most impressive. With no warning and none of the fandango of a ‘real’ magician, almost in fact as an afterthought, the boy picked up with a fork a piece of charcoal from the red-hot glowing brazier. With no pause for it to cool he popped it in his mouth. Then another, and another. One, two, three, four – down they went, and all he did was smile. He showed his empty white-toothed mouth – the red-hot charcoal all swallowed, it seemed.