by Mika Waltari
“He sits before you,” said Abu el-Kasim, with simple dignity. But the eldest merchant paid no attention. He stroked his beard and said, “The man must be entirely trustworthy, for if he’s discovered and is asked whence this money came, we shall deny everything and swear on the Koran that he’s a liar. It will be no sin if we have a fatwa to appeal to. But if all goes well we can present ourselves before Khaireddin and say, ‘Behold, we did this thing; do not forget us.’ There remains only the problem-where to find the right man?”
Abu el-Kasim swore by Allah, the Koran, and his own beard that he was working in the cause of freedom and demanded nothing for himself. Having no other proposal the merchants found themselves compelled to trust him. At dusk one evening an iron chest appeared in our courtyard. In it lay ten leather bags within each of which were ten smaller ones, containing one hundred gold coins apiece. With some difficulty we carried this chest indoors. Abu el-Kasim locked the door and closed the shutters, and when Giulia had retired for the night he carefully counted the money. I had never seen so much gold in a single’heap before, and I said, “Abu, my dear master, let us quickly put the money back in the bags, hire a sturdy camel, and leave the city while there’s yet time.”
But Abu el-Kasim sighed, “Lead me not into temptation, Michael el-Hakim. Khaireddin’s weapons are ready, but it will take much to induce the rapacious Hassan to look the other way when they’re brought to the city. There are also Selim’s troops to be bribed. We can be thankful if even half this sum remains for us.”
All went smoothly. At the caravansary strangers with lean faces and burning eyes appeared, fumbling for the swords they did not carry. Poor tradesmen and artisans quaked and spent sleepless nights when in compliance with the fatwa they concealed weapons in their warehouses and granaries. But the Faqih set forth upon a long pilgrimage, and the eldest sons of the merchants kept him company; for so it was ordained in a marvelous dream that he had had.
Fruit trees blossomed and braziers were no longer necessary indoors. My heart was in my mouth all that time, though Abu el-Kasim cheered me, saying, “Ah, Michael, danger is the spice of life! How soon we weary of a quiet, comfortable existence. Nothing in the world gives a man so good an appetite or such sound sleep as approaching danger. Only then does a man fully appreciate the days remaining to him.”
No doubt he spoke in mockery, for I continually cried out in my sleep, and an unpleasant sensation in my throat had bereft me of all desire for food. But when the soft spring wind brought the scent of blossom to my nostrils I could find comfort from time to time in thinking of all the poor and oppressed people whom we should now be able to liberate from tyranny. And ever more eagerly I awaited the hour when Giulia would become my slave.
I was working outside the shop one warm spring day when I saw a strange youth approaching our house. As he walked one heard a pleasant jingling sound, for he wore a short tunic with a silken, tas- seled girdle to which silver bells were fastened. Below his knees he had bound silken ribbons with similar bells, and over his shoulders hung a lion skin, its forepaws crossed upon his breast. His well-kept, curly hair waved over his shoulders, he wore nothing on his head, and his black beard gleamed like silk. He carried a book bound in soft leather and as he paced along the street he opened it now and again and read, seemingly oblivous of all that went on around him, twirling the tassels of his girdle abstractedly, so that the bells jingled in time with his steps.
He was indeed the handsomest youth I had ever seen. When he drew nearer and I noted his beauty and his graceful, dignified bearing, I was filled with envy. He paused before me and addressed me in carefully articulated Arabic, “I have been told that Abu el-Kasim the drug merchant dwells here. If you are his son, Allah has indeed blessed him!”
My clothes were dirty and my hands stained with dye, and feeling exceedingly inferior in the presence of the stranger I replied abruptly, “This is Abu el-Kasim’s shop, but I’m only a slave. My name is Michael el-Hakim and I can’t invite you into the house as my master is out.”
The stranger surveyed me with his brilliant eyes and exclaimed, “Are you Michael el-Hakim? I’ve heard of you. Never have I beheld such beautiful eyes, such rosy cheeks, and such admirable hands as yours.”
He bent to take me in his arms and kissed me on both cheeks, so that I had difficulty in disengaging myself and began to have grave suspicions of him. When my dog saw me in this fair youth’s embrace he began barking and sniffing at the hairless legs. So the stranger released me, but whistling softly he bent to stroke Rael and spoke to him kindly in Arabic, Persian, and Turkish, thus revealing himself to be a man of education. So friendly was he to my dog that my hostility melted away, and I asked what he wanted of me. He answered, “I’m a wanderer for my faith, Michael el-Hakim, and I belong to a brotherhood of wanderers, a Sufi sect known by some Mussulmans as Love’s Beggars. My name is Mustafa ben-Nakir and I’m not of humble origin, though I call myself son of the angel of death. My lot is to wander from country to country and from town to town; as I go I read Persian poems to rejoice my heart.”
He opened his book, jingled his bells, and in a musical voice read aloud to me a few verses of Persian poetry, which were certainly very pleasing to the ear, though they meant as much to me as pearls mean to a swine. He evidently belonged to some sort of sacred brotherhood within Islam, but in contrast to most dervishes he glorified the pleasures of this life by the studied perfection of his appearance. I could not resist his attraction, and said, “Mustafa ben-Nakir, son of the angel of death, I’ve given much thought to death and your coming is timely. Yet you must be a great liar, for what should you know of me, a slave? Come in, however, and let us see if we can find a piece of bread and some dried figs. When my master returns you must vanish, for he’s an irascible man and won’t tolerate strangers in his house.”
Mustafa ben-Nakir needed no second bidding, but stepped indoors and looked so keenly about him that I hid the jar of small change. I took him into the inner room and there poured water over his hands, and he told me he would now perform his devotions. His clear eyes and beautiful voice enchanted me during the prayer, and I could have believed him to be a real angel had he not been carrying that book of Persian poems. As I set food before him I asked him about his faith, and he said, “I was born in Istanbul, that most lovely city where the two halves of the world meet. My father was a wealthy merchant and my mother a Greek slave. They hired a wise Arabian tutor to instruct me in the true interpretation of the Koran, and a Persian poet to teach me versification. I listened to the most eminent teachers in the mosque school, but when I was seventeen I received a divine revelation, The forms of prayer and the letters of the Koran became as an empty husk. Nor was I the only one to be thus awakened; many another rich man’s son wearied of the luxurious life we led, and of the empty letter of the law. And so we joined this mendicant brotherhood, to sing and dance in the streets to the music of our bells, until we wearied also of this, and set forth on journeys to foreign lands to observe all the forms and customs with which men fence in their lives. I’ve seen Bagdad, Jerusalem, and Cairo, and have never repented my impulse to exchange a life of luxury for one of danger and hardship. I live in poverty, gaining the necessities of life from the liberality of devout women. Never yet have I had to go hungry.”
His story enchanted me, though I suspected that pious imams and faqihs could hardly approve his doctrine. I asked him further questions, but regarding me with his limpid, angelic eyes he said, “The profoundest element of my belief is complete freedom, admitting neither law nor formula. The dictates of the heart form the only rule for one of my fraternity. All I possess I carry upon me, so that when I see a caravan move off I can join it, should the whim take me. But then, if a strange bird flies across my path, I can turn aside and follow it, and in the wilderness devote myself to solitude and meditation. If in some port the sail of a vessel is hoisted I may take it as a sign and go aboard. And when a white hand appears behind a lattice to throw a flower a
t my feet, I follow that sign too, without misgivings.”
Mustafa ben-Nakir went on to speak at great length of his singular doctrine, until I came to feel that nothing in the world was so essential to a man as sitting idly and passing the noon hours in lofty conversation. Abu el-Kasim’s arrival took us altogether by surprise, therefore, and he exclaimed aloud in his wrath. But Mustafa ben-Nakir rose and greeted him with the deepest respect, touching forehead and ground with his hand. To my amazement he added, “I’m told that the Deliverer comes from the sea at the next new moon, and will land his forces when he sees the signal fires. Under cover of darkness they will approach the city and march through the open gates at dawn.”
“Bismillah, and so forth!” said Abu el-Kasim. “Why didn’t you say so at once? Two sheds on the hillside near the palace are filled with fuel; when they’re alight and the guards hurry out to extinguish them, a few bold men may force their way into the kasbah. And so we shall kill two birds with one stone. But what is your task, fair youth?”
Mustafa looked at him in bewilderment and replied, “I have brought you the message, and have no more to do than to follow my own will. I leave you therefore to the protection of Allah, and will go to some hospitable house where poetry is understood.”
He prepared to depart, but Abu el-Kasim restrained him, saying, “Don’t leave us, bringer of good tidings. Let us rather converse together confidentially, for you are certainly more than you seem. Advise me, for many difficulties remain.”
“Allah, Allah!” said Mustafa. “All happens in conformity with his will, and he has chosen a most auspicious time for action. The Spanish Emperor’s armies are shut up in Naples, besieged by the superior forces of the French King. The imperial navy is defeated, and Doria, who’s in the French King’s service, has blocked the harbor. And so the Emperor has other things to think of than Algiers.”
I could hardly believe my ears, and cried, “How is this possible? Less than a year ago I was with the Emperor’s army at the sack of Rome, and all Italy was then in his hands.”
Abu el-Kasim silenced me and said, “Let us put our faith in the Deliverer. If he chooses to hasten matters he must have good reason. The new moon is the day after tomorrow, so you had better say your prayers, Michael el-Hakim, and prepare yourself for your task.”
I was astonished at his words, and said, “Have I not carried out your orders to the best of my ability? What more do you require of me, dear master Abu?”
Abu el-Kasim surveyed me coldly.
“At cockcrow the day after tomorrow,” he said, “we must carry Selim ben-Hafs’s head to the Deliverer on a golden platter. It’s only fair that we should divide this work between us. You, therefore, will get his head, and I on my part will provide a most magnificent dish.”
My heart flew into my mouth and despite the heat my teeth chattered. Mustafa ben-Nakir, son of the angel of death, regarded me with sympathy and said, “Drink a little water, Michael el-Hakim. And have no fear, for I’ve been told that a fatwa has been issued for the purpose and so your deed will not be sinful; on the contrary you’ll be performing a most meritorious action in cutting off Selim’s head. If the knife is sharp, and doesn’t jam between the vertebrae, you will have no difficulty.”
To avoid their gaze I withdrew against the wall, but Abu el-Kasim, noting my fear, cursed me and said, “Have you no confidence in me? Patiently, sparing neither time nor trouble, I have woven my net to make all easy for you. In the palace you have your brother Antar, whom you can trust. The chief eunuch I have bribed. Delilah will go with you to the palace, to gaze into the sand, and I’ve already prepared a Cretan potion to be given to Selim instead of opium to send him into a deep sleep.”
Mustafa ben-Nakir touched my shoulder with his shapely hand and said, “Ah, Michael el-Hakim, you please me and my heart urges me to go with you to the kasbah, to encourage you with my advice; above all to see that you carry out your task and at the proper time. Have no fear, for a stone can fall and crush your head as well here as in the Courtyard of Bliss.”
But the whole thing had come upon me as too much of a surprise, and I cried in a fury, “In the Courtyard of Bliss it’ll be a sword and nothing else that will fall on me. Truly I was born under an evil planet. But I’m a slave and have no choice. May the fatwa protect me. I hear and I obey.”
Just then Abu el-Kasim raised his head, listening attentively, and said, “Allah! What can that mean?”
I too heard it. It was the rumble of distant gunfire. We ran all three into the street, and so did the neighbors, their hands uplifted in astonishment. There was no doubt that the noise came from Selim ben- Hafs’s kasbah on the hillside; the wind brought us the sound of shrieks and clashing weapons, and then a cannon roared, echoed by another from the Spanish fortress at the harbor mouth.
“Allah is great,” said Abu el-Kasim, and now it was his turn to weep. “All is lost, but I take refuge in Allah and not in the devil whom he stoned.”
Uproar broke loose in the city; many people dashed along the streets and up the hill; merchants closed their shops and locked their doors. But Mustafa ben-Nakir surveyed his painted nails and said, “Allah is great, and nothing happens contrary to his will. Let us go and see what has happened.”
We hastened up the steep street to the kasbah. An uneasy crowd had already gathered at the place of execution, but nothing else was to be seen save a couple of irate soldiers, who with muskets at the present stood blowing their smoldering matches and angrily ordering the crowd to keep its distance.
Within the kasbah the clash of weapons died away and only the yelling of the soldiers was to be heard; we could not tell if they yelled with delight or wrath. It was rumored among the crowd that some wood carriers and cooks had climbed the walls of the palace and fled; they dashed down the slopes crying out that Selim ben-Hafs was running about the Courtyard of Bliss, stark naked and with sword in hand, slaying everyone he saw. But no one could say whether this was true.
Presently we saw over fifty Spaniards armed with harquebuses marching up from the harbor toward the kasbah. The Spanish consul walked at their head, gesticulating violently. The party came to a halt before the shut gates; their commander inquired loudly of the guard as to the meaning of the shots they had heard, and ordered the gates to be opened.
In the loopholes of the wall there now appeared a number of Spanish and Italian renegades, who jeered at the troops and bade them return to their fortress, as they had no business here. The bystanders, egged on by this defiance, began throwing stones and camel dung at the Spaniards, who threatened to open fire upon them regardless of their agitated consul. The commanding officer ordered his men to train their light fieldpiece on the gate, and threatened to discharge it unless Selim ben-Hafs showed himself without delay.
The gate swung open on grating hinges and the Spaniards started to march in; but their cries of triumph died away at the sight of two cannon trained upon them in the archway, and beyond them a troop of horsemen who had the greatest difficulty in controlling their mounts. The Spanish commander at once ordered his men to retire, and in much milder tones asked to speak to someone in authority who could tell him what had happened in the kasbah. And now in boundless astonishment I beheld Andy standing between the two guns, linstock in hand. He turned to speak to the horsemen with so careless a movement that one of his pieces went off and hurled its ball into the closed Spanish ranks, felling many men to the ground. At this the troopers could no longer rein back their horses, and they charged through the gateway with drawn swords.
Abu el-Kasim seized his head in both hands and cried, “Am I awake or dreaming?”
Nevertheless he played his part by tugging a holy Marabout by the sleeve and bidding him proclaim the fatwa. Then, like the cautious man he was, he ran for shelter behind a ruinous hovel and set fire to it. But I had seen Andy knocked down by the charging horses, and forgetful of danger I hurried to help him. He staggered up, wiped the dust from his face, and asked in amazement, “What has
happened? Where have you sprung from, Michael? Go away at once, for we seem to have a war on our hands. The gun went off accidentally. Fortunately, everything is preordained; but I never meant to start fresh trouble now that we’ve restored order in the kasbah. Go away, now. I’ve caused mischief enough and I don’t want to drag you into it.”
He smelled strongly of wine, and may well have been kicked on the head by one of the horses. At any rate he picked me up and slung me far out of the archway and there was nothing for me to do but seek cover, for the Spaniards were shooting and slashing, the crowds were proclaiming the holy war, and the sheds which Abu el-Kasim had set alight were now blazing to the sky.
I ran this way and that like a distracted hen until Abu el-Kasim and Mustafa ben-Nakir seized my arms, shook me and asked why Selim ben-Hafs’s mamelukes had attacked the Spaniards. I answered frankly that I had not the remotest idea, but besought them to rescue Andy as the Spaniards were certain to hang him.
For the moment, however, the Spaniards seemed indisposed to hang anyone, having trouble enough in regaining the harbor. Many of them lay in their own blood, while down in the city the fleeing remainder were met by an armed mob. From the roofs showered stones, boiling water, and balks of timber. Selim’s mamelukes, however, imbued by now with a healthy respect for the murderous Spanish harquebuses, withdrew again into the kasbah, leaving pursuit to the townsfolk.
Dervishes and other holy men proclaimed through foaming lips that the gates of Paradise stood open to all who fell at the hands of Spaniards.
Abu el-Kasim was not greatly tempted, and Mustafa declared that we had more important things to think of than the houris of Paradise. When the uproar had somewhat subsided we summoned up courage to address the guards at the gate of the kasbah, blessing them in the name of Allah. I begged them to call my brother Andy, and when Abu had thrown some silver among them they did as we asked.
