by Tariq Ali
‘Amir Philip,’ he said, ‘you are regarded as the wisest man on this island, wiser even than Master Idrisi. In the name of Allah I urge you to think again. Our Prophet, may he rest in peace, taught us to submit, but only to Allah. No earthly ruler can take his place. For you to submit to the crime being prepared in the palace is unacceptable and will damage our community. I would urge you to board a ship and disappear. How did our Prophet win those early battles? Because in those early clashes with the armies of the Ignorant, the Prophet’s soldiers were the only disciplined men of their day. It was not easy to elevate the mental state of the Ignorant to believe in one Allah, but finally we succeeded and they entered the stream of history. So Amir Philip, I plead with you to follow their example. There are many places where you will find refuge. Our Amirs in al-Andalus, threatened permanently by the Nazarenes, will reward your skills. And when stories of the battles you win, with Allah’s help, reach Siqilliya, we will rejoice and, who knows, it might even encourage our poets to speak less of wine and more of our victories.’
In this vein the discussion continued for many hours, the young captains vigorously supporting the qadi’s suggestion that Philip take several ships and retreat to a friendly city. They described how, in the past, they had found a number of safe havens and marked them on their maps, not revealing the locations, even to Master Idrisi.
But they had all reckoned without the will and determination of Philip al-Mahdia. Once he had made a decision it was difficult to shake his resolve. With a simple gesture, he demanded and obtained total silence. Then he brought the mehfil to a close.
‘Don’t misunderstand me, friends, but I have thought about this very carefully. I have no desire to die, but none of your arguments has convinced me. How can my death have the effect you describe if so few are aware that I am a Believer? Most of our people think I am a Nazarene. They will not be affected by my departure. The qadi talks of the Prophet’s disciplined soldiers. That is what we need, but it is the Franks who displayed that quality when they took this island. We were, as usual, busy fighting ourselves. If one of our Amirs had not invited the Franks to help him against other Believers, would they have come here in the first place? Allah alone knows. It is because we need discipline that I am prepared to die so that you have time to organise yourselves for the battles that lie ahead. The Nazarenes will not be satisfied till they have killed us all. That is the only language they understand. And, rest assured, I will not submit easily at my trial. I will defend myself against all their falsehoods. And I hope Master Idrisi will insist on being present so that he can convey what took place to all of you. To run away and hide is a sign of guilt and I will not afford them that satisfaction. If I were to leave they would revenge themselves on you. The monks find it difficult to conceal their hatred of Palermo. There are too many Believers and Jews here for their liking.
‘So I say farewell to you my friends. Always think carefully before you act. Take everything into consideration. And one last thing for you Master Idrisi. Your hot-headed sons-in-law are preparing to take arms against the Sultan. That is what my men report from Siracusa and Noto. Naturally, I have stopped this information from being circulated, but urge them to be cautious. This is the wrong moment. And a last word of advice. The most dangerous man at the palace, because he is the cleverest, is Antonio, the monk from Canterbury, who was taught his trade by men cleverer than himself. He is not interested in wine, women or worldly goods. His only cause is to ensure the Nazarene triumph against Believers. Whenever I spoke with him, I felt I was being questioned by my executioner. He is a gentle fanatic, but don’t be deceived. He never relaxes his faith, never doubts his God and will happily sacrifice himself to advance his cause. That is what makes him different from the corrupt and indolent monks native to this island. Master Idrisi smiles. Yes, my friend, he is not unlike me, except that my concern is to safeguard our people as best I can. Antonio is afflicted by a religious passion and that, I’m afraid, always verges on insanity, no matter what the religion. That is why I fear him the most and so should you. I think he will be present at my trial. I wonder whether the island you describe as being total darkness nonetheless produces men whose inner light makes their souls shine.’
And with these words Philip and the Chief Eunuch departed, leaving the rest of the company in a state of mute shock. Idrisi felt the qadi’s hand on his shoulder. ‘Could you not intercede with the Sultan on his behalf?’
He nodded silently. As he left the room Ibn Fityan joined him and the two men walked in silence through the inner courtyard and out into the street. When he finally reached his house he was greeted by the soft sound of the flute. He paused before the door as Ibn Fityan asked his worried question: ‘Amir Philip refused to leave the island?’
Idrisi’s sad eyes turned towards his servant and the eunuch knew that it was too late to save Philip. The door opened. Thawdor had sighted them and the music had ceased.
‘Bring your son to me, Thawdor,’ instructed Idrisi.
The man did as he was asked. The boy fell on his knees and attempted to kiss Idrisi’s feet, but he stepped aside, took the boy by the arm and raised him to his feet. ‘Never do that again, Simeon ibn Thawdor. You are not a slave. Have you recovered from the journey?’
‘Yes, master,’ the boy replied with downcast eyes.
‘I have spoken with your father. You will come with me to the palace where I have arranged for you to be taught how to read and write.’
The boy looked up and smiled. ‘I am grateful, sir, but I am equally happy to go to the madresseh. I do not wish to trouble you any more.’
‘Why should you trouble me?’
‘The palace is for the children of the Sultan and I am not fit to learn with them.’
The men burst out laughing, before Ibn Fityan reassured him, ‘Do not worry about that, young man. You will learn with children who are not so different from you. The palace contains the children of all those who work for the Sultan. That’s where I was taught Arab grammar and Greek. What would you like to learn?’
‘Music,’ replied the boy without hesitation.
His father was incredulous. ‘Music?’
‘Yes, father. Music,’ the boy replied.
Idrisi intervened. ‘Listen to me, boy. I have heard you play the flute and I have no doubt that Allah has blessed you with the gift. You play well and you should also learn to play the lute, which will test your skills. There is a great master in Palermo, whose father, also a great musician, was known to my family. I will speak with him and he will teach you the art, but he will do so twice a week. For the remaining days you must learn grammar and logic. Believe me, it might even help with your music.’
The boy was overjoyed. ‘Is the name of the master Abu Salim?’
Idrisi was surprised. The boy was more knowledgeable than he had imagined. ‘It is the same. Have you heard him play the lute?’
The boy nodded. ‘Once I was walking past the tavern, the one close to where the boats are tied, and I heard music which sounded as if it came from heaven. I sat outside and listened for nearly two hours. I asked a man who came out swaying from one side to the other who the musician was. He hit me on the head and said there was only one man who could bring the lute to life like that and it was Abu Salim. Never forget that name, the man said, because you might never hear him again. I never did, even though I often walk past that place, hoping he will be there.’
Thawdor and his son were dismissed with an affectionate touch on the head for the boy. ‘I will keep an eye on you from afar. Ibn Fityan will keep me informed about your progress.’
After they had left, Idrisi signalled to Ibn Fityan that he should sit down. ‘Tell me, who in the palace amongst the Nazarenes is closest to the Sultan?’
‘None of them are close in the way Philip was or you are, master. But it is the pale monk, Antonio of Canterbury, who has the Sultan’s ear. Because he is not from here, the Sultan believes his advice is disinterested. He does not ask for lands
or money. He lives simply. They tell me that it was he who advised the Sultan to burn Amir Philip.’
Idrisi had seen Antonio moving around the palace, but had not properly registered his presence. Nor had the Sultan mentioned him, not even once. The Sultan was fearful. That could be the only explanation.
Ibn Fityan coughed discreetly. ‘There is talk in the palace, master, of which you should be informed.’
‘Speak, man. Speak.’
‘There is a plan to kill Antonio.’
‘Whose foolish idea is this? Philip will be enraged. It will not help him. Is the Chief Eunuch aware of this?’
‘He is, but could not convince the others. They intend to kill him tonight or tomorrow and ...’
‘And?’
‘The plan is to blame Antonio’s murder on the Greek monks who despise him even more than we do. The story that the eunuchs will circulate is that Antonio was caught in a delicate situation with a young monk and when his real lover realised this, he killed them both.’
‘Is there any truth in this story?’
‘None whatsoever, Amir al-kitab.’
‘So there will be two murders.’
‘If Allah wills.’
‘Allah has not willed this any more than he has willed Philip’s death. These are decisions taken by men on this earth and in Palermo. And both are wrong.’
‘It is too late, master. There is nothing we can do. If you were to warn the Sultan, you would betray my confidence and that of the Chief Eunuch. We would all die together.’
Idrisi could see the logic of this only too well. He would have a bath and reflect on the crisis about to grip the island.
It was while he was soaking in the hammam that he realised the importance of what Philip had said earlier that afternoon. The best way to maintain the presence of Believers in Siqilliya was to support the Hauteville family who had seized the island through a combination of warrior-skills and luck—and the eternal fact: the followers of the Prophet were divided. This last was the real cause of defeat in Palermo and Jerusalem. Which city would fall next? Ishbilia or Gharnata? The sun would grow dark and the oceans boil before Believers would ever unite against an enemy of the faith and then it would be too late.
The attendants had begun to dry him when Ibn Fityan entered the outer chamber of the baths. ‘A message from the palace has just arrived.’
‘The Sultan?’
‘No. It is from the young Princess Elinore. She truly is the Sultan’s favourite and had he married the Lady Mayya, she might have become a Sultana. Allah’s will. Allah’s will. She and her mother will visit their relations on the Sabbath and wish you to join them in Siracusa. The messenger also whispered something else in my ear, master.’
Idrisi dismissed the attendants.
‘Antonio left suddenly today. He boarded a ship for Marseilles. Nobody knows why. The Devil must have warned him.’
‘Or his God. I am relieved by this news. Has the murder of the Greek monk been halted?’
‘Of course, master. The assassins aren’t foolish. What would be the point of breaking a branch while the tree survives?’
The news lightened his mood. Idrisi smiled inwardly. Perhaps with Antonio’s departure, the decision about Philip might at least be delayed. He would write a letter to the Sultan pleading with him to rethink. It might be more effective than a meeting.
‘Pack my clothes. I will leave for Siracusa early tomorrow. I have work of my own.’
‘Will you travel by boat or horse and carriage?’
‘Boat. If I leave early in the morning with the tide, we should be there by early evening. The moon is nearly full. It will be a pleasant journey.’
‘Do you wish me to accompany you?’
‘I need you to stay here and follow events in the palace. When the date for Philip’s trial is agreed, inform me immediately. A single attendant will suffice for this journey.’
‘Should we inform the Amir of Siracusa? You will be staying in the palace?’
‘I would rather not stay with him. If we decide not to inform him, will he discover my presence?’
‘I think he will and, given his temperament, will regard it as an unfriendly act. He might even think the Sultan has despatched you to look for a new Amir. The fragility of the situation should not be underestimated.’
Idrisi eyed his steward appreciatively. Ibn Fityan had been in his service for nearly twenty years, a gift from the Sultan. It was difficult to guess how old he was, but he was probably somewhere between fifty and sixty years of age. His hair had only just begun to turn grey and his dark-complexioned skin was smooth as satin. At first, Idrisi had assumed that he had been placed in his household to keep the Sultan informed of his favourite scholar’s activities. But he had been wrong. The man was part of the Chief Eunuch’s network and this was a group whose loyalty was to the faith into which they had been converted.
The Prophet had forbidden the castration of Believers, no matter what the circumstances. It was the Byzantine Court in Constantinople that had authorised a loosely regulated trade in castrated boys, supplied to the Pope and his Church for a variety of purposes, but mainly to serve in the choir. For the rest, they were sold in the open market in Palermo, the largest centre of trade between East and West, as well as Baghdad and Qurtuba. The Sultans and Amirs had special need of them. They were the trusted guards of the harem and, as such, acquired key positions in the palaces because of their unlimited access to their rulers. Often they worked closely with those who, like them, had been bought at a young age, but unlike them, had not been nipped in the bud. Philip al-Mahdia was one such person. And there soon developed between him and the circle of eunuchs a natural affinity, which meant that he always possessed alternative means of knowledge. He was not exclusively dependent on the information available to the Diwan. So close was he to the eunuchs that his enemies at Court spread the rumour that he was one himself.
Unlike others who had started life as young slaves in the palace, Ibn Fityan was not fair-skinned. Sold in Palermo at the age of two, his origins were a mystery even to himself. Despite the fact that he was not castrated, the eunuchs had adopted him. He had been circumcised and brought up as a Believer. He never talked about his wife or children. All attempts to extract information on this subject were politely, but firmly, repelled and had it not been for the indiscretion of the Chief Eunuch, Idrisi might never have known that Ibn Fityan’s son had died in the recent war to re-take Mahdia.
Idrisi was no longer surprised by the intuitive political skills displayed by his retainer. His natural intelligence appeared limitless, and his experience and knowledge of the Diwan and the palace enabled him to be one step ahead of most of the courtiers. ‘Tell me,’ Idrisi asked him, ‘how you will inform the Amir that I am on my way. To take him by surprise is surely inadvisable. That too might be misinterpreted.’
‘It is not a problem, master. Tonight I will instruct the Keeper of the Watchtower in Palermo to send a message along the coast to Siracusa. You are aware, of course, that for secret messages we use a code that is known to only the most trusted of our people. The Amir will be informed of your arrival as he takes his breakfast tomorrow morning. That will give him enough time to prepare your reception.’
‘Do you have a friend in that palace as well?’
‘More than one.’
‘Is there anything I need to know?’
Ibn Fityan sighed. ‘The Amir is a devout ruler, but many in the city see him as someone who has sold himself to the Franks in order to stay in power. He knows that this is how he is perceived and it angers and upsets him.’
‘In that case,’ muttered Idrisi, ‘we share a great deal in common.’
‘With respect, master, that is not the case. You are a scholar. He is a ruler.’
‘True, but we both serve Rujari. He with his sword and I with my pen.’
‘The men who matter know full well that your heart is with us and when the time comes, so will the multitude. We are not sure of
the Amir. He does not speak much. He has only one wife and no concubines, thus restricting our ability to find out what he is really thinking. Your visit will offer the first real opportunity. The question that we need answered is this: after Rujari’s death, if we need to fight a war against the Nazarenes, will the Amir of Siracusa fight with or against us?’
Idrisi burst out laughing to conceal his anxiety. ‘Why should he trust me?’
‘That is a risk you will have to take. Was the master aware that the only wife of the Amir is the younger sister of the Lady Mayya?’
As Idrisi gasped in disbelief, he noticed the tiniest trace of a smile appear on Ibn Fityan’s face as the man bowed and left the room.
FIVE
The Amir of Siracusa organises a dinner at which there is open talk of rebellion.
JUST AS THE SHIP, taking advantage of an unexpected breeze, neared the bay of Siracusa, the light of the full moon fell on the darkness of the sea in the shape of a golden meadow. However many times he had seen this and in however many different waters, it was always breathtaking. As he watched, he saw the fishermen’s candle-lit boats moving out to sea for a night’s work.
As a child he had loved being woken at dawn to accompany the household servants to the fishing village closest to their home. The journey on horseback woke him up properly; half-excited and half-frightened by the thought of seeing a jaguar crossing their path, but he never did. The real delight was observing the fish being brought off the boats by the fishermen. Then the cook would ask him, ‘Which one should we buy?’ and he would point to the largest, which made the cook laugh. ‘The big ones have too many bones. Let’s take four of these ...’
