by Tariq Ali
‘But there is a problem, my brothers. Who will lead us into battle? Whose banner will you follow?’
‘You will lead us, Trusted One. It is your banner we will follow,’ the multitude replied.
But he shook his head vigorously and raised his right hand to demand silence. ‘I am not an Amir of the land or the sea. We can only win if our Amirs who are today fighting for Rujari decide to fight for themselves and for the cause of Believers everywhere. It is them we have to convince and if we succeed we will have an army and ships at sea. I am a simple man, but I know how battles are won and lost. We will ensure that our faith gives us such strength that we lose the fear of death. That will give our Amirs a group of men who will rival the Franks and their Barons. We will drive them into a sea they should never have crossed. And I spit on the memory of Ibn Thumna who invited the infidels to cross the water and help him fight against other Believers. Let us spit on him together. Allah be praised.’
The multitude spat on the ground in unison.
‘The man knows our history,’ Idrisi muttered as they walked back home.
‘Do you think there is even the slightest chance of success?’ Abu Khalid asked him.
‘There is a good chance if what al-Farid demanded could be achieved. He laid down three preconditions for success. The unity of Believers, the preparedness to die on the part of the new army and the defection of our leading nobles and military commanders from the Hauteville clan. If we could achieve all these things we could win. The preacher is far too modest. He could grow in stature. Men like him can be pushed forward into making history.’
‘I agree,’ said Umar, ‘but if we are realistic none of this will happen. Our Amirs are far too selfish to even think of the needs of others. They are interested in their own survival and that of their families, and in order to keep their lands they will convert to the faith of the Nazarenes. My brother here will die for the cause, as you can see, and I will probably die with him. In Catania we will raise a large army, but those goat-fuckers in Qurlun and Lanbadusha will never leave their lands. Mark my words, Ibn Muhammad. They will convert.’
And a strange echo reverberated in the darkness. ‘Mark his words, Ibn Muhammad. They will convert. They will convert.’
The Trusted One had followed them back and eavesdropped on the conversation.
‘Trusted One,’ Abu Khalid called out, ‘come and join us.’
He came out of the darkness and walked with them till they reached the front of the house. He declined the invitation to share some mint tea with them inside, but fixed Idrisi with a stern gaze.
‘I want you to know that even if the rest of the island fails us, Catania will fight. The Amir of Siracusa gave me his word that his men would be with us. The Amir of Catania has pledged his support. We will raise twenty thousand armed men and they will fight till victory or death. Do you think that is enough?’
Idrisi was greatly affected by the simplicity and determination of the preacher. The Trusted One, however, had yet to make up his mind regarding Idrisi. He was inclined to trust him, but he waited to hear his response.
‘Trusted One, I will be honest with you. I’m not sure how many armed men will be required to recover this island. It was taken from us by less than a quarter of the number you propose. It is not numbers but strength of belief in our own cause that will determine the outcome. But the main question is as you posed it: will Believers in the hundred major towns of this island join the rebellion? If they do, we will win. The Barons have become lazy and greedy. They are unused to war. We could take them by surprise, but even if we take the island we will have to cross the water and take the fortresses in Salerno and elsewhere. Without them we will be vulnerable to another invasion. As for our people in Qurlun and Lanbadusha, perhaps what you say is correct, but being attached to the land and even conversions to the conqueror’s faith are no guarantees that they will be spared if there is an earthquake. And are those people any worse than the communities in Marsa Ali and Shakka? They will blow with the wind. If the storm you are preparing in Catania is powerful enough you will unite many non-believers as well against the Barons. And before I forget, there was a question you posed directly to me. My answer is this: If there is a rebellion I will not act as an individual. If you need me I will be in the Great Mosque with the others, not hiding in the palace library. Does that satisfy you?’
The preacher extended his hand and touched Idrisi’s head. ‘I am satisfied, but Allah alone will reward you, Ibn Muhammad.’
‘Then I am prepared to wait,’ replied Idrisi with a half-smile.
They entered the house to the noise of wailing women and Khalid sitting in the hall, tears pouring down his cheeks. Idrisi hugged his grandson and asked what had happened.
‘Umi has died.’ Idrisi kissed the boy and held him close. And it was in his arms that the child fell asleep. A single tear wet Idrisi’s cheek. He sat vacant-eyed until Tarik emerged.
‘What happened Tarik? She showed no signs of illness. Where is Abu Khalid?’
‘Umar is in his room. She took poison, Ibn Muhammad. A large dose and it must have been a painful death. She took it immediately after the meal. Even if I had been here I would not have had an antidote to that poison.’
‘But why?’
‘My brother had not been happy with her and scolded her for the treachery she and Sakina had planned. He had not divorced or threatened her. But he found it difficult to speak to her. I think she found the silence unbearable.’
Idrisi began to weep. ‘Poor girl. It was their mother’s fault, her stupidity and greed ... Tell your brother not to blame himself. It’s Samar’s mother who should have taken the poison. Has a messenger been despatched to inform her and Sakina?’
Tarik nodded.
‘He left for Noto before we returned.’
EIGHT
Siqilliyan sisters. Mayya and Balkis discuss the merits of life with and without men. Secrets are revealed. Apian is agreed to extract Idrisi’s seed.
THE THREE WOMEN WERE alone. Elinore was busy packing her clothes and jewellery in preparation for their departure early next morning. Even though she had never met Samar, the news of her half-sister’s suicide had disturbed her more than she had thought possible. The incident continued to reverberate in her mind and she was barely listening to her mother and aunt who had been in a strange mood since yesterday.
‘If my life were to begin again, I think I would repeat it.’ Mayya was in a philosophical mood and even though Balkis was used to her sister’s habit of reflecting aloud she was surprised by the remark. ‘I thought you hated the palace-prison. Your description.’
‘What I wanted to say was that if my Amir al-kitab, the great Master Idrisi, led the same life if I were married to him when he was never at home, the palace-prison was better. I had friends and was never lonely. It’s much better than being married to a demanding but absent husband who insisted on being the centre of my life. It’s different now that his travels are over.’
‘My Amir leaves me alone. He never forces his presence on me.’
‘But when he does, is it pleasant?’
‘No, but nor is it unpleasant.’
Both of them burst out laughing.
‘I know how happy you are these days, Mayya. And seeing you like this makes me both happy and sad.’
‘When you said that I thought I heard our mother.’
They fell silent. Their mother had died when they were young. Balkis was only two and could barely recall her. Mayya, ten years older, had retained a few vivid memories. Aunts and their maternal grandmother had brought them up, the aunts out of duty and their grandmother because she loved them almost as much as she had loved her daughter.
‘Is it true what they say?’
‘Who?’
‘They.’
‘What do they say?’
‘That our mother did not die a natural death.’
Mayya hugged her sister. ‘I asked our grandmother and she said it was not t
rue.’
‘She would. If she had told you the truth our father would have pushed her out of the house. She had nowhere to go.’
‘She could have gone back to Shakka where her sons lived.’
‘Mayya, I can always tell when you’re trying to hide things from me. What’s wrong with you?’
‘I think I’m pregnant.’
‘Allah protect us!’
‘He will. He did last time.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I think so. The scholar’s seed is as fertile as this island.’
‘Not just this one, if the story you told me years ago was true.’
Mayya gave a gentle, noiseless laugh.
‘I’m not sure he knows whether it actually happened or was a dream after they had smoked a strong hashish. But how could all the men have had the same dream? Funny you remembered.’
Balkis rose and walked behind her sister’s chair. She began to plait Mayya’s hair.
‘You still haven’t answered my question about our mother.’
Mayya sighed. ‘I heard the same stories as you and probably from the same source. How do I know if it’s true?’
‘But Mayya,’ pleaded her sister, ‘if our mother was killed by her husband there must have been a reason. Our father could barely bring himself to look at me. I cannot remember a single affectionate gesture from him.’
‘He wanted a son.’
‘Why are you concealing the truth. Why? Will you never tell me? Mayya?’
Mayya had always known the truth but she had wanted to protect Balkis. They were all dead now. But something held Mayya back. An intuition, perhaps, that no good would come out of this story. It had already cost their mother’s life. The sight of Balkis sitting on the floor with her hands cupping her face and waiting anxiously decided Mayya. There was no real reason to keep the truth from her.
‘We had different fathers.’
The expression on Balkis’s face did not change. ‘That was obvious even to me. When I was five years old, your father had my head shaved because he couldn’t stand the colour of my hair. They pretended I had a fever and grandmother said it would grow thicker than ever before. But I cried every night and you would comfort me till I fell asleep. Remember? As I grew older I realised he hated the sight of me. Sometimes he would leave the room when I entered. And then I realised why he hated me, but there was nobody to ask and you would always deny it. Who was my father?’
‘He was a Greek merchant from Djirdjent who bought olive oil from my father. I remember him well. He was not only much better looking than my father but also more intelligent. Our mother must have thought the same. He would visit our house regularly. I suppose one day he found her alone and the gentle breeze of mutual attraction turned into a storm. You were the result. The surprise is that it took father two years to realise that this creature with blonde hair and blue eyes could not possibly be his child. I took after my mother. You were the image of your father.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘When I became one of Rujari’s concubines I sent for him. This was several years ago. He came to the palace and I told him our mother had been poisoned. He had no idea that she was pregnant till after you were born and she sent him a message telling him never to return to Noto. He wept a great deal. He was desperate to see you but our grandmother was still alive and I thought it was unwise.’
‘You were wrong.’
‘You may be right. He was still young and I thought you could see him some other time.’
‘He’s dead?’
‘Yes.’
‘How?’
‘An infection of some sort. One of the eunuchs in the palace kept an eye on him. We sent a physician to try and heal him, but it was too late. The disease had spread.’
‘He had no family of his own?’
‘No.’
Balkis began to weep. Mayya cradled her head and stroked her gently till she recovered.
‘Mayya, I have made up my mind. I want a child.’
‘Good. The only problem is finding a father.’
‘You kept my real father from me. Swear on all you hold dear that you will let me decide who should father my child.’
‘Of course I will. I swear on the head of Elinore I will support your choice and do everything in my power to help you trap the beast and extract his seed. I swear it. I swear it. I swear it.’
‘Remember how when we were young and I had only to mention that I loved a particular dish for it to reappear the next day?’
‘No, but what of it?’
‘Who decided?’
‘I have no idea. Probably grandmother. She was always complaining about how we never really appreciated her cooking and so when you said you liked something she would cook it three times a week. You are a funny creature, Balkis. We were discussing the father of your child and you turn to food. Do you have a man in mind?’
‘We should keep it in the family.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Ibn Muhammad al-Idrisi.’
The very thought panicked her. At first she thought Balkis was teasing but the look on her sister’s face suggested otherwise.
‘No! No! Why him. There are enough men in Siracusa who would like nothing better. He’s fifty-eight years of age, you know. Did you know that? Fifty-eight! Too old for you. His seed is not strong and ...’
‘Mayya, you mustn’t be selfish. You swore an oath.’
Her sister’s stern tone added to the discomfiture.
‘Oaths can be broken. Are you tormenting me? Is this a punishment because I did not let your father see you?’
‘No. I just think he would be a good match and there is no risk involved. He is not likely to blackmail me, or is he?’
‘But why him?’
‘The real reason?’
‘Yes!’
‘There is something childlike and very attractive about his laughter.’
‘Well he won’t laugh when he sees you naked.’
It was such a ridiculous remark that both of them began to laugh. It was good-hearted, infectious laughter and it cleared the atmosphere. The overpowering tension that had gripped them suddenly disappeared. Once Mayya realised that her sister was in earnest she began to think seriously. Balkis watched her in silence for several minutes and then raised an inquiring eyebrow, only to be answered with a finger on the lips. Finally she could contain herself no longer.
‘Well?’
Mayya was feeling light-hearted again. As long as she organised and controlled the whole affair it might be good fun. If possible she would find a hiding place from where she could watch the whole scene, unbeknown to the two principal performers. She still did not think it was a good idea, but if it had to be done, it should be done properly. Left to herself, Balkis might wreck everything. She would then look at Mayya in her unforgiving way and blame her for the disaster. And why shouldn’t Muhammad al-Idrisi help Balkis in her hour of need?
She knew that people often preserve a memory of something, half-imagined, half-real that has happened to them in their youth. Later in life they think back on it as something exceptional or magical, outside the common order of things.
‘I have thought of a plan, but for it to succeed a number of conditions need to be met. First, he must never know that I know. Second, he must not believe that the woman entering his bedchamber is you ...’
‘But ...’ interrupted Balkis.
‘Please, let me finish. And lastly, when you see him again in the morning you must pretend nothing happened.’
‘What if nothing did happen? I mean, what if we didn’t succeed the first time?’
‘You can try again, but in exactly the same way.’
‘I accept the conditions. Now reveal each and every detail of your plan.’ She did, but before the rough edges could be refined, Elinore burst into the room.
‘Are we definitely leaving for Palermo tomorrow?’
Her mother nodded assent.
‘Why do you want
to go back so soon Elinore? Why not wait for your father. He will be back in a few days and then both of you can return on his boat. Much nicer than going on a cart.’
‘I find Siracusa so dull, my aunt. All my friends are in Palermo. Everything happens there. I have heard of interesting happenings near Noto. They say there is a long-haired preacher with rapture in his soul who is spreading disaffection throughout Catania. Is this true? Have you heard of him?’
Balkis waved her hand in a dismissive gesture.
‘My husband knows him and says the man is half-mad.’
Elinore was not going to accept this. ‘That means he is also half-sane.’
Her mother glared at her.
‘Well,’ responded her aunt, ‘if you’re interested in the Trusted One—that’s what they call him—you had better wait for your father. He must have met him on his son-in-law’s estate.’
Elinore was torn. She was desperate to return home to see if any of the eunuchs had succeeded in finding the flute-player who had entranced her with his music. But the thought of waiting for her father was also attractive. She debated the merits of each case in her head and decided in favour of the boy who played the flute. They would return early tomorrow morning.
Her mother accepted the decision for her own reasons. She did not really wish to be in Siracusa when Idrisi returned. Balkis making eyes at him would be intolerable. Despite her show of support for her sister, Mayya was nervous about the cruel and monstrous pact they had sealed. Her brain was in a whirl. It was better if she was not present when Idrisi returned to the palace. If he even suspected her involvement she would be covered in disgrace. Elinore’s free-and-easy manner appeared to have convinced her aunt that they had to leave and unwittingly provided a neat solution to her mother’s dilemma.
