by Tariq Ali
A discreet giggle interrupted his flow. ‘Muhammad, is that true?’
‘It’s a story they tell in the bazaar of Baghdad. It fulfils two functions. It informs us that Abu Nuwas and the Caliph liked men even though al-Quran forbids such acts on pain of death. Secondly, the story is designed to appeal to an important section of the audience, the street-traders. For Shahrazad to be paid for her daily labour would seem natural to them. And the fact that the stories improve is a hint that voluntary labour is better than slavery. The Zanj would have liked that.’
‘I’m more interested in his poetry.’
‘I have read it, of course, but can’t recall it. I’m more familiar with the work of Ibn Quzman, my friend in al-Andalus. He is a disciple of Abu Nuwas and his verses are sung in many cities, especially after a few flasks of wine.’
‘Is it true that Abu Nuwas has written of a perfect religion in which it is obligatory to make love five times a day instead of praying?’
‘It’s true but impractical.’
‘Not for you.’
‘Balkis!’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘What I meant was that the older men get the more difficult it becomes. Abu Nuwas was unaware of this problem, but old men would have to be pardoned their inability to perform five times. What would they do instead?’
‘Dissemble as so many do now when they pray.’
‘Let me finish the story of Abu Nuwas. The real subject of his poetry was the joys of wine. He was the link between the world that existed before our Prophet received the message and what was created afterwards. Wine was the substance that linked all worlds. It was timeless and universal. And many a time did Abu Nuwas inquire politely why, if wine and young boys were permitted in paradise as written in al-Quran, were they forbidden this enjoyment on earth. So he made fun and he had fun.
‘Another time he developed an unusual interpretation of jihad. He wrote that the main obligation of jihad should be to permit the drinking of an amber-coloured wine that sprays fire when lit and, more importantly, have sex with young boys who had not yet sprouted beards as well as with old men. There was only one reward for victory in this jihad. Paradise.’
Balkis clapped her hands in delight. ‘That also explains why the five obligatory fornications could work with old men. Once young boys are hilal, old men would have few problems in meeting their obligations. They could do so in a passive mode. Am I upsetting you?’
Before he could reply the agitated commander of the boat entered the cabin and bowed. ‘Forgive the intrusion, Amir al-kitab, but an armed vessel has signalled us to stop. Their commander wishes to speak with you.’
‘Who are they?’
‘It is one of the Sultan’s ships. It was once the favourite vessel of Amir Philip.’
Idrisi looked at Balkis who failed to hide her concern.
‘There is no need to worry, Lady Balkis. I know the men on that ship well. They are completely trustworthy. While I’m away, think carefully of your five obligations and how you will fulfil them in Palermo.’
Idrisi followed the commander to the deck. The moment the men from the armed ship saw him they fired a cannon in his honour. Long years ago he had travelled with them to Ifriqiya. Now he waited as the elaborate ritual of transferring a distinguished personage from one vessel to another took place. A boat was lowered with Idrisi and two armed sailors, who rowed him to the adjacent vessel. A giant catapult was then lowered with a man casually clinging to it. He secured the scholar and then both were rapidly lifted to the deck at great speed.
Ahmad Ibn Rumi, the Amir al-bahr, had replaced Philip as commander of the fleet. He was a haughty man with an independent air about him. He often conveyed the impression of being impenetrable, to ward off sycophants and time-servers, but Idrisi, who knew him reasonably well, knew it was a mask often worn by Amirs with real power. Philip had been the same. The two men embraced and Ahmad conducted his guest to his cabin. The first thing Idrisi noticed on the table was one of his maps. After admiring his handiwork, he turned to face Ahmad. The man was sitting weeping silently. In a world where many would have viewed the removal of an Amir with eager and greedy eyes, Ahmad Ibn Rumi was deeply wounded by Philip’s fall from favour. Idrisi spoke softly. ‘Ahmad, dear friend, I too am upset, but there is nothing we can do. Philip insists we let him die. He says we are not yet ready to win and we should wait till Sultan Rujari passes away.’
‘May Allah roast that serpent Rujari in hell for this crime.’
‘The monks pray that God will raise him to heaven for defending his faith.’
‘It has nothing to do with faith. It’s a blood sacrifice to save the throne for his family. The whole of Siqilliya is aware of this fact. Ibn Muhammad, I asked you here to discuss a plan.’
Idrisi knew what to expect.
‘With four big vessels already in port in Palermo we have the capacity to take them by surprise and rescue Amir Philip.’
‘We discussed all these possibilities with him in the Great Mosque. You know him better than me. He will not be moved.’
‘He is wrong.’
‘I agree.’
‘He is the only leader we have capable of uniting the Believers after Rujari’s death and leading us to victory. Do you agree?’
Idrisi fell silent. He knew where this sort of argument would end. He also knew that Ahmad spoke the truth. Without Philip, the community of Believers would be orphaned. It was Philip’s military and political skills that had prevented a bloodbath on the island. He thought by sacrificing himself he would provide time and space for his people to organise, but he did not ask who would lead them. Rebellions without a plan were common on the island. Each and every one had been defeated.
‘Why do you not answer?’
‘Because kind friend, Ibn Rumi, to reply in the affirmative would encourage your adventure, to reply in the negative would be an untruth. Best to remain silent.’
‘Ibn Muhammad, I was in Catania as well. I, too, met the Trusted One.’
Idrisi’s heart sank. The preacher would have incited rebellion.
‘He promised us an army of ten thousand armed men could reach Palermo quicker if I transported them in my vessels.’
‘I hope you didn’t agree.’
‘No. I said I would think before taking any measures.’
‘Allah be praised, Ahmad. Allah be praised. If you had agreed and let him down, word would have spread far and wide. The Barons and monks would have demanded that you be burnt with Philip.’
‘I asked only for your advice. I will decide on my own.’
‘Of course. But when you make the decision, ask yourself the consequences of rescuing Philip and hiding him in Ifriqiya. That is your plan, is it not? I thought so. But while your ships sail away, who will defend the Believers in Palermo? It will become impossible to restrain the Barons. They will want blood in the rivers on either side of the qasr. Our blood.’
‘The alternative is to let Philip burn? Will not many of our people curse us for not even making a single attempt?’
‘But if you make an attempt which fails you will die as well. Who will that help? If you succeed, all of us in Palermo, including your wife and children, could be killed. Rujari is no longer strong enough to prevent a massacre. I have a better plan.’
‘Speak.’
‘The day after Philip burns, the Trusted One should organise raiding parties to Catania and Noto to punish the Bishops and monks and the Lombards they have hired to protect them. They have stolen our lands and treat the peasants who once worked on those estates as slaves. The Bishops are hated and for good reason. They demand the right to deflower our women on their wedding nights. The Lombards flog the men at the slightest pretext. A carefully organised rebellion in this region where we are still strong would have an impact in every corner of the island. The Trusted One could make it clear that this is our response to the crime committed against Philip al-Mahdia. What do you think?’
Ibn Rumi reflected before
he spoke again, ‘You are determined to sacrifice the life of the only man capable of leading us to victory.’
‘It is he who is determined, not me.’
‘The path you recommend is not without merit. I will think about this carefully. If you see my ship heading back to Siracusa you will know I have accepted your plan. Otherwise we shall meet in Palermo.’
The two men embraced, but just as Idrisi was about to leave, Ahmad took his arm and whispered fiercely in his ear, ‘Philip means more to me than my own father.’
Idrisi gripped Ahmad’s hand. ‘I know how you feel and how difficult this decision will be for you. Whatever you decide, remember I am always there as your friend and will help in any way I can.’
An hour later the two ships had still not lifted anchor. Idrisi anxiously paced the deck, waiting to see the direction in which the Amir of the Sultan’s fleet would decide to sail. Balkis was walking with him. Hearing what had happened her first response had been to wonder where her child would be born. He became angry with her, then controlled himself and explained patiently why there were some things in this world that transcended love, passion or the production of children. At a time when the fate of the entire community of Believers was dependent on the decision of Amir Ahmad it was selfish and thoughtless to contemplate one’s personal future. She had never heard him speak so harshly and angry tears filled her eyes.
She returned to the cabin and waited. How dare he assume she didn’t care about anything else except her own life and that of her unborn child? She was determined to punish him. For a start, she would not speak to him for the rest of the journey. Before she could think of more severe punishments the men on the deck started cheering and, her dignity evaporating, she rushed to join them. Idrisi was laughing and waving like the others. Ahmad had set course for Siracusa. As the two ships passed each other, loud cries of ‘Allah Akbar’ rent the skies. Ahmad stood on the deck and raised a hand in farewell. Idrisi responded with the same gesture. Both men wondered whether they would see each other again.
‘Hoist the sails,’ shouted the Commander. ‘With this breeze we may reach Palermo within the hour.’
Balkis walked back to the cabin in as aloof a fashion as she could invent. Her lover followed her but each attempt he made to speak with her was rebuffed. She looked away from him. He sat down at the table with a manuscript he had removed from the palace library at Siracusa and pretended to be deeply engrossed. After a quarter of an hour had elapsed he decided to break the silence.
‘It is time for the afternoon prayer, but I am not in the mood. If you have no objection I will recite a verse for you.’
She did not reply. Idrisi rose from his chair, climbed on top of the rough wooden table that separated them and sat cross-legged on the table before her. She succeeded—just—in keeping a straight face. He then adopted a posture typical of a person preparing to read al-Quran.
‘Say O disbelievers, I do not worship what you
worship and you do not worship what I worship;
My mores are not those mores,
That’s not my school or style
Bacchic love, stand and rise!’
She could no longer restrain her laughter, at which point he slid neatly off the table and placed himself on the bench next to her. He kissed her hands and then drew back.
‘Where did the great scholar find this verse? Abu Nuwas?’
‘No. Ibn Quzman.’
‘I though you said we had to be careful on this journey.’
‘The men are all busy preparing the ship for arrival and you dispensed with caution when you paced the deck with me, then quarrelled and abandoned my side. All that implies familiarity.’
‘I am your sister-in-law.’
‘Nobody knows that apart from us.’
‘I hadn’t thought of that, I confess.’
He held her close and kissed her mouth. Her hand moved down his tunic.
‘You’ve pitched your tent early today Master Idrisi. I think the pole needs to be dismantled.’
‘Enough, enough, Balkis. Your hands are on fire. When we arrive, you will be taken to the palace, where your husband has been lodged. I will go to my home, bathe, dress and visit all of you later. Perhaps we can all eat together.’
‘With Rujari.’
‘If necessary.’
‘There are times when I cannot understand you at all. This man is about to despatch Amir Philip, burn him alive in public. Amir Philip, according to you, is the most intelligent and gifted political leader on the island. Perhaps you can’t save his life, but to sit at the table with his killer? Is that not taking your sense of duty a bit far?’
‘Listen to me, my dearest Balkis. One thing many of us had to learn, Philip included, was how to dissemble most effectively. If I refuse to eat with the Sultan he will know that I am angry and, given his state of mind, he could punish everyone associated with me. We must behave as normally as possible at a most difficult time. I hope Rujari does not invite me to the palace. In that case I suggest we break bread at my house.’
‘That would be a delight.’
‘And Balkis, remember what we discussed earlier. Not even a hint of what has transpired between us must reach your husband.’
‘And Mayya?’
‘Leave that to me.’
And then the sailor on lookout waved excitedly and the familiar cry was heard: ‘Al-madina hama-hallahu.’
Balkis recovered her composure, tightened the scarf that covered her head, veiled her face and the two of them went out on deck. As they were rowed to the shore he could see the unmistakable portly figure of the Amir of Siracusa in the distance. He gently nudged the Amir’s wife.
When they docked, the two men embraced.
‘Allah be praised, both of you have arrived safely, Ibn Muhammad,’ said the Amir. ‘The situation here is more tense than you could imagine. We need to speak urgently about many things. The Sultan’s health continues to deteriorate and the atmosphere in the palace reflects that of the city. Only the Barons and the monks appear happy these days. They say the Sultan asks each day when you will return.’
‘I will see him today.’
‘There’s not much time, Ibn Muhammad. The trial of Philip is due to start tomorrow afternoon.’
‘Sooner than I had thought.’
‘They want to make sure Rujari is still alive when Philip is burnt. A Baron from the mainland who is here as a judge confided to me that if Rujari died they feared a rebellion.’
Idrisi took his leave of them and joined Ibn Fityan who had been waiting for him. The two men rode home together.
‘In answer to the question you posed before I left I can say with confidence that the Amirs of Siracusa and Catania are with us.’
‘Friends in the palace had already given me the good news. The Sultan expects you for the evening meal.’
‘I feared as much.’
Ibn Fityan told him that the city was like a mountain of fire. It could explode at any time and the Barons had placed their own men at key points of the city for the duration of the trial.
‘Remember what Philip said at our mehfil in the mosque before I left: any premature uprising will be defeated. So every quarter of the city must be told that the trial of Philip is designed as a provocation to draw us out before we are ready and kill us.’
‘The qadi has already sent out this message, but people are angry. There could be trouble despite the qadi’s best efforts.’
‘Send out the word that the Trusted One has organised an army in Catania that will take back a number of monasteries and inflict public punishments on the Bishops. Tell people that we should wait for the news from Catania before anything rash is done here. Why did the Amir of Siracusa prolong his stay in the city?’
‘The Sultan asked him to attend the trial. He will ask you as well.’
‘He will get a rough answer.’
‘Master, there is a more delicate matter.’
‘Speak your mind.’
&
nbsp; ‘A report has reached friends in the palace about you and the Lady Mayya.’
‘What do the idle minds say on this occasion?’
‘They say that Elinore is your daughter and that you and her mother were married in Siracusa.’
‘How did the news reach here?’
‘The palace in Siracusa is filled with our friends. They hear everything.’
‘What if what they said was true?’
‘If the news reaches the Sultan he will react badly. He will compare his generosity to you with this betrayal.’
‘Silence, man. Philip’s trial starts tomorrow and I have neither the time nor the desire to discuss whether or not I succeeded in gaining the good graces of one lady or another.’
Three armed retainers accompanied him as he walked towards the palace. He could not recollect how often he had made this journey at all hours of the day and night. But this phase of his life was coming to an end. The steward who greeted him was an old and familiar face. He spoke in a voice weakened by old age. ‘Welcome once again, Ibn Muhammad al-Idrisi. You come at a sad time.’
‘Peace be upon you, friend,’ Idrisi replied as he followed the old man through the usual set of rooms with wooden architraves and mosaics that recalled an earlier past.
The Sultan was in his private audience chamber, a room Idrisi knew well. But he had to wait in the antechamber until the Sultan’s visitors had left. He wondered who they were and why they had been summoned at this hour. Rujari usually conducted business during the first half of the day. The old steward sat next to him and, looking in the direction of the Sultan’s chamber, whispered in a broken voice, ‘A mehfil of killers is taking place. Last minute preparations for tomorrow’s trial. Everything is already decided. He has been found guilty. Tomorrow they will burn him.’
Before Idrisi could reply several Barons and three Bishops came through the door looking pleased with themselves. The steward bowed and escorted them out of the antechamber. In contrast to previous occasions, none of them bothered to acknowledge Idrisi’s presence. He strode into Rujari’s chamber without waiting for the steward to return. The Sultan seemed genuinely pleased to see him. How could he be so remote from reality?
