A Sultan in Palermo

by Tariq Ali

  ‘Our poet has written: I exhausted the energies of war / I carried on my shoulders the burdens of peace. These burdens remain and it is to lighten the load that the Trusted One suggests that, if it becomes necessary, you hide your true religion. Such periods are not unknown in the history of our people.’

  After further discussion agreement was reached and in their presence Idrisi asked the Trusted One to prepare a set of registers, one for the land and the other for the church. And then, as if to confirm their new dreams, Simeon played a joyful strain on the flute and everyone began to clap in rhythm, till a few young bloods rose and began to dance. It was, as Idrisi later told Simeon, a traditional Berber dance that he had not seen performed for many years, memories of life in the distant past.

  That night Idrisi took Khalid’s father aside. ‘Umar, you are like a son to me. May I speak frankly with you?’

  ‘Of course, Abu Uthman. Please.’

  ‘Khalid is growing fast. Before you know he will be arguing and pleading with you to leave the estate and find his own feet and fortune elsewhere. But I feel the boy lacks a woman’s affection. Have you thought of getting married again?’

  ‘I have, but I have not yet met or seen a woman who attracts me.’

  ‘Noto and Siracusa are full of them, their skins the colour of apricot and their laughter like the ripple of a stream. You won’t find anyone on your estate. Get out for a while. Give yourself a chance.’

  ‘It is good advice and I will see if I can satisfy both you and myself.’

  The next morning, Khalid and his father, accompanied by the Trusted One, left the estate and Sakina followed them a few weeks later. Her husband and children had returned the day after the funeral and she felt that it was time to return and tend to their needs.

  The house was virtually empty and Uthman was missing his nephew and so Simeon and Elinore had decided not to return with Idrisi the following day to fetch their belongings. ‘All our clothes are already in Siracusa and my aunt Balkis can have them bundled and sent over here. I don’t want to leave Uthman. If we all left the shock might be too much for him.’

  ‘Please convey my respects and love to my father when you return to Palermo. And tell him I am building a small church. It will please my mother.’

  Idrisi embraced and kissed each of them in turn and was deeply affected to see the tears in Uthman’s eyes.

  ‘Abu, it was a real pleasure to see you after such a long time. Please come again and before twenty years, eight months and four days.’

  Idrisi’s eyes were moist as he climbed aboard the cart and it was Uthman who was most in his thoughts as he journeyed back to Siracusa. He recalled how all his love and his hopes had been concentrated on Walid, how it was Walid he took everywhere with him. It was Walid who met the Sultan and travelled to meet old family friends in Shakka and Marsa Ali. It was Walid in whom he had confided. He did not regret that, but was angered now by his failure to understand that Uthman had needed him much more.

  Observing the change in Uthman had been a revelation. Perhaps he would write about it in his book to help others who had to deal with abnormal children. In many villages children like Uthman were left in the open to die. They had not done that, but had his care been any better? He had been left in the hands of a deaf woman who had made sure he was fed and clothed. So who could blame him for seeking solace in the animal kingdom? Idrisi found himself wondering whether he should return to the estate for a time. He could complete the Formulary in his own library. Mayya and Afdal could come here as well. It was the turn of the house in Palermo to be empty for a while. And Balkis could come here whenever she wished. The more he thought about this the more it appealed to him. His ship was moored in Siracusa; he would return to Palermo and bring them all to Noto. The harbour was not as large as Siracusa, but fine for his vessel. And perhaps he would take Uthman with him to Venice and surprise Walid. He had been away from Palermo for almost three months—surprising how little he missed the city.

  Even a year ago the thought of living anywhere else would have been laughable. History had changed everything. Rujari and Philip. The two men he had felt closest to in the palace. Not just history. Mayya and Elinore and Balkis.

  Who could have predicted what had happened? Not Allah. Then he wondered: if Philip were alive and Rujari dead would he have felt the same way about Palermo? He had said no to William, but if Philip had insisted that he could be of vital service to the state, would he have been able to decline so swiftly, if at all? Who would have won the tug of war for his services? Philip or Balkis? History could only be the result of a disordered imagination.

  SEVENTEEN

  Massacre in Palermo. Idrisi decides never to visit the city again. He leaves for Baghdad.

  HE KNEW SOMETHING WAS wrong the minute he entered the palace in Siracusa. When the guard saw him at the gate, he had signalled the doorman and sad faces kept turning away from him as a gloomy-faced Chamberlain led him to the Amir’s private chamber.

  I hope nothing has happened to Balkis he thought to himself over and over again. He entered the Amir’s chamber to find Balkis there, her eyes red from crying. It was the sight of Abu Fityan that astonished him. The man fell on his knees and rested his head on Idrisi’s feet.

  ‘Forgive me, Ibn Muhammad. Forgive me.’

  ‘Will someone tell me what’s happened. Mayya?’

  Balkis nodded.

  ‘Dead? Why?’ He wept loudly.

  ‘Afdal?’

  ‘Is safe here with us and fast asleep.’

  ‘Allah be praised. Ibn Fityan, stop weeping and tell me what happened.’

  But tears continued to flow. After some time the story began to unfold, interrupted by weeping and questioning from those present. It emerged that what had taken place was a revenge killing.

  The Baron from Messina wanted to know why the young Sultan had ordered him not to take any hostages from Palermo. The Sultan explained that this was unacceptable behaviour and that Master Idrisi had warned it could provoke an explosive response. The baron had bowed and left. This much was reported to Ibn Fityan by the palace eunuchs who overheard the exchange. The mood of the city was tense. There had been another brawl and both sides were hurling abuse at each other. Two days later, Mayya felt that Afdal, who was recovering from a fever, might benefit from the sea air. She asked Thawdor and Ibn Fityan to accompany the child and the maid to the shore.

  ‘When I returned, Master, there was blood on the stairs and my heart began to race. I rushed in and saw the bodies of the servants littered on the floor. They had been disembowelled and their throats were slit. There was only one survivor. He was in your room and hid underneath the bed. The Lady Mayya had been dishonoured and killed.’

  Idrisi and Balkis, ignoring Ibn Fityan’s presence, comforted each other, wiping the tears from each other’s cheeks.

  ‘What has happened Balkis? Why? I should have insisted she come here. I should have forced her. My poor Mayya. Why her? Why not me? It was me they were after. How will I face Elinore? You must go and tell her, Balkis. Yes, yes, Ibn Fityan, finish your story. Don’t weep, man. I’m glad you’re alive. Otherwise they would have killed Afdal and Thawdor and you. How could you have saved them? You would have been killed like the rest. It was not your fault. There is no reason to feel guilty.’

  Ibn Fityan wiped his tears and continued. ‘The boy who survived told me the men were in their cups, shouting obscenities and destroying everything. Some of your books were thrown out of the window. The rest were on the floor where these animals defecated and urinated on them.’

  Idrisi’s sadness was mixed with rage.

  ‘Is there no limit to these barbarians?’

  ‘The whole city is stunned by the crime, Ibn Muhammad. The Sultan has ordered the arrest of the Baron from Messina. He wants the Baron and the Lombard hirelings to be publicly executed. The English Bishop is advising caution.’

  Idrisi recalled the Englishman, middle-aged with light brown eyes and thinning hai
r, intelligent, ruthless and with a mocking, unpleasant, rasping voice, but also with an unlimited capacity to flatter those in power or close to it. Most courts have them, but this Bishop was unique. Rujari had never liked or trusted him, often remarking that the man was in the pay of the Vatican.

  ‘He is an evil one. Monks never advise caution when it’s a question of killing our people.’

  Ibn Fityan shook his head sadly.

  ‘The Sultan sends his condolences and wishes you to return to Palermo.’

  ‘I will not return. I do not wish to see that house again.’

  ‘A wise decision.’

  ‘Where is Thawdor?’

  ‘He is here. He wished to see his son and, like me, he cannot bear the sight of Palermo or the house. I brought the maid as well since Afdal ibn Muhammad is used to her presence.’

  ‘You were wise to bring him here. Both of you can accompany me back to the estate. Perhaps Afdal ...’

  ‘Leave him here,’ said Balkis. ‘There will be time later. Elinore needs you and there must be no distractions.’

  ‘Ibn Fityan, it would be helpful if you and Thawdor remained on the estate. He can bring his wife as well.’

  ‘I will do as you suggest, master.’

  After Ibn Fityan had left the room, Balkis drew Idrisi to her, resting his head on her lap, and combed his hair with her fingers.

  ‘It is unbearable, Balkis, that she should be punished in my stead. It’s unbearable. And those animals raped and humiliated her. My son Uthman would reprimand me for referring to them as animals. He thinks humans are much worse.’

  ‘Uthman? Your son? You never spoke of him before now.’

  ‘Humans have this capacity to shield themselves from unpalatable truths. I am ashamed I never spoke of Uthman. He was so happy to see Elinore that he demanded I tell him all about Mayya.’

  ‘I want to know all about Uthman.’

  To distract them both from their grief, he described Uthman’s history to her in detail, how he found it easier to relate to animals or young humans like Khalid than to the human race. Balkis determined to take his new brothers to see him. But now Idrisi knew he must leave again for his estate to give Elinore the terrible news of her mother’s death. Before his departure he wanted to see Afdal. Balkis took him by the arm to the chamber where the boy slept.

  He wept again as he saw his sleeping son, not yet six months old. Who could love him like his mother once did? She almost read his thoughts.

  ‘I have enough milk for both of them,’ she told him. ‘I will bring him up like my own son.’

  ‘Perhaps in a few months’ time I should take him to the estate. Let me speak with Elinore.’

  As they left the chamber, they saw the Amir who greeted Idrisi with a warm embrace.

  ‘Allah have mercy on us, Ibn Muhammad.’

  ‘Nobody else does,’ replied the scholar.

  Some hours after he had left, Balkis was feeding both children and noticed that Afdal kept pushing her nipple aside before groping for it again, while Hamdis stuck to it like an insect. Perhaps my milk tastes different and he has noticed. But Eudoxia, the maid who had survived the massacre, reassured Balkis. ‘He’s like that with every tit, my lady, if you’ll pardon my speech. Your sister—may the Lord bless her—was always struggling to feed him. He’s a strong one, this lad, and will give women a lot of trouble, bless him.’

  ‘Do you go to church every Sunday?’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’

  ‘Do you think those barbarians who killed my sister and the servants would have spared you if they’d seen the crucifix hanging from your neck?’

  ‘Oh no, my lady. Two of the girls who were killed had the same cross around their necks. They were animals, my lady, only worse. Lombards! They weren’t from this island. Our people ...’

  ‘There is an old Greek church in Siracusa. They say there are two icons that shine and smile in the dark. I have never been inside it. Tell me what it’s like.’

  ‘I will, my lady, and thank you for your kindness.’

  When Idrisi had been away for over four weeks, Balkis began to panic. She felt neglected and remembered something that Mayya had said to her when they were both pregnant. ‘Love and jealousy are sisters, Balkis. I’m love and you’re jealousy.’

  At the time she’d laughed and greeted the remark with loud protestations, but she knew it contained more than a single grain of truth. As long as Mayya was alive, Balkis had reconciled herself to staying with Aziz and sharing Idrisi with her sister. Now she wanted him all the time. If he decided to live on the estate she could see him three or even four times a week. It took three hours to walk to Noto. She could ride over in under an hour. She began to plan. What she wanted now was another child. Then she could leave Hamdis with his father and she could live with her Muhammad.

  Idrisi returned the next week and went first to his son, who was with Eudoxia in the gardens. He held the boy and kissed him many times before he went in search of Balkis. She held him close while he told her of all that had taken place.

  ‘Nothing you couldn’t imagine, my loved one. Elinore was inconsolable. There was nothing I could say or do to comfort her. She stayed in her room and refused to eat. I think it was Simeon’s flute that lured her out again. She talked endlessly to Ibn Fityan and Thawdor, but they spared her the worst details. Then she, too, said she never wanted to return to Palermo. Uthman took her out for long walks and she came back with some colour in her cheeks. She is keen for you to go with the boys. Simeon was shaken by the news as well. It was pure chance that his father had survived and he pleaded with the old man to send for his mother. Ibn Fityan will stay on the estate. So, my poor Mayya’s death has brought us all back to the Val di Noto.’

  ‘And you, habibi? Where will you stay?’

  ‘I want to see the boys grow and Elinore return to happiness. I will finish my book on the estate. And before you remark on how long the book will take, let me inform you, Lady Balkis, another three months and it will be done. I will return tomorrow. When will you come?’

  ‘With you, tomorrow.’

  ‘And the children?’

  ‘Yes. You see, Ibn Muhammad, my husband is a kind and ...’

  He put his hand on her mouth.

  ‘Mayya’s death has made things worse for us. Not seeing you each day is now much more difficult.’

  She stroked his hand.

  They left early to avoid the boys being subjected to the midday sun. Balkis and Idrisi rode while their sons, Eudoxia and another maid were transported by cart. The party from Siracusa was welcomed with genuine warmth. Elinore clung to her aunt as both women wept. Simeon showed the now completed church to them proudly, Eudoxia falling to her knees the minute she entered to offer a prayer. Simeon watched her dispassionately.

  ‘If the events predicted by the Trusted One come to pass, this little building could be the saving of this estate.’

  Elinore was now the accepted lady of the household and the estate. She had assigned rooms for them and Balkis was taken aback to discover that she was to share Idrisi’s chamber.

  ‘Is this wise?’ she whispered to her niece. ‘Might not Uthman find this distasteful?’

  ‘He is a true pagan, aunt. He would find it odd if you had separate rooms since he knows that Hamdis is our brother.’

  ‘Have you created a world without any secrets at all?’

  ‘Nobody knows I’m pregnant.’

  Balkis hugged and kissed her niece. ‘I’m so pleased for you.’

  ‘I hope it’s a girl, aunt. I want to call her Mayya.’

  ‘Sometimes what one hopes, one gets.’

  ‘Not according to Abi. His medical knowledge teaches him otherwise.’

  ‘How is his book?’

  ‘Almost finished he says, but Uthman, who uses the library more than the rest of us, is not so convinced. He says there is another six months’ work. And that’s another secret. He would be reprimanded if it was discovered he was reading the manuscript
whenever Abi went for a walk.’

  Balkis expressed surprise at Uthman’s capabilities.

  ‘He’s normal most of the time. He likes living in an enclosed world. Once I asked if he would visit Siracusa and he ran out of the room and went to his tree. I have discovered the things that upset him and if we avoid mention of them he behaves like anyone else. He says odd thing at times. Once he told me that if there had been no library in the house, he would have died. And he meant every word of it.’

  ‘It seems he knows himself better than most of you know him?’

  ‘That’s too simple, aunt, but I can’t explain why.’

  Balkis felt already at ease. She had no household responsibilities apart from feeding the children and while Idrisi worked she persuaded Uthman to show her the estate, listening attentively as he described each tree and plant. Then she met the animals.

  Later that night after she had fed the infants, she returned to her room to find Idrisi having a bad coughing fit. As she approached, he looked up at her with pleading eyes.

  ‘In Allah’s name woman, can’t you see I need some milk.’

  Then she realised. ‘Both my breasts are empty. Your sons are as greedy as their father.’

  ‘When will they fill up again?’

  ‘In a few hours.’

  She cradled him. ‘I don’t want to leave you, Muhammad, but I must return tomorrow. There is a feast in honour of Aziz.’

  ‘Why is there never a feast in honour of me?’

  ‘Because he is the Amir of Siracusa, and you, my loved one, are only the Amir of the Book. The rich men of the city enjoy honouring each other. Tomorrow’s host is a Jewish merchant, which means that few Nazarenes will attend. Aziz has asked all our notables and, what is unusual, their wives to be present as well. Most of them are placid, pampered, spoiled creatures and will complain bitterly at being forced to.’

  ‘Strange how for the last five hundred years the fate of the Jews has so often been tied to our own future. Where we suffer, they suffer. Where we prosper, they prosper. Where they are present and we are not, they fail to defend themselves and are slaughtered like sheep. It’s the same story here, in al-Andalus and in al-Quds, Baghdad, Cairo and Damascus.’