by Amin Maalouf
‘Be patient with the poor girl!’
In the evening I made a brief appearance at the women’s feast, a chance to see the outline of Hiba, of whom I was to be deprived for a week more. As I left, Fatima followed me to the bedroom, no doubt at my mother’s prompting. She took my hand and covered it with kisses.
‘I displeased you last night.’
Without answering, I lay down on the left-hand side of the bed and closed my eyes. She leant over me and said in a hesitant, stammering voice that was barely audible:
‘Don’t you want to visit my little sister?’
I jumped up, incredulous. Hiba had indeed mentioned this expression to me in a mocking voice, used by certain women of this country to refer to the intimate parts of their bodies. But how could I have expected to hear it from the mouth of Fatima, who, as recently as the previous day, had fainted at the mere sight of the marriage chamber? I turned towards her. Her two hands were flat against her face.
‘Who has taught you to say that to me?’
She was ashamed, frightened, weeping. I reassured her with a prolonged laugh and held her against me. She was forgiven.
The week ended with a final banquet, for which I received from my four brothers-in-law the gift of four whole sheep as well as earthenware vessels full of sweets. The next day, I left the house at last, and headed straight to the suq to perform the last act of the endless marriage ceremony; to buy some fish and give them to my mother, so that she should throw them at the feet of the bride, wishing her health and fertility.
Before the end of that year, Fatima was pregnant, and I immediately found it necessary to find some better-paid work than my job at the maristan. The daughter of a bookseller, my mother encouraged me to launch out into business, which displeased me not at all because of my taste for travelling. She accompanied her advice with a prediction which made me smile at the time:
‘Many men discover the whole world while seeking only to make their fortune. But as for you, my son, you will stumble on your treasure as you seek to discover the world.’
The Year of Fortune
915 A.H.
21 April 1509 – 9 April 1510
Fatima bore me a daughter in the last days of the summer; I called her Sarwat, Fortune, for that year saw the beginning of my prosperity. If the latter was short-lived, I could not complain, as it was taken away from me just as it had been given to me, by the sovereign will of the Most High; my only contributions were my ignorance, my arrogance and my passion for adventure.
Before committing myself to a career in business I paid a visit to Master Thomasso de Marino, the old Genoese whom I had got to know on the way to Timbuktu, and who, of all the foreign merchants living in Fez, was the most respected for his wisdom and straightforwardness. I wanted to ask his advice, and perhaps work with him for a while, or go with him on some journey. Although bedridden, he received me with great friendliness, recalling with me the memory of my uncle as well as more agreeable recollections of our caravan.
The reason for my visit sunk him into deep thought. His eyes seemed to be sizing me up, moving from my green felt hat to my carefully trimmed beard, and then to my embroidered jacket, with its wide and imposing sleeves; his white eyebrows seemed like scales, weighing for and against. Then, after having apparently put aside his hesitations, he made me an unexpected offer:
‘Heaven has sent you to me, my noble friend, because I have just received from Italy and Spain two large orders for black burnouses, one of a thousand items and the other of eight hundred, for delivery at the beginning of autumn. As you know, the most appreciated burnouses in Europe come from Tafza, where I would go to look for them myself if I were in better health.’
He explained the transaction to me: I would receive two thousand dinars, one thousand eight hundred to buy the stock, at one dinar per burnous at the wholesale price, the remainder for my expenses and my trouble. If I managed to get a better price from the suppliers, my share would be greater; if I had to buy more dearly, I would be obliged to pay out of my own pocket.
Without really knowing whether I had made a good bargain or a bad one, I accepted eagerly. He gave me the money in gold pieces, lent me a horse, two servants and nine mules for the journey and counselled speediness and prudence.
In order not to leave with the pack animals empty, I had collected all the money that I could lay my hands on, my own savings, those of my mother, and a part of Khali’s bequest to Fatima, which amounted to a total of four hundred dinars. With this I bought four hundred of the most ordinary sabres, of exactly the same sort as the Fassis were wont to sell to the inhabitants of Tafza. However, when I proudly told my father of my bulky acquisition on my return from the suq, he almost tore his robes from consternation and despair:
‘You will need at least a year to get rid of so many sabres in a little town! And when people know that you are in a hurry to return, they will buy them off you at the lowest possible price.’
His words made sense, but it was too late to withdraw, since I had gone round all the artisans to collect my consignment together, which I had paid for in cash in full. I had to resign myself to coming back the loser from my first business journey, telling myself that no one could learn a profession without bruising either his hands or his purse.
The evening of my departure my mother, panic-stricken, came to tell me the rumours she had heard in the hammam. Serious incidents were taking place at Tafza; there was talk of an expedition led by the army of Fez to re-establish order there. But instead of discouraging me, her words kindled my curiosity, so much so that I left the next day before sunrise, without even having tried to find out about it. Ten days later I arrived at my destination without incident, only to find the place seething with unrest.
I had not yet entered the town gate when the people congregated around me, some shouting at me aggressively, others questioning me insistently. I tried to keep calm; no, I had not seen the troops from Fez coming in this direction; yes, I had heard rumours, but I had not paid any attention to them. While I was vainly endeavouring to force my way through the crowd, a tall man appeared, dressed like a prince. The crowd parted in silence to let him through. He greeted me with an elegant movement of his head and introduced himself as the elected chief of the town. He explained to me that Tafza had existed hitherto as a republic, governed by a council of notables, not under the protection of any sultan, nor any nomadic tribe, paying neither taxes nor ransoms, maintaining its prosperity by the sale of woollen burnouses, which were valued the world over. But ever since a bloody conflict had broken out between two rival clans, a succession of deadly fights and gang battles had taken place, to such an extent that in order to stop the slaughter the council had decided to ban the members of the clan which had started the fighting from the town. In order to take vengeance, those who had been expelled appealed to the sovereign of Fez, promising that they would hand over the town to him. Hence the townspeople feared an imminent attack. I thanked this man for his explanation, stated my name and the reason for my visit, repeated to him the little that I had already heard about the incidents of Tafza, adding that I did not intend to linger there, only long enough to sell my sabres, purchase my burnouses and go back again.
The notable asked me to forgive his countrymen’s apprehension and ordered the crowd to let me through, explaining in Berber that I was neither a spy nor a messenger from Fez, but a simple Andalusian merchant working on behalf of the Genoese. I was then able to enter the city and make for the hostelry. However, before I could get there, I saw two richly dressed men in my way, talking loudly to each other while watching me closely. When I drew level with them, they were both talking at once; each begged me to do them the honour of staying in his house, promising also to take charge of my servants and my animals. As I did not wish to offend either of them, I refused both invitations, thanking them for their hospitality, and went to the hostelry, which was fairly uncomfortable in comparison with those of Fez, but I did not complain, since I had kn
own no other roof than the starry vault for several nights.
I had barely settled in when the biggest fortunes in the town began to parade through my room. A rich businessman suggested I should barter my four hundred sabres for eight hundred burnouses. I was going to accept, when another merchant bounced up to my ear and quietly suggested a thousand. Having no experience, it took me some time to understand the reason for all this concern: at the approach of the hostile army the inhabitants thought only of getting rid of all their stock, to protect it from the pillage which would certainly follow the capture of the town. In addition, the arms which I was carrying could not have arrived at a more opportune moment, since the whole population was preparing to face the attackers. So I could dictate my own conditions; in exchange for my sabres I therefore required one thousand eight hundred burnouses, not one less; after some discussion, one of the merchants, a Jew, eventually accepted. So, the very day of my arrival I already had all the stock requested by Master de Marino in my possession without having spent any of the money which he had entrusted to me.
Having no more to sell, I made ready to leave the next day. But, like a lover in the middle of the night, fortune had made up her mind not to let go of me. Once more the great merchants of Tafza came to seek me out, some suggesting indigo or musk, others slaves, leather or cordovan, everything sold at a tenth of its proper price. I had to find forty mules to carry everything. The figures skipped about in my head; from my very first deal I was rich.
On my third day of business the criers announced the arrival of the army of Fez. It consisted of two thousand light cavalry, five hundred crossbowmen, and two hundred mounted pistoleers. Seeing them arrive, the terrified inhabitants decided to treat with them. And, since I was the only Fassi in the town, I was begged to act as intermediary, which, I must say, seemed most amusing. From our first meeting, the officer commanding the royal army took a liking to me. He was an educated and cultivated man, assigned, however, to carry out the most frightful task: to hand over the town and its notables to the vengeance of the opposing clan. I tried to dissuade him.
‘Those who have been banished are traitors. Today, they have handed over the town to the sultan; tomorrow they will give it to his enemies. It is far better to negotiate with brave men who know the price of devotion, sacrifice and fidelity.’
I could see in his eyes that he was convinced by my reasoning, but his orders were clear: to gain possession of the town, to punish those who had borne arms against the sultan and hand over authority to the head of the exiled clan, with a garrison to assist him. However, there was one argument which he could not set aside:
‘How much does the sultan hope to gain in exchange for his protection?’
‘The exiled clan has promised twenty thousand dinars a year.’
I made a little calculation in my head.
‘There are thirty notables on the town council, and a further twelve rich Jewish merchants. If each one of them were to pay two thousand dinars, that would make eighty-four thousand –’
The officer interrupted me:
‘The annual income of the whole kingdom barely comes to three hundred thousand dinars. How do you imagine that a little town like this one could collect such a sum?’
‘There are undreamed-of riches in this country, but the people hide them and do not seek to make them bear fruit; they fear being stripped of them by the rulers. Why do you think the Jews of this country are accused of being miserly? Because the least expenditure, the slightest ostentation, puts their fortune and their lives in danger. For the same reason so many of our cities are dying and the kingdom is becoming impoverished.’
As the sovereign’s representative the man I was speaking to could not let me speak in this way in his presence. He asked me to come to the point:
‘If you promise the notables of Tafza that their lives will be spared and the customs of the city respected, I will persuade them to hand over that amount.’
Having obtained the officer’s word, I went to see the notables and informed them of the agreement. Seeing them hesitate, I told them that a letter had just arrived from Fez bearing the sultan’s seal, demanding the immediate execution of all the leading figures in the town. They began to wail and to lament, but, as I have recounted in my Description of Africa, within two days the eighty-four thousand dinars were deposited at the officer’s feet. I had never seen such a huge quantity of gold, and I learned afterwards from the mouth of the sultan himself that neither he nor his father had ever possessed such a sum in their treasuries.
When I left Tafza, I received valuable presents from the notables, happy to have saved their lives and their town, as well as a sum of money from the officer, who promised to tell the monarch about the role I had played in this strange business. He also gave me a detachment of twelve soldiers who accompanied my caravan back to Fez.
Before even going home, I went to see Master de Marino. I gave him the consignment he had ordered, and returned him his servants, his horse and his mules. I also gave him presents worth two hundred dinars and told him my adventure without omitting a single detail, showing him all the goods I had amassed for myself; he said it was worth fifteen thousand dinars at least.
‘It has taken me thirty years to collect such a sum,’ he said to me without the slightest trace of jealousy or envy.
I had the feeling that the whole world belonged to me, that I needed nothing and no one, that henceforth fortune would obey me implicitly. I was no longer walking, I was flying. As I took my leave of the Genoese, he shook my hand for a long time, leaning forwards slightly; I stood up straight, my head high, my nose raised. The old man held my hand firmly in his, longer than usual, then, without straightening himself up, looked into my eyes:
‘Fortune has smiled upon you, my young friend, and I am as happy for you as if you were my own son. But be on your guard, as riches and power are the enemies of sound judgement. When you see a field of corn, do you not see that some ears are straight and others bent? It is because the straight ones are empty! So keep that humility which has led you towards me, and which has thence opened to you, by the will of the Most High, the paths to fortune.’
In that year took place the most effective attack ever launched against the Maghrib by the Castilians. Two of the main coastal cities were taken, Oran during the month of Muharram and Bougie in Ramadan. Tripoli in Barbary would fall in the following year.
None of these three cities has been recaptured since by the Muslims.
The Year of the Two Palaces
916 A.H.
10 April 1510 – 30 March 1511
I have made a rose flower upon your cheeks,
I have made a smile open out upon your lips.
Do not push me away, for our Law is clear:
Every man has the right to pick
What he himself has planted.
I had from that time a court poet, fond of my wine and of my servant girls, greedy for my gold, ready to sing the praises of my visitors and above all of myself, at each feast, each time a caravan returned, sometimes even simply at meal times, when friends, relations, attentive employees, busy merchants, passing ulama, and masons engaged in the construction of my palace were gathered around me.
Since my journey to Tafza my fortune had multiplied, my agents were travelling all over Africa, from Badis to Sijilmassa, from Tlemcen to Marrakesh, laden with dates, indigo, henna, oil and textiles; I took part myself only in the larger caravans. The rest of the time I ran my business from my diwan, and used to supervise, a cane in my hand, the construction of my new residence, on a hill not far from my uncle’s house, where I had settled as master after the birth of my daughter, but which day by day seemed more confined, more modest, more unworthy of my fortune. I waited impatiently for the day when I would be able to live in my palace, my superb incomparable palace which I dreamed about and talked about incessantly, and for whose construction I had employed the best artisans, charged with the task of carrying out to perfection each of my costl
y desires: ceilings of carved wood, arches covered with mosaics, fountains in black marble, without thinking of the expense. When, sometimes, a figure caused me to hesitate, my poet was there to pronounce the words: ‘At the age of twenty, wisdom is not to be wise.’ Of course he was carving these words with my gold.
The day when the building work began was one of the most magnificent in my life. At dusk, surrounded by a horde of courtiers, I went to deposit some precious talismans and some child’s hair, cut carefully from my daughter’s head, at the four corners of the new building; I had suddenly become very susceptible to magic and superstitions, and I was the first to be amazed at this. This is probably the fate of rich and powerful men: aware that their wealth owes less to their merits than to luck, they begin to court the latter like a mistress and venerate it like an idol.
Throughout the night, Khali’s house resounded to the sound of an Andalusian orchestra, and trembled under the muffled steps of the dancers, all slavegirls, two of whom had been bought specially for the occasion. I forbade Hiba to dance, because since Timbuktu I could never bring myself to allow her to display her intoxicating charms in front of others. I made her sit close to me, on the softest of cushions, and put my arm around her; Fatima retired early to her room, as was fitting.